Affected by various factors inside and outside the field, Logan's Operation Dagger had been delayed significantly from the original plan, especially as daylight approached, bringing with it increased threats from the air and sea. Watching the submarine arriving for rendezvous, Logan thought to himself: "We can't afford any more hiccups at this critical moment!"
As if on cue, just as the German sailors on the submarine were about to throw the mooring ropes, Lieutenant Schelm, observing from the armored car, exclaimed, "Quick, look, a ship is coming into the harbor!"
Before anyone could react, a flash of fire erupted from the vessel in the harbor entrance, followed by a sharp whistling sound.
"Damn it!" Logan sighed inwardly. Before he or anyone else could react, artillery shells came hurtling towards them, landing on the sea surface less than ten meters away from the submarine's right side!
With a deafening roar, white water sprayed up to over ten meters high in an instant, as if angered by a sea god seeking revenge. Compared to that, the human form seemed so insignificant.
Standing on the dock, Logan watched helplessly as the German sailor on the submarine's forward deck was thrown into the sea by the powerful shockwave, while the officers on the conning tower scrambled to take cover. What made matters worse was that this type of German submarine, nicknamed the "dugout canoe," was not equipped with deck guns or anti-aircraft machine guns. In this situation, facing enemy surface vessels, they were completely defenseless!
Seeing the British local patrol commander nearby attempting to flee, Logan drew his Webley revolver and delivered a firm butt stroke to the man's head—never underestimate the striking power of this pistol's butt, with enough force and accuracy, it could surely knock down an opponent!
Having dealt with this minor issue, the enemy vessel fired again. Logan instinctively bent over and took cover, his mind clear. In past naval battles, German ships seemed to have higher shooting accuracy than their British counterparts, but that didn't mean the Royal Navy had a bunch of incompetent gunners. At a distance of less than a hundred meters, their second shot hit the virtually stationary German submarine accurately. The intense explosion sheared off the upper half of the conning tower: this meant the submarine had no chance of diving again, and worse still, at least half of the officers on board were probably killed instantly!
A few seconds later, the British warship in the harbor entrance fired a third shell. Through the smoke of the explosion, Logan finally made out the appearance of the enemy: aside from the naval guns, wasn't that ship a large patrol boat?
However, even a patrol boat equipped only with machine guns should be able to easily deal with this defenseless German submarine in this situation. Faced with the precise and fierce artillery fire from the enemy, the surviving crew of the submarine began to abandon ship, and in a matter of minutes, their "dugout canoe" was riddled with holes. When another shell hit the forward deck, the slender submarine finally listed to the right and swiftly sank to the bottom of the sea.
Finished...
Watching the barely breathing German submarine and the swaggering British warship, Logan suddenly felt an unprecedented despair: relying on paratroopers' weapons was definitely no match for a warship. Even if they managed to escape the harbor by car, how could they leave the Isle of Wight and return to Germany? With dawn breaking, the British headquarters would surely dispatch air and ground forces to encircle them. What could dozens of paratroopers achieve in such a situation?
Thinking of possibly ending up in a British prisoner-of-war camp until the end of the war, of the abruptly halted grand plan, of the once potentially glorious life, Logan felt a sense of reluctance. A voice screamed in his mind: It can't end like this!
Newport Airport? Suddenly, a thought occurred to Logan: in aerial reconnaissance photos of the area taken by the German Air Force, there was a small military airport near Newport, with a few reconnaissance and fighter planes parked there. Maybe they could find a transport plane there. It was less than 20 kilometers from Bembridge Harbour to there. Capture an enemy plane and fly back to Germany? Perhaps there was still a one percent chance of success.
Gritting his teeth, Logan prepared to signal the soldiers to evacuate this cursed dock, but when his gaze fell on the unconscious British local patrol commander on the ground, especially when he saw his khaki uniform without any rank insignia, a flash of inspiration struck him, and he came up with a very wicked idea!
In less than 5 minutes, after 23 shots, sinking a German submarine, the young Royal Navy lieutenant's deeply furrowed brow finally relaxed a bit. With France's defeat, the Germans were trying to force Britain to capitulate through increasingly frenzied naval attacks. In the past June alone, over 50 British vessels had fallen prey to German U-boats, with a registered tonnage loss of over 200,000 tons! In such a situation, sinking one German submarine could alleviate more losses for the British Empire and save more sailors' lives. Since the beginning of the war, the Royal Navy had sunk a total of only 24 German submarines...
Seeing the submarine capsized and the entire dock area enveloped in almost impenetrable smoke, the lieutenant seemed concerned that the surviving German sailors might use the British civilians in the port area as human shields or seize vehicles to escape. He issued two orders to his sailors: first, cease firing the main guns, and second, organize combat personnel to carry pistols and rifles ashore to capture prisoners.
Seeing the frantic German sailors struggling on the surface of the water, making such a decision was understandable, but if he were a sufficiently calm commander, perhaps he would choose a more prudent course of action at this time.
Impatience had always been a major taboo on the battlefield!
Since the capsized German submarine did not undergo a violent explosion, and with the torpedoes it carried being extremely powerful weapons, the British minesweeper, with the conspicuous number "J36" on its hull, did not directly approach the "Berlin" dock, but slowly approached the nearby "Rome."
Before this, a manually rowed lifeboat had already been lowered from the ship, and several British sailors with revolvers and Enfield rifles were searching on the water's surface. However, it was quite apparent that the majority of surviving German crew members had already made it to shore!
As the gangplank was just being placed, a sturdy naval officer, accompanied by a dozen sailors, charged down from the minesweeper. Perhaps due to the heavy morning mist, after nearly ten minutes, the smoke near the dock still hadn't completely dispersed, resembling a thin fog on a foggy day, causing the buildings on the dockside to appear ethereal.
A young naval lieutenant stood on the bridge, allowing his binoculars, temporarily unused, to hang in front of him. The tension that had been eased from his brow finally did not resettle into a frown. Although the entire battle process wasn't particularly thrilling, he could already imagine how his consistently critical superior would react once this feat was extensively reported in tomorrow's newspapers — or perhaps even today's evening edition!
Gold will always shine, he sighed in relief. Opportunities for promotion during wartime were always a bit more plentiful than usual, especially for someone like him who wasn't good with words and didn't engage in flattery. If he didn't want to climb the ranks based solely on seniority, he had to drum up some military achievements!
The squad of sailors who had just disembarked stopped after crossing the gangway. What were they doing?
The lieutenant habitually furrowed his brow. It seemed there were several people tied up and lying on the ground there.
Shortly after, he saw the sailors untying them — four in total. Were they from the local patrol team?
He saw a sailor leading the four bewildered individuals towards the minesweeper, while the other sailors continued towards the dock where the German submarine had docked.
"Who are they?" the lieutenant shouted.
The lieutenant leading them recognized them — he was the one who keenly spotted the periscope of the German submarine. After the battle, he would definitely report his merit!
The sailor looked up and shouted, "They're from the local patrol team in Portsmouth. They say they have important information to report to you!"
If this Royal Navy lieutenant had personally experienced "Night of Bastion 32," he would find this statement quite familiar...