In the marching column, there's probably nowhere safer than inside a tank cockpit. Sitting inside Germany's most powerful Panzer IV tank, Logan contemplated the prospect of larger-scale military operations after the conclusion of Operation Weserübung: With the current level of equipment and the quality of troops in the German Army, as long as air superiority is firmly held, landing ten or eight elite divisions on British soil would essentially render the outcome of the Battle of Britain without suspense—either the British government would compromise or relocate to the colonies, with no other option available!
Imagine the armored formations of Germany advancing swiftly across the picturesque fields of England; what a magnificent historical tableau that would be!
However, the current fleet assembled by the German Navy seems capable of transporting only one German division ashore, which is a headache for Logan. After all, the Isle of Wight is small in size, separated from mainland Britain by the English Channel, and the shortcomings of insufficient sea and air transport capacity of the German Armed Forces have not been fully exposed. If launching a landing operation on mainland Britain, the situation would be a dead end!
"Colonel, are you still getting used to it?"
A calm and composed voice came through the headphones, politely interrupting Logan's thoughts. In reality, the speaker was right above Logan, but the noise inside the tank during movement was too loud. Without internal communication, they would have to rely on gestures to communicate.
Logan pressed the transmitter at his throat—a seemingly inconspicuous device but a crucial factor that kept the German armored forces ahead of their adversaries.
"Alright, thank you!"
"Want to come up and get some fresh air?" the voice suggested.
The Type D Panzer IV tank not only had a significantly increased weight and size compared to the Type I and II tanks but also offered much more spacious interior. However, with the standard crew increased to five members—driver, radio operator, gunner, loader, and commander—if they were all tall and big, squeezing into the cockpit would still be quite cramped. Fortunately, Lieutenant Colonel Evan O'Driscoll had kindly selected a group of relatively agile tankers for Logan and temporarily removed the loader, so despite the bumps along the way, Logan didn't feel too stifled.
"Oh, no need. You can guide the tank better from up there. If it were me, we might end up in a ditch in two minutes!"
The tank commander chuckled heartily. "Haha, don't worry, Borg is our best driver. Even if I close my eyes, he can drive the tank at full speed! We're fine, sir. We still have half an hour to the destination, and it's so dark that the enemy can't snipe us!"
This last sentence made Logan feel obliged, so he switched positions with the tank commander, who was about five feet five inches tall. As soon as he stuck his head out of the hatch, fresh air greeted him. The only visible lights were faint—each tank, armored vehicle, and truck had small lights on their rear ends to guide the following vehicles closely. Since the troops were taking the road in the southwest part of the island, which was equivalent to taking a big detour, the entire journey covered nearly 30 kilometers. Given that it was a nighttime march, even with a fully mechanized convoy, it was estimated to take an hour and a half to two hours to complete the journey.
Away from the battlefield, the sound of gunfire was faint and indistinguishable. Aside from the steady rumble of various vehicles moving at a steady pace, there was only the rustling of trees swaying in the wind.
In the past two days, the British had probably deployed bombers more than 2,000 times, dropping tens of thousands of bombs on the Isle of Wight. However, most of the bombs were concentrated on various German airfields and ports, so most of the roads on the island remained clear. In Logan's view, this was definitely a fatal oversight by the British commanders!
A sudden moist sea breeze blew, and suddenly, he felt icy particles on his face. Tilting his head back, another raindrop landed on his face, and he suddenly remembered a childhood nursery rhyme: "Fall, fall, I want to sprout; fall, fall, I want to bloom…"
Large raindrops fell, creating scattered splashes on the dark surface of the sea, resembling countless fragments and bullets. With the wind and tide, the waves in the Solent Strait gradually grew larger, which to some extent affected the accuracy of the eight British warships.
After the final barrage that lasted for twenty minutes, the HMS Blandy and its companions quieted down somewhat wearily.
Firing was exhilarating, but firing too much was not a good thing.
"The ground assault has been repelled, and Colonel Weiss requests a 20-minute artillery bombardment on the German defensive positions!" the communications officer said, and the atmosphere in the command room became heavy.
"Rest for 5 minutes!" Major Beller's tone left no room for negotiation, easing the tension among the officers. Shooting was tiring, and those responsible for firing in the turret were even more exhausted.
Patting his pockets, the major walked out of the command room with steady steps, followed by the officers, some of whom had big or small cigarette habits.
Major Anthony stood with his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing through the porthole, coldly watching the smokers of all ages puffing away. He had always disliked people smoking, even if they held a thin cigarette elegantly, they were considered pseudo-gentlemen in his eyes. As for smoking women, he always kept his distance.
Despite the rain, the sea was calm, with no lightning or thunder, no whistling of steam whistles. At this moment, they didn't seem to be on a cruel battlefield at all.
Suddenly, two faint lights appeared in their field of vision, resembling signal flares with small tails, or meteors flying in reverse. The officers and sailors on board naturally raised their heads, their thoughts not yet catching up.
In an instant, they burst into dazzling light, illuminating the vast sea along with the small British fleet. The world remained eerily quiet, with only the sizzling sound of illumination flares burning. In the blink of an eye, the booming of cannons came from the direction of the coast…
The blinding illumination flares hung in the air, and people could only vaguely see the flickering flames in the direction of the coast. In the blink of an eye, more than twenty shells fell in unison, their straight trajectories indicating that they came from nearby. The precision of their impact clearly indicated that they had already targeted this small British fleet that had been raining shells on the island!
The HMS Blandy, standing out among the crowd, instantly became the focus of enemy artillery fire. A shell hit the upper part of the bridge precisely, and flying shrapnel knocked down all the smokers who hadn't had time to escape.
The slowing caused by old age became a fatal blow at this moment.
Watching the old captain who had been with him for four years and seven months fall, Anthony felt a kind of indescribable relief—if it weren't for this catastrophic war, Colonel Beller should have transferred to the secondary fleet earlier.
One shell after another exploded outside the bow and sides of the ship, and the violent sea washed over the deck and even the bridge. Yet, scenes like this always stirred one's blood!
"Stay calm!"
Seeing the chaos on board, Anthony shouted loudly like a captain, addressing the officers around him.
Stunned for a moment, the stout, farmer-faced second officer picked up the phone and relayed the new commander's orders to critical compartments on the ship, asking for reports on damage.
In addition to the shell that hit the bridge, there was also a strong shock from an explosion at the rear of the warship. As the splashes flew, there was another burst of gunfire from the direction of the coast!
"They're there! To the right front! Probably only 8000 yards away!" (Approximately 7200 meters)
A young lieutenant, who didn't smoke, faced the starboard side, his voice trembling noticeably.
Anthony squinted and looked in the same direction, saying in a deep voice, "No, Lieutenant, they're probably closer than we think! 4000 yards, maybe closer! They're deployed on the coastline, and our reconnaissance planes didn't spot them all afternoon!"
"Could it be new German artillery positions at night? Sir, should we quickly order the fleet to turn and move away from the coast?" the lieutenant speculated nervously.
"No! Don't rush!" Anthony paused for a moment. "The enemy has over twenty guns deployed near the coast, indicating they were prepared in advance. But those that just landed… seemed to be high-explosive shells?"
While officers and sailors were busy transporting casualties, not many people considered whether the shells that hit them were armor-piercing or high-explosive. But considering that this light cruiser had an average armor thickness of only one inch, the destructive power of the two types of shells was completely different!
"Um... seems like it... but..."
The lieutenant wasn't too sure, but thankfully, the damage control reports from the officers on board quickly confirmed Anthony's speculation—shells had blown a big hole in the stern deck (1-inch thick), resulting in heavy casualties near the gun positions, but there was almost no damage in the lower compartments. The shell that landed on the bridge caused the deaths of Colonel Beller and three other officers, while two were critically injured, but it did not penetrate the exterior armor of the conning tower (3 inches thick).
According to convention, when a captain died, the deputy took over command, and when a fleet commander died, the deputy or the highest-ranking officer in the fleet took command—If there were officers of the same rank, they would be ranked according to the size of their ships.
In the current situation, ambitious Anthony naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity. He gritted his teeth and had the communications officer issue orders to various ships behind him:
"Fleet, turn left 10 degrees, maintain current speed, and each ship is free to fire!"
Anyone who could keep a cool head and analyze the battlefield situation knew that this command meant their fleet would engage in a shootout with the enemy's coastal artillery. In a situation of equal firepower, using warships to attack enemy fortifications was undoubtedly foolish, but if it was to deal with land artillery positions without reinforced concrete protection, the advantage would just be reversed.
The battlefield was always a game of courage and intelligence. Guess right, and you'll be a hero; guess wrong, and you'll be disgraced.