The summer of 1940 was quite a torment for the whole of Britain. They faced severe shortages of supplies and found themselves isolated: there were not enough planes to fend off the German air raids, not enough weapons to equip soldiers, and in order to quickly construct coastal defenses against landings, they had to resort to robbing Peter to pay Paul to gather steel...
Fortunately, by early September, most of the frontline defensive works had been completed to the minimum standards. The coastal battery where Cullen and his gunners were stationed was one such location. They felt fortunate that the two shells coming directly from the beach failed to penetrate its thick outer wall. However, the limited power and trajectory of the infantry guns meant they also struggled to pose a fatal threat to the stranded barges and the German tanks on them. The mutual attacks seemed like two adults hitting each other with sticks, continuously causing new wounds but failing to inflict substantial damage.
"Men, aim at the nearest pontoon bridge and fire!"
Cullen roared angrily as over a dozen shells were fired, reducing the number of barges on the sea surface by only two. His so-called "pontoon bridge" was a floating pontoon bridge composed of barges moored end to end, also known as a "land bridge" by the Germans. Currently, five such bridges had been formed from the beach to the near sea, ranging in length from fifty to nearly two hundred meters, but they were already sufficient to allow medium and large cargo ships with deeper drafts to approach and unload troops and supplies!
In his field of vision, more ships were indeed appearing in the direction of the Isle of Wight!
Another round of loud explosions echoed, and Cullen looked through the firing port to see that the German infantry landing troops were about to successfully blast a passage through the anti-tank iron framework area. Two German tanks had already driven down the barges into this passage, while several slightly smaller Panzer III tanks remained behind a row of iron frames, with the seawater barely reaching their tracks—whether this exceeded their maximum fording depth was no longer important; what mattered was that the short-barreled guns on their square turrets were continuously providing fire support for the assault troops. On the opposite trench, the firepower of the British machine guns had greatly diminished, and their anti-tank guns and small-caliber anti-tank guns were finding it difficult to cause real damage to the German tanks behind the iron frames!
Coupled with the German artillery fire from the Isle of Wight, the intense gunfire masked some sounds that should have been noticed. In the pitch-black night, another large group of Ju-52s flew over the Isle of Wight, and under the guidance of ground signals, they opened their cargo doors about 15 kilometers north of the Isle of Wight, and hundreds of white parachutes quietly blossomed in the night sky.
This time, what hung under the parachutes was definitely not scarecrows.
Sergeant Wilhelm Kast, belonging to the exemplary paratrooper company of the German Air Force, had the honor of becoming the first German soldier to parachute onto British soil (excluding coastal islands). Since they were still using small, fast parachutes, he only carried a P38 pistol and two M24 grenades. After landing, he quickly unstrapped his parachute harness, pulled out his pistol, and cautiously scanned his surroundings: fortunately, he hadn't landed in an area occupied by British soldiers, which would have been acceptable to be hit by their concentrated firepower, but if he were taken out by an English farmer's pitchfork, that would be a huge tragedy for the Reich!
"Oh!"
Private Karl, slightly overweight, landed heavily in the farmland. The "parachute exchange" plan brewed by the paratrooper deputy commander was definitely good news for him as a "heavy paratrooper". Due to more than a week of rain, the ground was as hard as rocks, and about half a meter in front of his head stood a "Churchill Asparagus"!
Karl's luck was a matter of probability. In the farmland of southern England, there was a triangular cement pillar every twenty or thirty meters, known as the "Churchill Asparagus". They could easily pierce the belly of a glider or even cause the aircraft to suffer catastrophic fractures. If the German gliders attempted to glide here, the probability of collision with the "Churchill Asparagus" would be over eighty percent, and the casualty rate of the airborne soldiers would probably be over sixty percent—losing more than half of their combat effectiveness before landing!
For near-vertical parachuting paratroopers, the probability of hitting the "Churchill Asparagus" could be calculated by area: on nearly 300 square meters of ground, there was less than one square meter of cement pedestal, and the probability of being hit was much less than one percent. However, after the Battle of the Isle of Wight, the British, in addition to building tens of thousands of "Churchill Asparagus", also planned to erect wooden poles with pointed forks and hooks in the open areas near the coast. If this massive project were completed, it would be equally a nightmare for the German paratroopers!
Standing on unfamiliar British soil, Kast didn't care about his clumsy subordinates. He keenly spotted an equipment container floating towards the east and quickly called two companions who had already landed over. Just at this moment, faint truck engine roars came from the north, followed by crisp gunfire—sounded like Lee-Enfields and the like.
In terms of tactics and strategy, the afternoon's "scarecrow plan" was a huge success. After the German high command learned about the British counter-airborne combat mode, they immediately organized experienced paratrooper officers to devise countermeasures. Highly targeted tactics were promptly issued to every platoon participating in the airborne operation.
"Those with grenades, follow me!"
Facing the expected situation, Kest gestured calmly, rallying his parachuting comrades who were landing one after another. He grabbed Carl by the collar and pulled him up, "Quick, go collect the equipment canisters!"
Considering Carl's weight, grenades were indeed an extra burden that a parachute would struggle to bear. Grimacing, Carl rubbed his chest and staggered away.
With a wave of his hand, Kest led seven or eight paratroopers running northward in the dark.
Gradually, the distant gunfire became clearer, and the roar of trucks echoed heavily. In the field of view, the vehicle lights flickered like the eyes of nocturnal monsters. Estimating they were far enough, Kest growled, "Get down!" and led the charge, taking cover under the embankment. The parachutists followed suit.
The scent of soil filled the air, but Kest had no time to enjoy the natural aroma. From each boot, he retrieved a long-handled grenade, whispering, "Listen up, when I say throw, each person can only throw one grenade!"
Communicating among themselves at a distance, each parachutist carried at most three grenades, with more ammunition stored in the cylindrical equipment canisters dropped separately during the airborne operation.
Though the sky was dark, the white parachutes were still visible against the backdrop of gunfire. British soldiers arriving from other locations had evidently pinpointed this open drop zone. Despite the light wind, the landing positions of the German paratroopers were still within a range of over a kilometer. Two unlucky souls had landed near the roadside.
The gunfire from the north suddenly intensified, then abruptly subsided after a few seconds.
With clenched teeth, Kest, his palm sweating around the grenade, was relieved that their light gray paratrooper uniforms weren't conspicuous in the dark field. The undulating embankments obstructed the British trucks from advancing directly. In the illumination provided by the headlights, British soldiers with rifles jogged toward them.
"Get ready..." Kest growled low, speculating: With so much time, most of the parachutists in the same wave should have landed and found some equipment canisters by now!
Time passed quietly, except for the gunfire, faint cries for soldiers to hasten their pace could be heard.
Quickly and steadily, Kest lifted his head, observing countless legs moving swiftly, raising a thin layer of dust from the ground.
"Throw!" The seasoned sergeant roared angrily, pulling the grenade pin with one hand and hurling it forward, then quickly ducking back under the embankment.
Paratroopers followed suit, throwing grenades silently in the first three seconds. After three seconds, a barrage of explosions echoed from the front, like invisible sledgehammers pounding the ground at a high frequency, causing hearts to tremble and blood vessels to boil!
Amidst the explosions and screams, the machine guns on the trucks started firing, bullets striking the embankments with a pattering sound. Half-turning, Kest pulled out a mirror from his pocket, slowly raising it. In the mirror, he saw British infantrymen uniformly lying prone on the ground.
"Prepare the second grenade! Listen to my command..."
Counting silently in his mind, Kest raised the mirror again when he reached twenty, seeing the British soldiers crouching forward.
"Those with grenades left..."
Before he finished speaking, a crisp gunshot rang out from the south, the "voice" of a Mauser rifle.
Straight ahead, a British soldier who had been advancing cautiously suddenly collapsed.
This gunshot became the rallying cry for the German paratroopers' counterattack. The following MG34 "ripper" easily suppressed the British light machine gun fire, while the addition of the "Iron Fist" and MP38s ensured that the German paratroopers' close combat firepower surpassed their old adversaries. Faced with the continuously arriving British forces, a part of the German paratroopers constructed a temporary defensive line, while another part, according to the planned strategy, rushed towards the coast, flanking the landing forces to sandwich the British defenders!
As the British defense line from Portsmouth to Southampton appeared precarious under the German assault, calls for help inundated London, reaching the two British fleets through the operations command in London.
The confusion and perplexity of the British were exactly what Logan reveled in.