Since the last major air battle between the English and German forces on August 22nd, Adolf Galland's personal total victory tally had remained at 29 without any changes. Over the past two weeks, his squadron had only managed to shoot down a total of three British planes: two reconnaissance planes and one seaplane!
Life without opponents was lonely. As long as it didn't rain, this ace of aerial combat spent his days like a model white-collar worker: taking off from a French airport early in the morning, patrolling near the Isle of Wight, striking targets in southern England, then returning to the Isle of Wight airport to refuel and replenish ammunition. He would fly another two to three times within a day, usually patrolling and strafing, before flying back to the French airport for the night.
At least there was something to look forward to when it didn't rain. But when it did, all he could do was sit in a French bar, bored, smoking and drinking. The only fortunate thing was that, for a long time, Galland didn't run out of good cigars.
On the afternoon of September 8th, as Galland was preparing for his last flight of the day - usually half an hour of patrol before heading straight back to France - the long-lost air raid siren suddenly sounded at the airport!
"Commander!" A communication officer raced towards him in a truck as if it were a racing car. If it weren't for the quick brakes, he would have crashed into Galland's aircraft!
"The Royal Air Force?" Galland asked calmly, cigar in mouth, with a hint of excitement.
"Yes, they'll be crossing the Channel in 10 minutes!" the communication officer said urgently. The channel he referred to was the narrow Strait of Solent. The German military had secretly established two experimental radar stations on the Isle of Wight, which could now provide advance warning. The low-altitude raid by the Royal Air Force the day before had not escaped their "sight".
"They've finally come to their senses!"
As he laughed, Galland's handsome mustache trembled lightly. He then, in his capacity as commander of the 3rd Squadron of the 26th Fighter Wing, ordered, "The squadron headquarters and the second squadron take off first! The third squadron follows!"
After replenishing, this ace squadron now had 71 Bf-109E aircraft, one of the few "overstrength" squadrons in the German Air Force. The second squadron was the most outstanding in the entire wing, with three pilots having shot down more than 15 aircraft and four with more than 10.
After a month of expansion, the makeshift airfields on the Isle of Wight now had at least four runways, greatly increasing the speed of aircraft takeoffs and landings. However, Galland didn't wait for all the aircraft to assemble after taking off. Seeing the British aircraft group appearing on the horizon, he flew across the Channel with three aircraft from the squadron headquarters, while another four-plane formation followed closely behind.
"Commander, the two leading squadrons are Spitfire fighters!" came the voice of a wingman through the headset. "Our allies have engaged!"
With his extinguished cigar still in mouth, Galland looked around. With the fighters patrolling in the air and those just taking off, there were currently over 30 Bf-109s and 5 or 6 Bf-110s on his side, but the latter couldn't be relied on to confront British fighters head-on.
He pulled the control stick, elegantly commanding, "Climb!"
His definition of elegance was a combination of calmness and arrogance.
With excellent maneuverability, the four Messerschmitt fighters quickly climbed from a few hundred meters to an altitude of over three thousand meters. Standing high and seeing far, the British aircraft group of about 200 immediately appeared like a silvery gray river in front of them.
"Goodness, either they didn't come, or they're showing their full hand!" Galland spat out, thinking how many more kills he needed to reach his next milestone. Also, the German anti-aircraft gunners on the Isle of Wight had been idle for too long. Wasn't it time to let them stretch their legs?
The first batch of fighters from both sides soon began an intense dogfight. Galland calmly calculated the relative positions of the sun and the fighters on both sides. When he spotted a squadron of "Spitfires" preparing to engage below, he elegantly commanded, "German airborne cavalry, follow me! Prepare for a short burst from the cannons!"
The four-plane formation swiftly dove down. Because they were in a disadvantageous position against the sun, the pilots of the "Spitfires" below were blinded by the glaring sunlight in their cockpits. By the time they realized, the 20mm cannon shells from the Bf-109s had already torn through the metal tail of the lead "Spitfire". If the British pilots were too busy evading at this moment, they might find themselves in a deadly spin. But what Galland saw was a smooth descent.
Galland grinned, realizing that not all the ace pilots of the Royal Air Force were locked up in German POW camps on the Isle of Wight. Fighting against a group of clumsy rookies wouldn't bring much satisfaction even if he won!
Taking advantage of the speed gained from the dive, Galland slightly adjusted the nose of his aircraft and gently pressed the trigger button for the machine guns. The aircraft trembled slightly in the roar of the 7.92mm machine guns as bright bullets flew out in strings. Just as they were about to hit the target, the damaged "Spitfire" suddenly climbed, with only a few bullets hitting its rear fuselage. It skillfully dodged Galland's attack.
Realizing that there were only four German fighters attacking, this newly-formed squadron of "Spitfires" quickly organized an effective counterattack. The one who caused trouble, Galland, was soon targeted by one of them. Rolls, sharp turns, and rapid dives - Galland's fancy maneuvers failed to shake off this "tailgater". Instead, he was forced to dodge the enemy's bullets repeatedly. He pressed the control stick hard, continuing to dive lower.
The German anti-aircraft guns near the landing field also opened fire. Fortunately, the barrage wasn't dense. Galland carefully maneuvered past several bursts of gunfire from the ground and realized that the "Spitfire" behind him was still in pursuit. He shook his head in resignation, gripping the control stick tightly, his eyes shifting between the cockpit glass, the rearview mirror, and the altimeter, calculating the best moment to break away. As the altitude decreased, he suddenly realized that the surging waves ahead were on land. Focusing, he saw what looked like an ant-like infantry!
"The British are launching a full-scale attack!"
Galland shouted into the communicator, then suddenly stepped on the left pedal, pulled up the control stick, and let the Bf-109 climb sideways at a strange angle. This move caught the "Spitfire" pilot off guard. In fact, due to the aircraft's performance flaws, the British didn't dare to dive at full speed like their opponents!
With one last routine roll, Galland's aircraft quickly reversed position. Before the shadow ahead fully entered his sight, he fired all the guns and cannons on board at full throttle. This time, the barrage lasted for a full 5 or 6 seconds. The enemy aircraft in front shattered into pieces, engulfed in smoke. He released his grip, bit his cigar triumphantly, and looked for the next target!
While an exciting aerial battle raged in the sky, on the ground, three divisions of British troops surged towards the German landing field. With only a small portion of artillery in place, the firepower suppression relied more on the aerial bombing squadrons. This time, the British used their last fast bombers, each capable of flying at speeds exceeding 350 kilometers per hour. As they flew densely over the beach, black bombs fell like raindrops, enveloping the German positions and their landing fields in flames and thick smoke!
The No. 3 and No. 4 tanks buried in the ground ignored the massive impact brought by the British Royal Air Force, continuously pouring deadly shells towards the crowded infantry. Due to the nature of the operation, each tank only carried 10 armor-piercing shells, with the rest being high-explosive shells for infantry targets.
The first deployment of the Sturmgeschütz III assault guns, still equipped with the 24-caliber short-barreled guns, created a bloody storm with their 75mm shells among the British infantry.
Willpower often overcomes many difficulties. The surging infantry charge finally advanced to a distance of 800 meters, but this marked the beginning of greater casualties: the German machine guns wove a dense crossfire net with unimaginable intensity, and the 80mm mortar shells often blew a dozen British infantrymen with each explosion. Coupled with the small but powerful 20mm vehicle-mounted machine guns, only a few British infantrymen managed to advance within 200 meters of the German positions.
The narrow German positions remained like a dark stubborn rock, resisting the force of the waves.
Boom... Boom...
The sound of cannons from the Isle of Wight sounded like the roar of giants. After days of combat training, the 280mm heavy shells fired by the K5 railway guns could now accurately hit their targets. Each shell falling into the attacking ranks or even further into the British artillery positions would surely heavily deter their morale. The tremendous power compensated for the eight rounds per hour rate of fire. Coupled with the effectiveness of the 150mm heavy artillery group, the British attacking frontline gradually fell into the same state of collapse as before.
Some British bombers attempted to suppress the German artillery near the northern part of the Isle of Wight. However, they quickly encountered two elite anti-aircraft battalions under the command of the newly promoted "General Goering" Division. These gunners, who had rarely had the opportunity to shine in the original historical timeline, effectively protected their own artillery with a variety of anti-aircraft guns. In particular, the two gigantic K5 railway guns were surrounded by as many as six gunner squads each. A squadron of low-flying "Hampdens" was entirely shot down...
The battle lasted for half an hour, with the British infantry suffering a staggering casualty count of over 4400 killed and a vast number wounded. Seven infantry battalions were nearly rendered combat ineffective, with five severely crippled. Adding the losses incurred during the return journey, the Royal Air Force paid a heavy price of 71 aircraft for this less-than-successful bombing. Now, it seems that the mighty Royal Navy's main fleet is the only hope to save Britain!