Under the bright sunshine, cumulus clouds floated with dazzling white light. Above these cloud-like islands in the sky, a large formation of twin-engine bombers with German insignia painted on their wings and fuselages flew north in an unprecedentedly dense formation. Above them, small-bodied single-engine fighters formed more than ten formations of four aircraft each. Through the square-shaped windows, one could clearly see the pilots wearing leather flight caps with oxygen masks, their expressions unseen but their eyes, whether blue, green, or brown, exuding a cold and resolute determination.
The roar of engines filled the ears, almost making the distant black dots appear silently and swiftly. Experienced German pilots quickly identified them as the formidable "Hurricanes." German Messerschmitt fighters flying at altitude promptly engaged, and soon the two outstanding fighter aircraft of the propeller era were entangled in fierce dogfights, ranging from high altitudes of 7,000 meters to around 2,000 meters. Descending further would expose them to the indiscriminate barrage of ground fire!
"Attention! Attention! A group of British fighters is approaching from the right! All squadrons, maintain tight formation! Tight formation for defense!"
On the lead aircraft, a German Luftwaffe major wearing a black jacket had golden hair and though young, his eyes showed numerous wrinkles at the corners. As he issued combat commands via radio to the various crews, the Luftwaffe technical sergeant, stationed at the nose, handling both bombing and machine guns, furrowed his brow, manipulating the 20-millimeter machine cannon, ensuring the sights remained trained on the rapidly approaching black dots. In the rear of the cabin, the machine gunners responsible for defending the belly and back of the aircraft had already unlocked their safeties, ready to fire at any moment, creating an atmosphere of intense tension in every corner of the narrow cabin.
"They're coming! They're coming! It's the Hurricanes! Damn it!"
Voices of panic came over the communication channel from the captains. As bomber pilots, they were far less suave than the fighter pilots. In this era, the lethality of ground anti-aircraft fire was still limited, so the members of the bomber crews least wanted to see were the rapidly approaching enemy fighters, especially the "Hurricanes," equipped with eight Browning machine guns. When they opened fire, bullets rained down like drops of rain, easily piercing the lightweight yet not sturdy aluminum skin, claiming the lives of gunners and bombardiers. As for the pilots surrounded by steel plates, while their chances of being directly hit were smaller, the highly flammable engines still filled them with apprehension.
"They're on my right, splitting up... One is firing at me! Damn, damn it!"
Hearing the panicked cries, the German major commanding the airborne formation had a tense expression, shouting into the microphone, "Don't panic, everyone, maintain formation, maintain formation! Remind your gunners not to accidentally shoot our own!"
The massive bomber formation was already engulfed in the roar of hundreds of machine guns and cannons. Almost every He-111 bomber was firing, with strings of bullets streaking through the air. However, the British fighters, with their speed and maneuverability advantages, were rarely shot down. They often swooped in after a sharp turn, firing for two or three seconds before quickly entering another turn, keeping the German bullets in a state of constant pursuit from behind. Occasionally hit by those 7.92mm bullets, as long as they didn't hit vital areas, the British fighters could continue fighting—trying to survive until the opponent ran out of ammunition was perhaps the most helpless survival strategy for any German bomber pilot!
Although they had been repeatedly warned by their superiors before departure, the German pilots seemed not quite accustomed to the overly dense new formations. Under the successive assaults of British fighters, some He-111s gradually broke away from the main formation to evade gunfire. For the British fighter pilots playing the role of hungry wolves, these isolated bombers were easier targets than those in the formations, often resulting in two or three fighters pouncing on a single bomber. It seemed like a waste of firepower, but it ensured a very high probability of a kill.
"Oh God, two more shot down! God help us!"
The cabin began to fill with the smoke of gunpowder from the machine gun shots. The German major looked out the porthole at his comrades trailing long plumes of smoke as they plummeted toward the ground. Through the experiences of war, his will became firmer, and his gaze colder. The only reaction mature thinking could muster was to remind every member in the formation through the radio to maintain formation.
Fortunately, several Bf-109s that had previously attacked were returning, albeit low on fuel. They bravely charged at the Hurricanes, causing some British fighters to retreat at high speed, while others treated the German bomber formation as obstacles, maneuvering around them and engaging German fighters in a game of cat and mouse, occasionally taking shots at the cumbersome twin-engine bombers.
The ears were ringing with the noisy engines and the gunfire from their own side. The major sat crouched in front of the radio, one hand gripping the microphone, the other supporting the table. When he felt something wasn't right and turned to look, a row of thin beams appeared in the dim cabin, spreading rapidly towards him. His eyes suddenly glazed over, every muscle in his face stiffened. However, the holes in the cabin wall suddenly stopped increasing when they were less than half a meter away from him. A sense of relief surged through him, reaching his brain, but the next moment, his gaze stopped on the leg of the rear gunner, hanging down naturally and shaking slightly.
Outside the cabin, the last two Hurricanes fled far from the "scene of the incident" under the drive of the Messerschmitts. While the number of German bombers still in the air seemed considerable, a significant portion of their fuselages and wings bore more or less bullet holes. Some had to worry about the stoppage of a single-engine due to damage, while others had their dorsal gun turrets shot off, losing the ability to defend the upper hemisphere. At this moment, what worried the German pilots most was not the "black cotton candy" in the front airspace, but the journey back after the bombing—escorting Bf-109s couldn't last the entire bombing process, meaning if they couldn't get timely support from follow-up fighters on the return journey, they would be in a dangerous situation facing British fighters alone...
A quarter of the 162-bomber third wave was lost before reaching over Liverpool. The news reached the German Air Force headquarters in Southampton, and the German generals, led by Field Marshal Kesselring, fell silent one by one. Whether it was officers who had been holding the front line or senior staff who had recently flown in from Berlin, they could only silently await the verdict of reality—Hermann Göring, who had escaped death by a hair's breadth, the omnipotent and brilliant Hermann Göring, intended to squeeze out the last bit of Britain's air power through such attrition battles. However, the German Luftwaffe, which had already gained air superiority, was being drained in a difficult battle by the enemy. The precious twin-engine bombers were turning into burning heaps of scrap metal under the assault of a few British fighters. Those trained and experienced German pilots were either buried in a foreign land or hanging under parachutes waiting to be captured by the British army. The historical cup of misfortune that could have been avoided was once again staged with the awakening of one man!
Among the crowd, the most disappointed and angry was none other than Logan. Young, ambitious, and a time traveler, he was not the kind of person who would obediently follow orders from superiors. Having spent some time in the Air Force logistics department, he was well aware of how much time German workers would need to reproduce and manufacture the aircraft lost in these few hours, not to mention the invaluable pilots lost!
"I think we should immediately cease hostilities. This is simply hitting a stone with an egg, letting moths fly into the fire. It's even less reliable than attacking aircraft carriers on the vast ocean!"
"Hans, calm down a bit!" Jeshuennick advised in turn. "Some battles cannot be decided until the last moment! As long as we can win the final victory, it's worth paying some price!"
"Worth it?" Logan lit a cigarette, asking bitterly.
"Whether it's worth it or not, sometimes it's not up to us to decide! Marshal Reidel's fleet and submarines have achieved unprecedented results in the past week, the blockade at sea has been remarkably effective, and the army is about to launch comprehensive fortifications. In such a situation, perhaps the air force should do something!" Jeshuennick's gaze was not particularly profound, but his words clearly reflected the concerns of the superiors—competition between branches of the military often spoke through achievements, and the Dunkirk evacuation was a good example!
Logan sensed the implied meaning in the chief of staff's words and took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Why do people give up collective interests for their own maximization of benefits?"
Jeshuennick remained silent with his head down, his gaze once again concealed under the brim of his hat.
"General Logan, I heard... you've been working on a new Ural Plan recently?" Field Marshal Kesselring took off his cap and gently scratched his head, which seemed to have lost some hair recently. In the cold frontline command room, among former subordinates or familiar colleagues, he didn't mind making such gestures.
"Mm-hmm, the rubbish new Ural Plan!" Logan said self-deprecatingly.
Kesselring seemed deliberately avoiding the topic of the ongoing aerial battle, casually mentioning a "side note," "Actually, we don't necessarily need to seek new technologies and production lines. From what I know, the British Royal Air Force was originally planning to mass-produce a heavy four-engine bomber called the 'Halifax,' which should perform quite well! In the upcoming period, we have the opportunity to capture a large number of British military production equipment. Marshal Reidel is very interested in those shipyards and the ships still under construction!"
The phrase "very interested" here was quite euphemistic. As Logan understood, the admirals of the German Navy were almost going crazy over the British shipbuilding equipment and the ships under construction— the former meant staggering ship production, and the latter was the quickest way to expand the German Navy's strength in the short term.
"Hey, so what? Some people just don't like heavy bombers and won't waste a lot of resources on them, even if they can be fully captured, the result will be the same!" When saying this, Logan was already itching with hate. Why didn't the roadside bombs solve the problem once and for all? Would Göring's visit to Britain be a new opportunity this time?