The thick layer of clouds provided excellent cover for the aircraft but also hindered the pilots from visually scanning the airspace. After 25 minutes of flight, Lieutenant Bisshel Brown roughly estimated the direction and then activated the onboard radio, sending out the first command to his wingmen after leaving the airfield: "Apple!"
Upon receiving the command from the lead aircraft, Spitfire fighter planes flying at an altitude of 4000 meters quickly descended to 1800 meters below the cloud layer. The scattered formation resulting from the long flight quickly formed into an orderly large fan-shaped search formation. Inside the cockpits, every pair of eyes carefully scanned the airspace ahead. No one was informed about the identity of the person aboard the targeted aircraft, which was marked as the primary objective, but the top-secret orders from the high command reiterated: it must be shot down at all costs!
The tense atmosphere reflected on the faces of the young British pilots, who had been outstanding in a series of brutal battles since late July. Most of their aircraft had just rolled off the production line in the past month. Despite the crisis and time constraints, the efforts of workers in the rear ensured the stability and reliability of these combat aircraft. Engineers had also made improvements based on previous aerial combat experiences, such as adding two 20-millimeter machine guns to the onboard weapons, using more powerful engines, and enhancing protection for the pilot's cockpit.
Six minutes later, a wingman on the left flank of the formation suddenly broke radio silence. This time, the pilot did not need to use combat code words but directly reported the position of the target. At the lead aircraft's call, the eleven single-winged propeller fighter planes climbed swiftly like agile archers, hiding themselves again at the edge of the clouds until they approached the enemy before suddenly accelerating out.
At 4000 meters, the target was only 4000 meters away. Lieutenant Brown could no longer pay attention to the sweat on his forehead, back, and palms due to nervousness. He tightly gripped the control stick and cautiously pressed the firing button. Through the sights, the silver-gray four-engine aircraft flew steadily at a height of less than 1500 meters, heading northwest. The huge eagle emblem on the fuselage looked enticing, and the surrounding escort fighters seemed like small bulldogs, numbering less than 20 aircraft, apparently insufficient to deter the sudden assault of these British fighters!
Just a little closer, and Lieutenant Brown would have to press the firing button for the cannons. But bullets from above forced him to swing the control stick with lightning-fast reflexes. The Spitfire elegantly rolled to avoid those deadly streaks of dark red light. Muttering English curses under his breath, the lieutenant glanced outside the cockpit and felt a sense of dread: there were Messerschmitt Bf 109s everywhere—natural adversaries to the Spitfire. In just half a minute, the number seemed immeasurable. The accompanying Spitfire fighters, which had been a group of proud tigers moments ago, were now besieged by a large pack of wolves!
The communication channel lost its original order. The lead aircraft called for wingmen to provide cover, while wingmen sought support from the lead aircraft. Outside the cockpit, there were whistling sounds of aircraft maneuvering rapidly and the crackling sounds of machine guns and cannons firing. Lieutenant Brown barely avoided the continuous gunfire from a German fighter, then struggled to look up. To his dismay, two more squadrons of German fighters emerged from the clouds.
"Oh no, it's an ambush!"
The lieutenant sighed inwardly. The four-engine aircraft was still in sight, but its calm posture seemed increasingly abnormal—was there really a target inside, or was it just an empty shell?
There was no room for hesitation. The Spitfire dodged an incoming attack from a Bf 109 with a roll and accelerated toward the seemingly defenseless four-engine aircraft. Inside the cockpit, 32-year-old Royal Air Force Lieutenant Brown gritted his teeth. At 3500 meters, no, even if it was just 4000 meters, he had to aim the cannons at the fuselage for a long burst!
In ancient battlefields, there were plenty of heroic scenes where warriors faced tens or hundreds of enemies. Times had changed, and propeller-driven metal aircraft had replaced light cavalry. The battlefield now extended to the high skies, where sharp bullets with high kinetic energy flew. Ahead of Lieutenant Brown's lead aircraft, two Spitfires had already charged toward the conspicuous airborne target regardless of the odds. But a squadron of Messerschmitt fighters, seemingly lying in wait, swooped in like vultures, and their powerful machine gun bullets immediately blew up one Spitfire's engine. The other one didn't escape the dense barrage either; its transparent canopy turned into a hornet's nest, and the aircraft, like a horse without its rider, plummeted helplessly toward the sea.
Lieutenant Bisshel Brown was both shocked and frustrated. He tried to focus on the sights in front of him, but the constant movement of shadows and the ubiquitous gunfire made it impossible. Fighting against his instinctive reactions, he pushed the control stick, urging his aircraft straight toward the target. Before reaching the 4000-meter threshold, he pressed the cannon firing button. Amidst the thunderous roar, the cockpit trembled visibly as a series of tracers sped towards the distance. But under the influence of gravity and wind, they deviated significantly after flying several kilometers. Just as he was about to lose this opportunity for an attack, a Bf 109 from the side also opened fire at him. With a determined heart, the Royal Air Force lieutenant adjusted his posture mid-flight. In the blink of an eye, propeller sparks flew, and bullets whizzed past the cockpit with a sharp crackling sound. Glass shards brushed his face without pain. The blue sky and white clouds slowly turned crimson...
At the German airfield in Southampton, dozens of Luftwaffe officers in long coats anxiously gazed southward. Even Field Marshal Kesselring, who held the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Western Air Force, abandoned his usual composure, frequently checking his watch and occasionally giving instructions to his staff.
"They're coming!" A officer pointed to the southern sky, where faint black dots could be seen.
"God help us!" More than one person crossed themselves, but what they were praying for, perhaps only God and themselves knew.
At this moment, Hans Roggen, the chief of operations for the German Air Force, standing in the front row, couldn't afford to observe others' expressions in a corner like he had in Aachen. On the contrary, every subtle reaction from him might be magnified in the eyes of others. His face in the wind was as cold as ice, but rather than being extremely calm, it was more accurate to say it was resolute.
The escorting Messerschmitt fighters whizzed past the airfield, and one seemed to be damaged. Suddenly, black smoke billowed from its engine, and a small black dot detached from the aircraft. Soon after, the blue-green painted Bf 109 wailed as it plummeted away, leaving a white parachute in the sky.
The massive Ju-90 was not affected by this mishap. It landed steadily at the end of the 600-meter runway, with its four large BMW engines providing 4500 horsepower to the nearly two-meter-radius three-blade propeller. The rounded nose looked like a huge eel's head, and the tail featured the popular oversized horizontal stabilizer of the time. Under the sunlight, the silver-gray fuselage gleamed with a cold metallic luster. Watching from afar, Roggen had a feeling of "searching among a thousand peaks"—wasn't there any room to improve this four-engine bomber into a real bomber?
Of course, this thought only flashed through Roggen's mind. Obviously, there were more important things waiting for him.
Under everyone's gaze, the cockpit door opened. However, it wasn't Hermann Göring and his aides who emerged from inside but several strangers wearing German Air Force officer uniforms.
Faced with this situation, the German officers who had been waiting at the airfield for over an hour looked at each other in astonishment. What followed was a report that left them speechless: the night before, a fighter squadron from the German 1st Air Force, secretly dispatched from Germany to Lille, shot down 11 British Spitfire fighters over the English Channel, losing only 2 Bf 109E fighters themselves!
Even more unexpectedly, just two hours later, Reich Marshal and Air Force Commander-in-Chief Hermann Göring arrived in England aboard a modified Do 217 twin-engine aircraft. This reconnaissance/bomber aircraft, which was considered an enlarged version of the Do 17, didn't have spacious and comfortable cabins, but its greatest feature was speed. With a top speed of 540 kilometers per hour, it surpassed any other German transport aircraft, such as the He 111, Ju 88, or any other at the time. However... there were only 8 Bf 109 fighters escorting it!
After successfully arriving in England, Hermann Göring, seated in a wheelchair, immediately inspected the German Air Force officers deployed at major airfields in southern England. He called on the German pilots to withstand the current pressure and completely crush the resistance of the Royal Air Force with relentless continuous bombing. Under his personal intervention, the German Air Force stationed on the Western Front launched a large-scale night bombing operation codenamed "Longbow". The German aircraft dropped a large number of high-explosive bombs and incendiary bombs on several British industrial cities, including Birmingham and Manchester, causing them to burn day and night. Moreover, the German Air Force's bomber formations intruded into London's airspace during the day, bombing factories, shipyards, and military facilities along the Thames coast, successfully sinking the British anti-aircraft cruiser "Moon Goddess" and over a dozen other ships. This series of actions seemed to announce to the entire world that the arrogant Hermann Göring was back!
On the German side, most people would never think that extreme arrogance often meant enemies lurking all around, each one grinning in the darkness, watching that irresistible power!