Within just a month of being occupied by the German forces, Totton, located on the south coast of the Bristol Bay and less than 20 kilometers from the coastline, transformed from an ordinary town in western England into a crucial Luftwaffe airbase in Britain. It ranked only second to White Isle and Southampton, with seven military airfields established within a 30-kilometer radius, each differing in specifications. Unlike makeshift airstrips, the runways here had been thoroughly compacted by heavy bulldozers and rollers, capable of accommodating the largest combat aircraft of the time.
In the bleak midwinter of Britain, sunny days were becoming increasingly scarce, but every month, there were still seven or eight good days. On the control tower of Totton No. 1 Airfield, Imperial Air Force Operations Minister Hans Rogan stood side by side with Imperial Air Force 11th Airborne Division Commander Stuudent, calmly watching as one after another, Junkers-52s glided off the runway. Most of them towed DFS-230 assault gliders at their rear, while further away, one could see Me231 "Giants," heavy gliders towed by Junkers-90s or multiple He-111s. After earlier battles, the German's super gliders gained a new nickname among British troops: "The Devil's Black Dragons."
Thinking about it, the Germans had enough trouble with Panzer IV tanks; adding wings to them granted formidable deep penetration capabilities. But surely, the British wouldn't plant "Churchill asparagus" all over their rear fields and meadows!
"When we successfully conclude this operation, let's have a classic special airborne operation in Northern Ireland. I believe that once our soldiers set foot on that island, the Irish won't sit idly by. They will achieve true liberation, right, Hans?" The veteran's calm tone, unchanged from the days at that field hospital near the Franco-German border, carried the same address, facing a young man who had been transformed through constant trials.
"Yes, true liberation!"
The young general's tone carried a hint of reverence for his elder, yet the gravity in it was a gift from Death himself. Born a paratrooper, he held unique sentiments towards airborne forces, reminiscing about the days of glory as he watched the planes taxiing and taking off. Sadly, the higher the rank, the further from the frontline; could he still crouch in the trenches with his brothers?
Optimistic, Stuudent had seemingly recovered from his severe injuries. Surprisingly, the bullet that nearly took his life left no lingering effects after healing, and at fifty years old, it didn't deter him from parachutes and gliders!
"Hey, Hans, you might not know, but just over a month ago, I was strongly advocating to the Fuhrer to appoint you as my deputy army commander. I thought it would be a great opportunity for you, but who would have thought... Now I should address you as Minister of Operations, right! Haha! By the way, I heard... the Fuhrer is quite satisfied with the performance of the Air Force in these two weeks! The Air Force command can't remain vacant indefinitely, and as for the position of the Supreme Commander... we needn't worry too much, but I think the position of Chief of Staff would be more suitable for a thoughtful and visionary young officer like you!"
"It's not something I can control; I generally don't dwell on it. As for the selection of Air Force high command personnel, the Supreme Command will make arrangements! Right, General!" Rogan turned, casting a brief glance at Stuudent. With his affection for paratroopers, he probably didn't have ambitions towards the Air Force Command.
Stuudent gave him a smile. "One should strive for what one can. The higher the position, the greater the impact one can have, isn't it?"
"Perhaps!" Between breaths, Rogan glimpsed at the gleaming marshal's baton, but the turbulent reality made him determined to temper his edges. Goering's death had implicated many senior Air Force officers, to the extent that, at the Fuhrer's behest, the Gestapo had launched an investigation. Before this, the Air Force had never been harassed by this organization!
Sensitive topic aside, the two didn't delve further. Stuudent returned his gaze to the transport planes and gliders taking off one after another. "This conversation has gone a bit far! Hans, judging by our current advance speed, we should be able to see the remains of Hadrian's Wall by Christmas! Will the British surrender?"
Rogan slipped his hands into relatively warm pockets and answered leisurely, "Who knows? Britain now is like a cornered beam, eaten away by termites. We must continue to besiege London without attacking. Every extra day is an additional torment for the British. We must make them succumb to despair; we must ensure that Germany gains a valuable Britain, not just a few islands turned into ruins! After seeing the aerial photos of various ports in Scotland, I am more convinced that this strategy is wise! Liverpool... if it weren't for the fierce bombings before, we could have achieved some gains in this airborne operation in Liverpool!"
"Hey, it's better if they don't surrender so quickly!" Stuudent seemed to have ulterior motives, but in fact, he just hoped that the newly formed 1st Parachute Division and the combat-ready Airborne Training Regiment would both be able to withstand the rigors of the battlefield. Moreover, the weak British Army seemed unlikely to cause too much terror to these elite German paratroopers!
If bystanders only listened to the conversation between the two Air Force generals, they would probably be greatly puzzled about where these clusters of transport planes and gliders were taking the elite German paratroopers and airborne troops. In reality, the answer was not singular. Aberystwyth, Bath, and Treford in Wales, Birmingham, Coventry, and Northampton in England, and the farthest drop point, Chester, just 20 kilometers across the river from Birkenhead!
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Prominent among the vanguard squads scheduled for parachuting and air-dropping near Chester was the famed Model Parachute Battalion. After forging on the Isle of Wight and in Lippstadt, this battalion had become a star unit within the German 11th Airborne Division. Hans Rogan hadn't commanded this unit for long, leaving no profound personal mark, but what truly turned this parachute battalion into airborne eagles and land tigers were the excellent personnel, abundant support, and priority supply of advanced weapons—indeed, any qualified armed forces unit equipped with these conditions would be a force admired by allies and feared by enemies.
After losses and replenishment from fierce battles, the Model Parachute Battalion still adhered to a six-company structure (even more impressive than the British infantry battalion), with an average age of 22.4 for its soldiers. The three original parachute companies were composed of experienced veterans in parachute and ground combat. An expanded machine gun reconnaissance company had motorcycle scouts and Iron Fist anti-tank combat groups added to it, and finally, there were two heavy combat companies for air-dropping—each equipped with two Panzer III tanks, two Panzer IV tanks, four armored cars, and four modified combat-type Kubelwagens, following the acquisition of "Giants" gliders. With each company now having two Panzer III tanks, two Panzer IV tanks, four armored cars, and four modified combat-type Kubelwagens, following the acquisition of "Giants" gliders, the battalion was prepared for mechanized warfare.
With the second battalion commander, Lunt Stefanberg, transferred to Air Force Operations, the current commander of the Model Parachute Battalion was Captain Gerhardt Scherme, a 27-year-old Air Force officer, a Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross holder, and the first company commander of the battalion. With heavier responsibilities on his shoulders, he could no longer be as carefree as before and, along with his battalion headquarters, parachuted in using DFS light assault gliders.
At 9:57 am on December 18, 1940, Sergeant Wolf Schwaben, belonging to the 1st Parachute Company, was the first to leap out of the cabin door in a head-first diving posture (using the unique posture of the RZ fast parachute to disperse the impact force during the parachute opening), with a flying height of 130 meters at the time. After German fighters and bombers cleared the area in advance, there were no noisy British aircraft in sight, only a few scattered "black cotton candies." Amidst the buzzing of Ju-52s, white parachutes blossomed all around, while over twenty DFS light assault gliders that had already detached from their towlines avoided the paratrooper drop zone and performed rapid landings in the fields closer to Chester.
With the landing of German paratroopers and airborne infantry, a new battle began.
"Discard your parachutes and quickly find your ammo tubes. Assemble by platoon towards the glider landing zone!" Ignoring the pain in their chests from the impact of landing, officers repeated the same command tirelessly, while also remaining vigilant about the surroundings of the drop zone. Less than ten minutes after the first German paratrooper landed, a group of about a platoon-sized British militia arrived on horseback. Their swift horses and rifles were deadly to the lone paratroopers blown a bit further away by the wind, but posed little threat to the assembled paratroopers—over thirty paratroopers from the Model Parachute Battalion, under the command of a 25-year-old Air Force lieutenant, easily repelled these outdated cavalrymen and set up an ambush on the side of the road. A quarter of an hour later, the British militiamen who arrived by car were subjected to a fierce assault by these German paratroopers, and by then, the last parachute had already fallen. As twenty "Devil's Black Dragons" landed one after another at the southern drop zone, the paratroopers began moving in an orderly manner towards that side—having 1,400 airborne troops with tanks and armored cars appearing in the far rear was undoubtedly a headache for the defending side!
Once Lieutenant Scherme had assembled eighty percent of his forces, the three hundred-plus British soldiers who rushed from within Chester city became the prime trophy for this elite force. The roaring of the MG-34s and the rumbling tanks sent these British soldiers, clad in regular army uniforms, running for their lives, abandoning their helmets and armor. It was during the assault on Chester railway station—one of the railway hubs in northwestern England—that the German paratroopers encountered resistance from British militiamen armed with Molotov cocktails, makeshift flamethrowers, homemade explosives, and various rifles. These irregular fighters, trained for only a few months, recklessly faced the concentrated firepower of the Germans, their blind bravery yielding some unexpected results: they destroyed one German Panzer IV tank and one armored car, and repelled the Germans' initial attack around the railway station. However, as the battle progressed, the stark contrast in equipment and combat capabilities between the two sides became apparent. The German paratroopers, organized into squads and platoons, employed their expertise in assault infiltration tactics, while the tanks and armored cars provided fire support from a distance. The sound of hand grenades, anti-tank rockets, and tank shells exploding was constant. Whenever an opening was created by explosive weaponry on the exterior walls or fronts of buildings, the experienced German paratroopers would toss in grenades before charging in with MP38 submachine guns blazing.
The battle, fought building by building, seemed arduous and exceptional, but the British militiamen, armed with various makeshift weapons, were no match for the Northern Soviets in terms of combat effectiveness or determination. In less than half an hour, Chester railway station fell into German hands. Next, the German paratroopers, having seized the station, began sweeping through every street and alley in the city from the northeast. However, in the eyes of the German commanders, this small city was merely a temporary rallying and resting point for the airborne troops. Their real target was the under-construction warship, immobile on the slipway of the famous Birkenhead shipyard!