On the runway, British Royal Air Force planes were lined up, each preparing for takeoff. The pilots had already taken their seats in the cockpits, awaiting the completion of final checks by the ground crew before they could launch into the skies.
"Hurry up! Faster, Jack! The German planes are overwhelming us—we can't hold them off much longer!" one of the pilots shouted to the ground crew below.
"I'm fueling as fast as I can! But damn this refueling truck, it can only go so fast. What do you expect me to do?" replied Jack, the ground crewman, impatiently.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Suddenly, a German F2 fighter zoomed past the turret, and a barrage of machine gun fire came streaking through the air. Jack was struck in the chest and thrown backward, his body flying from the impact.
"My God!" the pilot shouted in disbelief.
He leapt from his plane, trying to escape, but just then, a bomb dropped from above, striking his aircraft with pinpoint accuracy.
Boom!
The bomb exploded, igniting the refueling truck, and a firestorm engulfed both the pilot and his plane.
Several H1 bombers flew over the turret, and one by one, bombs fell from their bellies like hailstones, their explosions ringing through the air. The runway was soon consumed by a wall of flames, and the British planes parked there were completely engulfed.
The enormous hangars nearby were also a primary target for the German aircraft. With the airfield's anti-air defenses already suppressed, several H1 bombers unleashed a total of three tons of bombs onto the hangars. Though few planes remained inside, all were obliterated in the ensuing blasts.
Next, the German bombers turned their attention to the ammunition depots, fuel stores, pilots' quarters, mess halls, and observation towers. Under the barrage of German bombers, these critical infrastructure points were reduced to rubble.
The bombing lasted only twenty minutes, yet by the time the Germans finished their assault and began their withdrawal, the entire airfield was a shattered wreck, its ruins a testament to the ferocity of the attack.
"My God! It's over... This time, we are truly finished," the airport commander muttered, gazing at the devastation. Tears of frustration and helplessness welled up in his eyes. Rebuilding an airfield like this would take a long time—time they no longer had. And with the loss of so many advanced aircraft and experienced pilots, the Royal Air Force would be unable to recover quickly.
The fighters could be replaced, albeit slowly, but pilots were a different matter. The Royal Air Force was already suffering a severe shortage of experienced pilots, and untrained novices would simply become targets for the Germans.
General Trenchard stood by the window in his office, his face dark and brooding as if soaked in sorrow. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the plumes of smoke rising from the destroyed airfield.
"Damn it... The Germans targeted our airfields directly. The Royal Air Force will suffer catastrophic losses. How can we hope to contest air superiority now?" General Trenchard muttered to himself, his mind racing for solutions that he knew did not exist.
He had never anticipated such a swift and decisive attack by the German Luftwaffe. Their focus on British airfields, while ignoring London itself, was a tactical masterstroke. Though bombing London might have shaken British morale, it would not have significantly impacted the course of the war. By targeting the airfields instead, the Germans had made the most prudent choice.
"General, what do we do now? All four major airfields have been destroyed, and our fighter force is nearly wiped out. We have fewer than twenty operational planes left, most of which are newly manufactured. Our experienced pilots are almost gone," one of the Royal Air Force officers said, his voice filled with confusion and despair.
The Royal Air Force, already weak, had been decimated by the German assault, leaving them nearly powerless.
"Order the units to do everything possible to rescue the wounded pilots. Start repairs on the destroyed airfields and restore as much strength as we can," General Trenchard ordered, his voice heavy with resignation.
"Yes, sir!" the officer nodded before quickly moving to carry out the orders.
Once the officer left, General Trenchard closed his eyes in pain. The Royal Air Force had worked so hard to build up its strength, only to lose it all in a matter of hours. With the war already turning against Britain, the prospect of rebuilding now seemed increasingly remote.
The effect of the Luftwaffe's attack was undeniable. The Royal Air Force had lost over 170 new fighter planes, countless pilots, and ground crew members. While a few new aircraft remained, their numbers were too few to present any real threat to the Germans. From now on, the Royal Air Force would be unable to offer any support to the British Army.
The German Luftwaffe, on the other hand, had lost more than forty planes in the attack, with nearly thirty of them being fighters and just over a dozen bombers. Most of these losses occurred in dogfights with the RAF or while suppressing ground defenses.
Despite the losses, the outcome had been worth it. With the Royal Air Force crippled, the Germans could now turn their full attention to bombing the British Army.
"Excellent, splendid work, General Zekt!" Marshal von Falkenhayn beamed as he reviewed the results of the operation. He was thoroughly pleased with the success of the Luftwaffe's assault.
"Marshal, the Royal Air Force was simply too weak to stand up to the full force of the Imperial Army Air Service," General Zekt replied with humility.
"General Zekt, does this mean we no longer need to worry about the threat from the British Air Force?" General Kruck asked, his attention now turning to the upcoming attack on Canterbury.
"Though the British still have some planes left, they are no longer a serious threat. The Army Air Service will eliminate any remaining threats," General Zekt responded confidently.