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"Lift the fuselage a little, sir!" the gunner on the right suddenly called out. Immediately after the nose of the aircraft lifted slightly, a blood-pumping explosion was heard from the Flying Fortress on the right. "Good, great! One of its engines is on fire! Hey...hey, wait a minute, Captain, it's heading straight for us!"
"Watch out!" The co-pilot screamed in terror, clutching his head. He had just turned around and seen the air fortress tilt to one side, its rapidly spinning propellers brushing against the upper side of the armed transport plane. Whether by accident or design, it had begun a suicidal, skinning and bone-slicing attack.
The B-17's massive, rigid propellers, the key to its cumbersome, dozen-ton frame's flight through the skies, had now transformed into hysterical killing machines. Like a combine harvester pounding wheat in a field, or a speedboat's propeller trampling across the sea, sparks and scrap metal, along with the scattering flames, drenched the entire armed transport plane—its defensive turrets, cargo holds, and wing roots—carrying everything of life and death behind the fuselage into the sky.
"Aaaaaah!" The propeller stopped right next to Haino's ear. He watched helplessly as the co-pilot was torn to pieces, falling like autumn leaves with the wind, along with the B-17 that had just disintegrated and perished, onto the vast earth.
It seemed that he was the only one left on the entire plane...
"no no……"
"Captain Haino, respond if you hear me! This is Lieutenant Angelie!" A voice came through the radio. "Are you alright?"
"I'm still okay..." He barely mustered his last bit of strength to fight against the fierce wind. "Quick, quick, help me! The driver's cab has been exposed. Can you get me out of here?"
"I'm approaching, hey wait a minute, the bomber on your left is coming right below you!"
"Wh-what?!" These words were like a death sentence, causing him to desperately grab the handrail beside him—he knew exactly what would happen if the aerial fortress flew under him.
Slowly, amidst the roar of its engines, the remaining aerial fortress appeared before his eyes, swaying precariously. The billowing smoke from its engines taunted the audience struggling on the brink of life and death like dancing ribbons, as if setting the stage for the upcoming massacre.
The captain seemed to see the two men—one in the top turret of the air fortress, and the other in the tail turret of the air fortress. Their blood seemed to be stained on the cockpit, and their eyes were wide open. Silently, the two men aimed their twin machine guns at his position.
……
"Captain! Captain!"
Angelie and Xixi'an flew to either side of Haino, only to find the transport plane's nose engulfed in a burst of sparks, followed by a massive fire in the cockpit. The behemoth tilted to one side and, with a heart-wrenching sound of its wings snapping, finally crashed to the ground as an irregular object.
The remaining aerial fortresses were now completely silent—the engines stopped, the machine guns ceased firing amidst the billowing black smoke trailing behind them, and they glided toward the ground.
“I’m sorry…” Angelie frowned, helplessly wiping her mouth as she looked down. “Griffin, can Griffin hear me… Captain Haino and his entire crew have been confirmed dead…”
"I understand. Come back and regroup. The fighter jets have already left, and we need to regroup now."
"That's really bad news," Major Mayer's voice broke in. "By the way, Captain, do you remember this captain?"
“Me? Haino?” Griffin thought for a moment. “Hmm, it seems like it was about two months ago, during the Berlin breakout. Our squad was on his plane back then? He was a second lieutenant at the time.”
"Sigh, Major Valard from the transport aircraft unit once told me that Haino often mentioned you to others, saying that you were very interesting and that he envied your abilities and the environment you were in. It's a pity that we can no longer participate in air operations together."
"Oh God, stop talking, stop talking, I'm suddenly getting emotional again..." Griffin tried to take a few deep breaths. "Well, speaking of which, I also escorted Major Valar, right? He, he should still be alive, right?"
"He just sent me some messages from the ground. Would you like to hear them?"
"Tell me?"
"Berlin is now immersed in a kind of victorious jubilation. Every American and British bomber that has been shot down and crashed to the ground is surrounded by soldiers who shout and celebrate... Only the major and a few of his men, with fire trucks, ambulances, and trucks carrying coffins, are searching the ground for the destroyed armed transport planes... He wants to be the first to bury those pilots, perhaps his own men, perhaps people from other units, people he knows..."
"Well, and then..."
"When he was telling me all this, I could clearly hear other soldiers cheering and celebrating their victory in the background... Only Valar's voice was choked with emotion..."
……
"Oh, look, they're gone! The bombers are gone!"
Meanwhile, on the ground in Berlin, on a street, Britannian soldiers didn't rush to hide in basements or other concealed places. Instead, they watched with delight as flocks of geese from the west hurriedly turned around amidst the black and white contrails of the sky. Many of the bombs they dropped were scattered haphazardly across the worthless ruins of Berlin, and beside them lay only a crashed Mustang fighter plane.
"Hooray! Today was fantastic, warriors! Come on, tell those guys from District 45 to come back again next time, we're always ready, haha!"
Aircraft continued to fall, trailing thick smoke and flames, accompanied by debris. The devastated sky unexpectedly became an exciting stage performance. It seemed that everyone was eager to watch the scales in the sky above them slowly level up. As for the slightly more casualties among their own people than those of the enemy, no one seemed to care.
"Alright, everyone, it's safe now. Let's continue with our respective tasks."
Just as everyone was about to leave, they noticed a familiar yet unfamiliar figure walking towards them from the front of the street, accompanied by several people.
"Ah, it's Her Highness Elizabeth!"
"No need." She casually gestured for everyone to bow, then calmly looked around. "Is anyone injured?"
"No, no, is it really the Emperor's favor today, Your Highness?"
Elizabeth didn't speak, nor did she show any particular joy. She simply drew her sword as the crowd slowly dispersed and walked towards the Mustang fighter plane that had crashed to the ground. The wings were mostly intact, and the white star emblem on the blue round base was clearly visible, though it was slightly covered in mud and charcoal black.
Satisfied, I raised my head and watched the Allied aircraft disappear into the sky, their black tails trailing behind them. Broken iron slag, burning debris, and shell casings shed by fighter planes and KMFs—everything that vanished in the sky replaced the winter snow, settling on the streets and alleys of Berlin. The Britannian lion and serpent emblem, the American white star, and the British red and blue concentric circles—the three emblems were broken apart like a jigsaw puzzle, floating on the ground, yet miraculously pieced together again—unfortunately, like a stitched-together monster, forming an ugly war flag.
She then gently curled the corners of her lips and slowly turned around.
"Soldiers, this is indeed a day worth commemorating and celebrating. But..."
She suddenly raised her sword high and swung it with all her might. Under the sharp blade, the white star emblem was cut in two like mud.
To everyone's astonishment, Elizabeth walked away alone, leaving behind a single, understated sentence.
"Remember, this is just the beginning."
Chapter 204, Section 275: Key Point Countdown
Marshal Zhukov made the journey between Leipzig and Torgau, from the headquarters of the Soviet forces in Germany to the front line where the Soviet troops were facing off against the enemy, an average of 100 kilometers round trip, once or twice a day. Now it was dawn, and he and General Soklovsky had returned to the city.
"I can hardly believe that General Chuikov gave me such a reply..." Marshal Map Qian couldn't help but mutter to himself as soon as he entered the room. "The Eighth Guards Army and the Second Guards Tank Army, even combined, have not yet captured the cities of Wiesenberg and Nimec. This is a bit below our expectations."
"That is indeed very unusual, Comrade Marshal," the general replied helplessly. "Furthermore, according to General Chuikov, the Britannian troops seem to be increasingly eager for battle lately. They are unwilling to give up on some key positions and are willing to fight to the death to take them back... Is it because the enemy has replaced the front-line troops with more experienced ones, or is something stimulating them?"
“‘Don’t fight your enemy for too long, or you will teach him your military strategy,’ Napoleon, who once burned Moscow, once said. There’s no way around it; this is the inevitable result of three months.” The marshal shook his head. “The enemy is a completely different army now, from the time they retreated to Berlin. Our casualty ratio seems to be getting closer and closer to one.”
"According to the prisoners we captured, the ground forces facing us and the Americans total about 300,000 men. We now have four army groups of ground troops in front of them. No matter what, they can't possibly advance more than a few kilometers, right?"
"So, Comrade Soklovsky, do you think it's better for us to launch an offensive now, regardless of the losses, or to wait for the Americans to achieve their goals and enter Berlin alongside us?"
The general remained silent for a moment.
"If it weren't for the telegram that came last night, I might have chosen the former."
"Sigh, you think the same thing as me."
……
So what was the contents of the telegram that the marshal had just mentioned, which was still on his desk?
"...According to statistics, 28 German soldiers escaped during tonight's prison break, including 3 former SS soldiers. At the time the telegram was sent, 10 had already been captured and dealt with accordingly, and the remaining 18 were still being searched. All German POW camps in Dresden have now entered full martial law and are undergoing internal searches as instructed. NKVD personnel have begun their involvement. So far, there has been no information regarding any of our comrades being killed in attacks during the escape..."
"...Furthermore, the arrangements for holding German prisoners of war in Chemnitz have been halted as ordered, with no more German prisoners being transferred from Germany to Poland. More inspection arrangements are already being planned..."
"When it rains, it pours; misfortunes never come singly."
“Look at that, comrade.” Zhukov looked into the general’s eyes. “The British and the Americans, didn’t they always say they wanted to bring those Nazi war criminals to the Nuremberg Trials? It’s a pity they couldn’t do it before the Japanese surrendered. With their leaders still unpunished, how could those bastards in the POW camps not have died of their wicked hearts?”
"We're really in for a stir now... Tsk, why didn't we think of getting these prisoners of war back to Siberia as quickly as possible?"
"Our motherland also needs to provide us with so many railways and trains..." The marshal smiled faintly, "By the way, comrade, have you ever imagined something?"
"what?"
"Hitler is long gone now, but Nazi scum is still stirring... So if we wait a few decades, a hundred years, do you think anyone will still be so fanatical about chasing the swastika?"
“Well, let’s put it this way.” Soklovsky thought for a moment, “If Motherland had no enemies by then, and the ideals of communism had been realized, then these people would probably be gone. After all, our motherland has produced quite a few foolish traitors, right?”
“Well said, comrade.” Zhukov suddenly thought of something interesting. “But have you considered what these fleeing Nazis would do if they were foolish enough to cooperate with Britannia?”
"Let their long-range artillery lock onto your command post every day, Marshal?"
"Oh, then I'll command from the front lines every day from now on and never stay in the rear again, haha, let them bomb me."
At that moment, an officer ran in with a telegram.
"Marshal, a call has come from Rügen Island. It appears that around dawn today, Britannia's long-range artillery shelled the island's defenses for about 40 minutes."
"This is bad. Speak of the devil and he appears... What's the situation now?"
"The garrison on the island did not suffer significant losses, but the damage to heavy weapons was quite severe. A Red Navy destroyer that was patrolling the waters off the east coast of the island was almost hit by a shell that missed its target."
"Check the connection, I need to make a phone call with the commander-in-chief of the island garrison."
……
The flat farmland has been replaced by trenches and gun emplacements, dotted with countless shell craters and severely deformed and twisted artillery pieces, which constitute the current tragic state of Rügen Island.
Occasionally, artillery fire from the Britannian army would still fall on the island. A colonel stood calmly in the dust storm whipped up by the cold wind, watching his comrades still checking the unique, giant shell craters for anything that urgently needed to be dealt with.
"Colonel, there's a phone call." A soldier ran up to him and reported.
He walked to the phone and picked up the receiver.
"Colonel Kojelevsky," the person on the other end of the phone called out his name.
"Marshal Zhukov," the colonel calmly replied, "What are your instructions?"
"I'm aware of the shelling last night. What's the casualty situation?"
"The current count is around 110 people. However, compared to that, the losses of anti-aircraft guns and howitzers are hard to stop, and five fighter jets at the field airfield have been scrapped. The repair work at the airfield is progressing relatively smoothly."
"Very well, then Colonel, I need you to report now on any unusual movements by the enemy in Stralsund across the river over the past few days."
“Well, please allow me to state my findings one by one.” Kojelevsky took out his notebook. “First, there are signs of large-scale repairs being carried out by the enemy at the shipyard and port in the city. Our aerial reconnaissance missions toward Rostock also detected these enemy activities. However, so far, no enemy ships, including patrol boats, have appeared in our field of vision.”
"You did a good job, Colonel. In the future, if there are any unusual phenomena, please remember to report them immediately."
"Okay, uh... please wait a moment, Marshal." He flipped through the notebook several times before finally finding the information he was looking for.
“Last night a soldier reported to me that something unknown to us may have appeared in the waters between Rügen Island and the mainland.”
"Hmm?" Zhukov on the phone became interested.
"Although their presence doesn't seem to have any impact on us, I think it must have some significance... According to the report, last night they used searchlights to spot some metallic frog heads on the surface of the sea, about the size of an adult's upper body. They kept appearing and disappearing on the surface of the sea, and it seemed that they had a propulsion device underwater to make them move."
"What is this? Is there a detailed description from the soldiers who witnessed it?"
"The comrades' accounts are not consistent, because they found more than one such target in the water. Some of those that surfaced looked like frog heads, while others looked like toilets, painted either yellow or green, and there were also two rocket launcher-like objects attached to the sides of these heads. Oh right, there were traces of bubbles rising to the surface in the wake of these things... That's all I can provide for now."
"Thank you for the intelligence, Colonel. This may be a new enemy weapon. Be sure to pay close attention in the coming days."
"clear."
Just as he was about to hang up, Zhukov suddenly asked him a question.
"Colonel, is there a problem with you?"
"Me? Marshal, do you mean returning to Poland and resuming your position as commander of the 2nd Infantry Division of the Polish People's Army?"
"I apologize for the sudden arrangement of your day off to come to Rügen Island. I will discuss these matters with Marshal Rokossovsky."
"Don't worry too much, Marshal. Contributing to our cause is not limited by position or location."
"Then, don't you want to know how many more days you and the Red Navy need to hold out on Rügen Island?"
“I only care how many days I can keep the enemy at sea.”
……
By the time it was 9:00 AM that day, the bombers painted with various aircraft insignia had already flown over Hanover, just as Eisenhower and Montgomery walked into the latter's command center.
"So, this is the Russians' reply to us?" Montgomery looked meaningfully at the telegram that an officer had just handed him. The sender was Zhukov. "Is it because of 'problems behind the front lines' again? Good heavens, that's what they said when we were driven out of Berlin last time and the time before that."
“It’s understandable, Marshal.” Ike took it and looked at it as well. “It seems we’re not as lucky as we were last year in the spring.”
"What does it mean?"
"The Oder River, unfortunately it didn't freeze over like last year." He shook his head. "Last year, before the Soviet army captured Berlin, they could ignore the bridges and advance to the west bank while the river was still frozen. Now, the bridge they were counting on has long been blown up by Britannia. It seems our enemy just wants to wear us down, doesn't it?"
“But it’s obvious they can’t hold out any longer, isn’t it?” Montgomery put down the telegram and led Ike to the map. “The enemy we’re facing now is abandoning all offensive plans and preparing to retreat east of the Elbe. The Royal Air Force’s reconnaissance also confirms that the enemy is transferring troops. Luckily, my friend, we can catch up with them before they blow up the bridges they’re using for their retreat.”
"Wait? The evacuation bridge, is it the one in Magdeburg?" Eisenhower felt uneasy at the mention of the bridge. "But I think we're still at least 20 kilometers away from that city, and besides, the only unit we have in Europe right now is the 82nd Airborne Division. As for using them, and the Red Berets, to go to a similar place..."
"NONONONO, this is a big misunderstanding." Monty quickly raised his hand to signal the general to stop. "Actually, my idea is still to have both sides speed up the advance of our troops and encircle the city before the enemy in western Magdeburg retreats, while also ensuring the integrity of the bridges. I don't have any plans for airborne operations at the moment, after all, intelligence suggests that Magdeburg's defenses seem quite formidable."
"And then another part of your British forces will launch an attack in the direction of Lübeck, downstream of the Elbe, right? Hmm, perhaps that's a pretty ideal plan." Acton paused. "But Field Marshal, we really don't have many troops left in Germany right now. Look, your British forces that have been transferred to the homeland or other colonies, that's only about ten divisions left, and that's including those from other Commonwealth countries. As for us, we currently have the 1st and 9th Infantry Divisions and the 3rd and 7th Armored Divisions along the line from the US-Soviet border to Magdeburg. Well, can you imagine what would have happened if I hadn't gotten President Truman to stop Operation Magic Carpet..."
"OK, OK, they're all short on supplies, right? So taking Magdeburg with all our might is our primary objective, and we can also keep an eye on the Russians on the other side of the river?"
……
Ike suddenly stopped talking, as if something was on his mind.
“I think,” Montgomery slowly read his features, “that’s holding you Yankee boys back from moving forward.”
“Hmm, George…” he called Patton’s name softly. “A few days ago, the media asked a very pointed question at a Pentagon press conference: If the war situation later turns against the Allies, will the European military recall former German soldiers, even former SS soldiers, to fight alongside us? Another question is: how to completely prevent the Nazis from rising again on German soil, because it seems that some people in the military have admitted that as long as they are useful, even if they are Nazis…”
“Ah, I can tell these questions are all directed at him.” Montgomery nodded slightly, though he was a little annoyed to hear Patton’s name. “But the lads are in dire need of a father figure as capable as him. By the way, where is he now?”
"The War Department made it clear to me that Patton should not be appointed as the commander of any front-line division or higher unit until the war is at a critical juncture... God, if it weren't for Operation Magic Carpet, if the Third Army still had him, he could be stepping into Potsdam with the Sky Fortresses advancing all over the sky, instead of still being in that cold room of the Army Group with empty promises."
As they were talking, another officer came in, carrying a telegram for Eisenhower.