Chapter 644: A Battle Across Eras
A German “Butcher” strategic reconnaissance aircraft was flying slowly at an altitude of 10,000 meters on a patrol mission near Iceland. Its four engines emitted a deafening roar. The co-pilot and the camera operator, with nothing to do, were chatting about yesterday’s meal. Everything was as normal as could be.
Ever since Britain captured the Danish territory of Iceland and turned it into a strategic base for the counter-invasion of their homeland, the German Air Force and Navy had not ceased their reconnaissance and blockade for a moment. Although the naval blockade of Iceland did not achieve the desired effect due to interference from land-based aircraft, the air force had been continuously harassing and bombing the island.
To be honest, even the two air force generals, Kesselring and Dick, were not optimistic about bombing Iceland. Compared to the British mainland, which was full of strategic targets, Iceland was an undeveloped, barren land with few targets worth bombing. The few important military facilities were protected by dense anti-aircraft fire. These anti-aircraft guns, shipped from the United States, were powerful and highly concentrated, making it difficult for the German Air Force to strike.
Another fatal problem was that flying to Iceland consumed a large amount of fuel, while the returns were minimal. Iceland had no decent industrial facilities. Carpet-bombing it with strategic bombers could only have a limited deterrent effect and could not stop the British from continuing to produce weapons and ammunition in Canada.
Thus, the mission of bombing Iceland was gradually canceled and replaced with limited strategic reconnaissance. After all, the German High Command needed to know what the British were doing on Iceland and whether it could threaten the security of the Atlantic Wall.
The latest large-scale photographic equipment was installed on the reconnaissance variant of the Butcher bomber, providing the German High Command with the most detailed military intelligence and information on ground facility construction. The extremely precise cameras could capture clear photos, including warships docked in the harbor and newly built airport runways.
Fortunately, when it came to precision instruments, especially precision optical instruments, no country could yet compare with Germany. The obsessive degree to which this nation loved precision mechanical processing was absolutely beyond anyone’s imagination. Relying on this almost fanatical obsession, the aerial photos in the hands of Akado and Marshal von Brauchitsch now allowed the two of them to clearly understand the every move of their distant enemies.
“That English chick’s ass yesterday was really round. Me and the old man bought her a beer, then gave her a 5-mark tip… Believe me, she was willing to lick my toes!” Since they were still a few minutes’ flight time from Iceland, the people on the plane had not yet become tense. The photographer was bragging about his romantic encounter at the northern British airfield the day before, his mouth full of vulgarities, which made the pilot and co-pilot roar with laughter.
“Cut it out, kid. If you keep bragging, you’ll have slept with Chamberlain’s wife next,” the pilot said with a laugh as he flew the plane.
“Don’t you believe it. The airport administrator, yeah, that British officer, his wife is not bad. She’s loud in bed, really something!” The more the photographer spoke, the more excited he got. To show off his unparalleled charm, he kept bragging about his romantic encounters. Many of the German occupation troops stationed in Britain had gotten involved with local women. Even the local British newspapers exclaimed: “It won’t be long before German children are running all over the place.”
Due to the war, a large number of British men had died on the battlefield or fled overseas. The number of British who had fled was still a minority; more were forced to stay behind and accept German rule. But the old, weak, sick, and disabled who remained were unable to support themselves and had to give up their dignity to survive.
Because of the defeat, commerce collapsed, and the continuous supply chain was disrupted. All sorts of apocalyptic scenes appeared on the British mainland: food relied on relief from France and Germany, factories could not operate without steel, workers were unemployed, and pastures were desolate due to the war. The once most powerful industrial system in the world was gone. The current British industry had trouble even saving itself, let alone producing for the Germans.
Speer’s plan to integrate British industry would not see initial results for another year, and the actual effect would depend on whether Germany could defeat the British government-in-exile, annihilate the British fleet, and successfully end the state of war. Under these circumstances, the only sector of the British economy with any vitality left was the German expeditionary force.
To survive, to get a meal, to get a little bit of rice and flour in an environment of extreme hunger, the women of Britain gave up their reserve and pride and prostrated themselves before the invaders. However, they soon discovered that these German soldiers were not as greedy and shameless as the newspapers had previously slandered them. On the contrary, these Germans were polite and very generous!
The German troops in Britain all had subsidies. The army received an expeditionary allowance every month, most of which was converted into rice and flour and shipped across the English Channel to supplement the local residents. The other branches of the military were even wealthier. The naval officers and men on the ships of the German destroyer fleet stationed in ports like Liverpool, as well as the air force units under the Western Air Defense Command responsible for Britain’s air defense, all had large stipends and allowances. However, there was nowhere to spend this large amount of money and materials in the barren British homeland. Since there was both demand and supply, a huge market was immediately formed between the two sides.
In every street and alley, one could see British women on dates with German officers. Some local British officers, in order to please their superiors and obtain food, would turn a blind eye to their wives’ affairs. Under this atmosphere, the British economy was actually recovering faster than Speer had estimated.
While the men were bullshitting about which British woman in the red-light district outside the airbase was the sexiest, a voice suddenly came through the radio headset from the gunner in the turret below the nose: “Straight ahead! Altitude slightly lower, I see two enemy planes! Request confirmation! Request confirmation!”
“I’m confirming! How could there be enemy planes at this altitude? Are you sure you’re not seeing things?” The co-pilot adjusted his posture and looked carefully in the direction the gunner had reported. His eyes suddenly widened. “They’re really enemy planes! And they’re fast!”
The atmosphere in the cockpit immediately became tense. Everyone shut up. The other party clearly did not come with good intentions. The pilot adjusted the engine’s throttle lever to slightly accelerate the plane, then opened the all-crew communication channel: “Enemy aircraft approaching! All turrets, prepare for battle! I repeat, all turrets, prepare for battle!”
All the gun turrets on the plane immediately adjusted their positions. The machine guns and cannons were all aimed in the direction of the approaching enemy aircraft. It was like a massive aerial battleship, ready for a fight. The British planes opposite were clearly no pushovers either. The two planes charged over, one after the other, and were on the German reconnaissance plane in the blink of an eye.
Rat-tat! Rat-tat! The two 30mm cannons in the nose were the first to fire. Huge muzzle flashes erupted, and everyone felt a slight vibration under their feet. But the sound coming through the headsets made the pilot and co-pilot, who were not directly facing the battle, jump in their skins.
“They’re too fast! These aren’t ordinary planes!” the female gunner in the belly turret shouted while firing furiously. “I can’t aim at them! They’re too fast! They’re out of my field of view. Tail turret, over to you.”
“Damn it! They passed me before I could even aim! Side guns, they’re heading your way!” the tail gunner cursed loudly.
“My God! They’ve circled around, they’re opening fire! Watch out!” the side gunner warned his comrades. His voice trembled, perhaps from excessive tension or excitement.
As the enemy fighters spat out dazzling muzzle flashes, a neat row of holes was punched in the Butcher reconnaissance plane by a hail of bullets. The bullets ricocheted inside the cabin, and everyone screamed and dodged the fragments coming from who-knows-where.
“Ah!” The photographer, who had just been bragging about the elasticity of someone else’s wife’s bottom, was hit in the inner thigh by shrapnel. Blood gushed out like a fountain, and a spray of blood mist splattered all over the co-pilot’s face.
“Oh! My God! Someone’s injured! Someone’s injured!” the co-pilot shouted, fumbling to press down on the photographer’s wound, hoping someone would come and help. But the plane’s cabin was extremely cramped; his wish was clearly impossible to fulfill.
“Let him hold it himself! You get over here and help!” The pilot flying the plane was frantically flipping various switches. The enemy’s strafing run had clearly hit more than just the photographer. “Come over here and help me control the plane. Something on the left wing must have been damaged. The controls have become very sluggish! If you don’t want to crash into the sea, get your ass over here now!”
The co-pilot, his face covered in blood, hurried back to his seat. The enemy’s bullets once again tore through the thin skin of the aircraft’s fuselage. The expensive photographic equipment was turned into a pile of scrap metal by the bullets. A gunner was hit by two cannon shells and was turned into a mess of shredded meat. Soon, one of the Butcher’s engines began to emit thick smoke.
“Return to base immediately! Return to base immediately! Command! We are being intercepted by British aircraft! We’ve been hit! We’ve been hit!” The pilot shouted, flying the plane to evade the enemy’s strafing runs while beginning to turn back.
“Calling all nearby friendlies! Calling all nearby friendlies! We are under attack! We are under attack! Can anyone provide support? Can anyone provide support?” he pleaded loudly into his throat microphone.
Published: 2025-09-14T06:55:41.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-05T17:53:18.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c644-battle-138854507
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