Chapter 683: As Long As I Am Here

In fact, the German engines of this time had not yet reached the level of 1944 in another timeline. They could only achieve some of their design requirements by reducing weight. Therefore, while the Ta-152 fighter of another timeline could carry 90 rounds for its hub-mounted cannon, the version in this timeline could only carry 60. Of course, like most German weapons, the designers had left enough room for future improvements.

Moreover, the nose of the Ta-152 was a good deal longer than that of its predecessor, the Fw-190D, which is how it got the Soviet nickname “Long-Nose 190.” This increased the stability and muzzle velocity of the nose-mounted cannon, which was why Hartmann had been able to launch a daring surprise attack from a long distance while the American pilots were unprepared.

However, Hartmann now had only a little over 30 cannon shells left. At a best-case estimate of five shells per kill, he could at most take down another six enemy planes. Even including his 20mm wing cannons, he could at most shoot down a dozen or so. This was a far cry from eliminating 150 American bombers.

“I know we can’t shoot them all down! But we must destroy the maximum number of enemy aircraft!” Hartmann said to his squadron leader, tilting his head to look through the cockpit glass at the massive bomber formation in the distance.

As he spoke, he gently pushed his control stick, once again adjusting the plane’s direction, pointing its nose at the distant American formation. Looking at the approaching American fighters, he said with a smile, “As long as I am here! This is German airspace! No enemy shall violate it! Do you remember the first rule of the Eastern Front flight manual?”

“Any plane that doesn’t have an Iron Cross on its wings must be shot down!” The squadron leader was also inspired by Hartmann’s fighting spirit. He laughed and followed behind Hartmann’s plane, also pointing his nose at the enemy formation. “Let’s start with these fighters as an appetizer! Let them know that the German pilots on the Eastern Front are the best in the world!”

The roar of the engines echoed through the sky. The coastline of the Romanian-annexed Ukrainian region was already visible. A short flight further inland was the real territory of Romania. It wouldn’t be long before the American bombers could see the targets of their dreams.

Why is auto racing so popular in peacetime? Why are so many rich people with nothing better to do willing to risk their lives driving cars to challenge ever-faster speeds? Because at their core, men crave to be faster, more agile. This is a primitive, wild pursuit, a means of expressing the strength of a man’s will, an excellent way for these energetic people to challenge life and death.

Compared to these crazy activities, to fly a fighter plane armed with cannons, to tumble and chase in the air at twice the speed, and then to tear off the opponent’s wings and smash their heads in the most direct way—this was something countless madmen of the present day dreamed of experiencing. Of course, whether they had the courage to charge two planes against 200 was another matter entirely.

As a few tiny black dots, too small to be any smaller, fought back and forth in the sky, a Romanian fisherman standing on the coastline saw in terror the locust-like swarm of American bombers in the distance. He looked up at the sky, his heart filled with fear.

He had seen German planes, so he knew these were not German. He easily identified the German fighters, seeing the two of them weaving among the American planes, looking outnumbered and struggling. He felt that the end of his country was near. He felt helpless and alone.

In fact, besides him, there were others who felt helpless and alone. And more than just helpless, their current mood was closer to despair. While Hartmann was challenging 200 American planes with just two of his own, a full 150 German fighters were already entangled with the 150 American bombers that had just entered Bulgarian airspace.

Compared to the air battle taking place over the Romanian coast, the one here could truly be described as brutal. Almost every second, a plane would fall from the sky trailing thick smoke. The roar of the engines was like two chainsaws colliding, making one’s eardrums ache.

The moment the two sides met, the German planes had fired a dense barrage of rockets. These aerial rockets were as dense as rain, leaving the American bomber formation no room to dodge.

And so, one after another, the American bombers were hit by rockets. Because the destructive power of rockets was astonishing compared to cannon fire, these sturdy B-17s exploded directly in the air into brilliant balls of fire. With the crash of these bombers, the originally neat flight formation also became a complete mess.

Before the American bomber pilots could recover from their shock, the German fighters diving down from high altitude poured a large amount of cannon shells onto these bombers whose formation was already in disarray. A bomber formation that has lost its cohesion is vulnerable, especially when it has no fighter escort, which made them even more of a mess.

However, the American B-17, like the German “Butcher” bomber, had a complete and powerful defensive armament, including four electrically powered rotating turrets in the nose, belly, back, and tail, as well as 12.7mm machine guns on both sides of the fuselage. These weapons protected the plane like a porcupine, enough to meet German planes attacking from any direction.

But to say that these weapons could completely protect the plane would be an exaggeration. The main purpose of these weapons was protection. Against fighters designed for the purpose of hunting down opponents, they were clearly not very professional when it came to shooting down the enemy.

In just a dozen minutes, about 15 German planes and 40 Allied planes had crashed from the sky, almost one every few seconds. The sky was filled with open parachutes, looking like dandelions. It was proof that pilots from both sides had bailed out, but it was clear that the mood of these men, who had also bailed out to save their lives, was not the same now. The difference was that the territory below them belonged to Bulgaria, and was filled with Bulgarian soldiers wearing swastika armbands and carrying Mauser rifles.

If the American bomber group heading towards Crimea, when facing Hartmann, could only endure the losses and continue to advance by relying on their numbers to break through the interception, then the American bombers on the Bulgarian front were not so lucky, because they had no numerical advantage at all. By the time they realized they should turn and flee this area, only a pitiful 70 bombers were left.

“Turn! Get out of here! Reform the formation! I need to maintain formation! Maintain formation!” The commander in the core of the formation gave the order to retreat. As decoys, they had arguably completed their mission. There was absolutely no reason to be completely wiped out here for nothing.

Seeing the American bomber force begin to turn and flee, the battlefield commander of the German fighter formation also gave the order to retreat: “The 20 escort planes with drop tanks and sufficient fuel will jettison their tanks and continue the pursuit. The rest of the planes are to return to base immediately!”

This time it was the American pilots’ turn to be unable to believe their good luck. Apart from a small number of German fighters, the remaining 100-plus German planes had begun to return to base, just like them. Everyone knew their situation was dire. If they were pursued all the way, they would be completely wiped out before they could enter Turkish airspace.

But for some reason, the Germans had retreated. They had not pursued them but had let these dying American bombers go. “God bless us. They must have something more important…” It was only then that the commander realized why the Germans had retreated. It was clearly because the American bombers on the other front had succeeded, so they had hurriedly left here to go back and clean up the mess.

“Great! Gentlemen! Our sneak attack on the other side may have been successful! That’s why they’re in such a hurry to go back and reinforce! We’re safe now! If we can just evade the pursuit of these twenty enemy planes, we can return to base safely!” His words were met with a chorus of cheers. After all, to be able to escape from a suicide mission was an extremely exhilarating thing.

“Sir! Does that mean our attack on the Romanian oil fields was successful?” a young pilot asked his superior over the intercom. After receiving an affirmative answer, he laughed happily. “Great! It seems our sacrifice was worth it… After all… we’re not… going back.”

As he said this, the young pilot glanced at his plane, its window shattered and instrument panel smashed by a cannon shell. Just a few seconds ago, several of the plane’s engines had already stopped. Only the intercom hanging on his ear was still working.

And so, on the way back, this bomber trailed thick smoke and plunged downwards. After having disengaged from the battle, it was unable to return safely to its airfield and crashed in the southern region of Bulgaria. With the crash of this bomber, the Americans finally confirmed the number of planes that could safely return. After being pursued all the way and suffering some opportunistic attacks from Bulgarian ground anti-aircraft fire, the number of planes that could finally return to the base in the Middle East was a pitiful 44.

Even so, they still considered themselves the victors, because they deduced that the operation on the other side had been successful. The Romanian oil fields had in fact been destroyed, and the Germans would soon run out of fuel to drive their terrifying war machines.

Published: 2025-09-18T11:05:38.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-21T20:05:21.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c683-as-long-139175473

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