Chapter 684: Fly There

The battle in the skies over Romania was still raging on. It was a bit like a crowd watching one person’s performance, a performance the likes of which had never been seen before. Hartmann, flying his black tulip-painted fighter, was toying with the American escort fighter formation in the sky. It was almost like a mockery, driving them to despair.

And as he repeatedly used exaggerated technical maneuvers to get on their tails, he was in no hurry to open fire. He would just lock on, close the distance, and if his firing angle was slightly off, he wouldn’t easily pull the trigger. He was just searching, searching for that solid opportunity for a one-hit kill.

Anyone who has ever shot at a target knows that it is not an easy thing to hit a target a hundred meters away. So, to lock onto and attack a target from a plane that is constantly vibrating slightly due to airflow and engine shake is an even more difficult task. It is, of course, imaginable just how difficult it was for Hartmann to try and lock onto an evading enemy aircraft in the sky.

What’s more, he was deliberately conserving his ammunition, wanting to shoot down more planes. This situation made it even more difficult. At the very least, the opportunities to guarantee a kill were not many. But Hartmann was working hard to create such opportunities, and he had succeeded many times. After a few minutes of dogfighting, he had already successfully shot down two American escort fighters, one with only three rounds of 20mm cannon fire, and the other with just two.

The squadron leader in the wingman’s plane behind him was not so lucky. The enemy clearly also wanted to shoot down this trouble-making, black tulip-painted German fighter, so many American planes opened fire from other angles, hoping to bring it down. But at least four American planes were shot down by the squadron leader. He did not deliberately conserve his ammunition, so he had more opportunities to fire.

And so, in less than twenty minutes, these two planes had become a nightmare for the American pilots. For many years after the end of the Second World War, the American pilots who were lucky enough to survive this ordeal still had a legend: no matter how confident you were in your own piloting skills, never try to attack a German plane with a black tulip painted on it, because that would be asking for humiliation.

In this one-sided battle, Hartmann had already shot down two huge B-17 bombers and four American P-40 fighters, and he had only used about a third of the ammunition on his plane. Since he had shot down the second American B-17 bomber, his 30mm cannon had not been used again.

By this time, both sides had already crossed the coast and entered Romanian airspace. They were very close to the edge of the oil fields. In fact, the Romanian oil fields were not just a single oil field. After being developed and built by the Germans, it had become a huge petrochemical industrial base. Many chemical companies had their own branch factories here, producing some chemical products that were easier to transport locally.

By the time Hartmann’s kill count increased again, the American pilots finally understood his intention, because he had already used the tactic of attacking the cockpit to shoot down two American planes in a row. Although it didn’t seem like a lot, in an air battle, attacking the cockpit was a very brutal display, as this method left the opponent no chance to bail out and survive.

Unfortunately, in reality, there was no law that said you couldn’t attack the cockpit of an enemy plane in an air battle, so Hartmann continued to launch his attacks with impunity. He shot down one American fighter after another that entangled him, and in an extremely ammunition-efficient manner.

“I think! You need some help!” Another voice came through the headset. This voice was not unfamiliar. It was another ace pilot from Hartmann’s squadron, the same flight leader who had initially thought Hartmann was a rookie. His sudden appearance made Hartmann pause for a moment, and then he laughed. Because he had finally been joined by the comrades who should have appeared long ago. In fact, according to the schedule, they should have joined this battle ten minutes ago.

“If you guys want to drink champagne when you get back, then shut up! Hartmann and I are about to die of exhaustion!” The squadron leader’s voice also sounded, no longer with that anxious tone, but full of banter and relaxation. “Since you’re here, let’s show them what the Eastern Front Air Force is made of!”

Hartmann pushed the control stick, changed his plane’s flight attitude, and then began to look for his teammates as he climbed. But when he saw how many German planes had arrived, he too was taken aback by the sight. At an altitude of 11,000 meters, a dense mass of German Fw-190D fighters appeared. With Hartmann’s eyesight, he couldn’t even tell how many planes there were at a glance.

“I hear you need some help. I’m the frontline leader of the 7th Fighter Squadron, Barkhorn! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Hartmann!” A strange voice introduced itself in the headset. As soon as his words faded, another voice followed, “1st Squadron of the 13th Fighter Wing! Captain Otto Kittel, with 71 kills, salutes you! Captain Hartmann!”

And so, the headset became like a meeting, with introductions starting up. The fighter planes stationed at the several German airfields in the vicinity had probably all rushed over. Nearly 400 fighter planes were now blocking the path between the American bombers and the Romanian oil fields. The ones speaking were all the most skilled ace pilots from their respective squadrons. These pilots had all requested to participate in this battle.

In their own airspace, they were all absolute masters. They flew their planes and shot down one enemy fighter after another, from Poland to France, from Britain to the Soviet Union. One could say that every one of their kills represented a brilliant story. So how many of these stories were there now? About 17,520, which was more than three times the total number of all German fighter planes.

These ace pilots originally did not have to come in such force. But when they heard that Hartmann had already begun to attack the American bomber formation, when they heard that Hartmann was challenging 200 American planes with just two of his own, they had all unhesitatingly climbed into their own planes.

Perhaps in this lifetime, these pilots would never have such a grand gathering again. Some of them had already shot down 90 planes, some 80, and many more had shot down 30, 20. But they all had one wish: to surpass the man named Hartmann and become the most powerful ace pilot in human history.

If they didn’t come at this time, wouldn’t that be admitting that they were inferior to that man named Hartmann in courage? Wouldn’t that be saying that they didn’t dare to fly in the same sky with a true master? Was this a joke? Because for a German pilot, although the sky was vast, unfortunately, there was only one!

So they came, unhesitatingly. Just to pay tribute to Hartmann, who was still climbing to altitude. Just to let their enemies know that the pride of the German Air Force was not supported by just one or two ace pilots. Because the pride of this force, of this air force, was forged by thousands upon thousands of ace pilots.

“Alright! Gentlemen! Let’s save the reunion for later! Let the battle begin!” In the headset, the voice of the overall commander of the German air forces stationed near Romania, Galland, came through. “Don’t let a single one get away!”

“Dive attack! Begin!” With one command, the roar of the engines of over 300 German fighters was a beautiful sound. They began to rapidly lose altitude, then pointed their noses at the American bomber group. The moment was like Mount Tai crashing down, and an aura of death enveloped the American bombers.

“Son… of… a… bitch!” an American gunner in a turret cursed subconsciously, looking at the dense swarm of German fighters. Two German planes were already a handful, okay? Now so many have suddenly appeared, what the hell is going on?

“Engage! It’s not just the German pilots who have the courage to fight outnumbered! We pilots of the United States of America have it too!” The commander of the P-40 fighters said, his face pale but very determined. “Gentlemen! Our target is the Romanian oil fields! Even if only one plane is left, we must fly there!”

“Yeah! Let these Germans see what we’re made of! We’re not to be trifled with either!” an American pilot said, gritting his teeth. “Even if we don’t make it back, we have to take a few of them with us! I don’t believe that all of these German planes are flown by aces!”

Just as the Americans were gritting their teeth and preparing for a fight to the death, the German radio was filled with the sound of attack orders. And so, these fighters, who had had ample time to be loaded with rockets, almost simultaneously unleashed their trump card.

“Rockets! Fire!” “Rockets, salvo!” With one command after another, the rockets slung under the wings of the German planes shot towards the American bomber formation, spewing white smoke. A full 1,800 rockets flew towards their targets. Including the white smoke trailing behind them, the area in front of the German fighters was a scene like a cloud. And the moment the two sides made contact, a massive, continuous explosion erupted among the American bombers.

“Continue to dive! The enemy’s formation has been broken! Use your own units as the basic combat element, do not get disorganized! Annihilate them in detail!” With the chaos in the American aircraft formation, the German fighters cut into the battlefield. Tracer rounds filled the entire sky, and a brutal melee began.

Published: 2025-09-18T11:06:12.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-22T19:42:16.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c684-fly-139175498

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