Chapter 687: A War That Tastes Different

Hartmann, flying his fighter, expertly locked onto a Soviet plane. He was familiar with the performance of his opponent’s aircraft. Compared to the less familiar American adversary, his experience in dealing with Soviet fighter pilots could be described as very seasoned.

For him, everything had returned to its usual state: familiar opponents, familiar camouflage. He was accustomed to locking onto the enemy’s plane with his sights, then easily opening fire and shooting down these pitiful creatures who were making futile struggles. Watching the slightly clumsy and old-fashioned grass-green planes explode into brilliant balls of fire in the sky, Hartmann felt that life was still the familiar way he knew it.

In the skies of the Eastern Front, the German Air Force was rarely matched. Even when the fighter planes of both sides encountered each other, the cheap Soviet pilots were completely unable to pose a fatal threat to the German fighters. Now that the battle had turned into Soviet pilots protecting their bombers while the Germans attacked at will, there was even less suspense. The entire battlefield had become a feast of slaughter, with German fighters chasing and killing Soviet fighters and bombers everywhere, like a flock of eagles chasing a flock of sparrows.

The German fighters had a clear advantage in speed, so both Soviet and American pilots used horizontal maneuvers to shake off the faster German planes. Sometimes, Soviet pilots would even lose altitude, luring inexperienced German pilots into a low-altitude dogfight to negate the German planes’ advantage in speed and vertical maneuvers.

However, now that the American and Soviet fighters had been “kidnapped” by the bombers to high altitude, a combat zone where the German fighters excelled, their fate was sealed. In any case, Hartmann had never had such an easy time attacking Soviet planes. He easily accelerated and dived, turning the opposing Soviet fighter into fragments with his cannons. Then, without even bothering to pull up and regain altitude, he engaged another Soviet fighter.

He made a beautiful turn to adjust his flight direction. During the turn, he pointed his nose at a Soviet bomber. Then, using his experience, he suddenly opened fire from a strange angle. Because the maneuver was so violent, the tracer rounds mixed in with the cannon shells flew out of the barrel at a sharp curve. But after a short flight, these shells, as if they had eyes, struck the pitiful SB-2 bomber.

Without even a glance at the smoking Soviet bomber, Hartmann flew his plane towards another target. The smoking bomber began to fall to the ground, the thick smoke turning into a dazzling fireball before it crashed. The culprit here was already firing at a second SB-2 bomber, racking up another kill.

If one had to say what was different about today, it was that on any normal day, the Soviet Air Force could not have assembled so many planes to deliver “warmth from a thousand miles” to the German pilots. But today, this had actually happened, and on such a large scale. It seemed that it had not happened since the great air battle at the beginning of the German-Soviet war in 1938.

It wasn’t just Hartmann who was slaughtering his opponents; the other German fighters were also continuing their attacks. They flew their fighters back and forth through the Soviet bomber formation, shooting down the twin-engine medium bombers one after another. This bomber’s English designation was SB-2. Its performance was not bad, but compared to the American B-17s that the German pilots had just attacked, it was clearly a notch below. This plane’s defensive armament was obviously not as comprehensive or powerful as the B-17’s. When facing German fighters, in most cases, it could only wait to die.

Moreover, this plane was not as sturdy as the B-17. The German fighters did not need to waste 30mm ammunition to attack this medium bomber. In fact, the 20mm cannon could effectively damage this aircraft, and the effect was similar to attacking a smaller fighter. With just one short burst, this bomber would smoke and crash, with few exceptions.

In the end, Hartmann reluctantly flew his plane back to high altitude, looked down at the messy and smoke-filled Soviet bomber formation, and reluctantly rejoined the returning formation. In his last dive attack, he had fired the last few rounds of ammunition from his plane, shooting down a clumsy and slow SB-2 bomber, completing his combat for the day.

The squadron leader in the wingman’s plane behind him had long since run out of ammunition. He could only follow behind the lead plane, putting on a menacing appearance to prevent Hartmann from being isolated and helpless, and also to help Hartmann watch his blind spots. Given that the two of them were already infamous among the Soviet pilots, no Soviet fighters actually came to trouble them. The two planes rampaged through the enemy formation, and no one even tried to get on their tails. It was an incredible and legendary story.

At this time, many German fighters had also run out of ammunition. After all, a reserve of less than 300 rounds was a bit too tight for a hunt where there were enemy planes everywhere. So the sky was full of returning German fighters. They flew back to their respective airfields in twos and threes, looking like tourists returning home after a dinner party, strolling at a leisurely pace.

The number of planes in the entire airspace was getting smaller and smaller. On the Soviet and American side, it was because more planes had been shot down and crashed by German fighters. On the German side, it was because more fighters had run out of ammunition and were returning to base. The spectacular scene of hundreds of planes entangled in the air at the beginning was gradually coming to an end.

As time passed, some American planes did eventually reach the edge of the target. They dropped their bombs, destroying some buildings and civilian houses, and causing fires and some limited casualties. This was the first time since the beginning of the war that the Romanian oil fields had been attacked by enemy aircraft, or rather, the first time they had been successfully attacked.

The plane piloted by Powell was not the only American suicide attack that day. In fact, at least three American planes had chosen to crash into their targets to complete their planned attack mission. However, only two planes had successfully hit their targets. The third plane was in very poor condition. In the process of crashing, or rather, heading towards its target, its wing broke off, causing it to veer off course and crash into a civilian house.

By comparison, the Soviet bomber force, because they were further away and their resolve for the campaign was weaker, did not get as close as the American bomber formation. As they made their effort to approach the oil field target, the second wave of German fighters arrived on the battlefield, completely extinguishing the last hopes of these Soviet pilots.

The second wave of fighters was the same group of German fighters that had hastily let the American decoy bomber formation go north. The main reason they had returned to base in such a hurry was because they had received orders to return to their own bases to replenish fuel and ammunition to meet a possible second attack. The facts proved that Galland’s decision was absolutely prescient. If these fighters had not arrived in time, the Soviet bombers might have really been able to inflict a certain degree of damage on the Romanian oil fields.

The battle broke out in the sky for a third time. The German fighters seemed to appear endlessly. The Soviet planes were eventually almost all shot down within Romanian territory. The Soviet records stated that the entire force was wiped out, while the German summary report claimed that about 10 Soviet planes had escaped. As for who was more accurate, it was no longer important.

Similarly, the losses of the American bomber force were also very huge, even to the point of being almost completely wiped out. Apart from a few planes that escaped midway, most of the American planes that participated in the operation were shot down. They had interpreted their duty as soldiers with their lives. No matter what the mission, a soldier will resolutely carry out the orders given to him for the sake of victory.

At the same time, this raid had completely awakened the German Air Force from its warm bed of invincibility. In the previous battles, the German Air Force had always seen itself as a hunter. They would take off, hunt, and interpret the knightly air combat with elegance and agility. But all of that was shattered today. The sky was no longer azure, and air combat was no longer gentlemanly. The enemy planes, regardless of losses, flew to complete their distant campaign objectives, casting a dark red, tragic shadow over the entire battle.

Looking at a collapsed and burning civilian building, at the broken rubble and glass scattered across the once-clean streets and alleys, although this was Romania, the German defenders and officers for the first time witnessed the cruelty of war, for the first time felt that the enemy’s guns were right beside them, and not so far away.

Not far away, a fuel depot stockpiled by a petrochemical company was exploding, the thick black smoke visible for several kilometers. The whole city could hear the terrifying explosions and the wail of air raid sirens. This place was like London a year ago. Although the damage was light, the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder. War had never been so close to this place.

“Send a report to Berlin. Our performance this time was really not good,” Galland said, giving his order with resignation after the workers and military repair teams had fixed the petrochemical company’s equipment. His voice was filled with a bitter taste.

Published: 2025-09-18T11:07:50.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-27T18:42:21.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c687-war-139175562

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