Chapter 991: The Price of Bombing

In the main hall of the German Air Force General Staff’s command center, a group of generals watched their aircraft on the map, flying from the easternmost German-Soviet front back to their airfields in the heartland. The massive-bodied “Butcher” bombers were the most powerful strategic weapon they could find in their offensive arsenal.

These planes had made the long journey to newly built airfields in southern Britain and were now entering a state of maintenance and upkeep to ensure a high sortie rate in future battles. Compared to the 340 B-17 bombers that the Americans had painstakingly scraped together, the Germans had pulled 608 “Butcher” strategic bombers from all corners of the country.

Their force was almost double that of the Americans. After the American bombing of Norway and the loss of 84 planes, the number of bombers the Germans had assembled was more than twice that of their American counterparts. Their bombing range was also more concentrated than the American bombers’ attack range.

On the other hand, in terms of combat skill, the German strategic bomber units, seasoned by war, having strategically bombed Britain, the Soviet Union, and other regions, were clearly more experienced than their American counterparts. They had advantages, whether great or small, in formation assembly, navigation, and command.

However, after such a long-distance transfer, to throw them into a counter-attack on the same night was clearly an overly idealized plan. These German generals and dispatchers, radio communication personnel, radar operators, and the document rooms, logistics support offices, and the work of allocating and transferring supplies such as ammunition and fuel—the jumble of departments and personnel had been busy for a full day and had still not been able to complete the operational plan for an immediate counter-attack that night, as drawn up by the Führer.

“Heil Akado Rudolph, my Führer!” General Dick, the number two man in the German Air Force, held the phone in France. Even though he was separated by thousands of miles and was not standing face to face with Akado, he still stood at attention and, facing the photograph of Akado on the wall, gave a German salute.

Only then did he speak, regretfully informing Akado on the other end of the line, “My Führer, the plan you ordered for an immediate strategic bombing of Iceland tonight, the air force is facing technical difficulties in its execution. Therefore, I ask that you give our frontline troops a little more time to prepare. We will commit to battle tomorrow night. This is the fastest we can manage.”

Akado was silent on the other end of the phone for a moment, and then he spoke, “Since you’ve said so, I have no choice but to agree. You will execute the counter-attack plan tomorrow night. This is your guarantee to me. Then I will trust you. Go and fulfill your guarantee to me!”

“Yes! My Führer!” Dick stood at attention once again. “Tomorrow night, I will dispatch at least 350 bombers to carry out a carpet bombing of all the military bases we have reconnoitered on Iceland. And I assure you, if there is enough fuel, we can bomb them again, every other day!”

Far away in Berlin, Akado said nothing and just hung up the phone. He then silently looked at the Norwegian iron ore production loss report that had been transmitted to him in the form of a telegram, his eyes fixed on the name at the end: Kleist. He had a mind to deal with this general, but he also felt that to change generals in the middle of a battle was not wise. And so he hesitated for a moment, and finally, he picked up the phone in front of him.

“Get me the Eastern Front, Wolf’s Lair, Field Marshal von Brauchitsch,” Akado said into the receiver, his voice calm.

A few seconds later, a voice came from the other end of the line. “My Führer! Brauchitsch here!”

“Field Marshal von Brauchitsch! I would very much like to know your opinion on this allied air raid on Norway,” Akado said softly. As he spoke, he once again opened the loss report in front of him, turning it page by page, his eyes constantly scanning it.

Brauchitsch did not make Akado wait long and answered the Führer’s question. “My Führer! Regarding the issue of Norway, I personally feel that the defenders and the generals have already done their best. After all, our means of dealing with a night attack are limited, and it is impossible to be completely foolproof…”

Akado heard Brauchitsch’s words, and at the same time, the document in his hand had also been turned to the last page. His gaze fell on that name he had looked at several times—Ewald von Kleist. Brauchitsch had to balance the number of aristocratic officers in the army and the Führer’s own faction. This general, born into a traditional aristocratic family, was after all a high-ranking official, an important bargaining chip that the Army General Staff was unwilling to part with.

Akado was silent, his mind calculating. In the end, he closed the stack of files and said to Brauchitsch, “My Field Marshal, I understand your meaning. I will continue to support General von Kleist’s work in Norway, but I also hope that neither you nor he will disappoint me again!”

He had to let his subordinates continue to fight for him with peace of mind. After all, to maintain a delicate balance in the army was a prerequisite for allowing most of the generals to fight without any worries. The Führer’s compromise on this matter of Kleist would, in return, be the absolute support of the Army General Staff in other matters.

“My Führer! The army will always be your most loyal supporter!” Sure enough, Brauchitsch had heard the unspoken meaning in Akado’s words and immediately said, “Please rest assured, until the air battle in the Atlantic is decided, I will ensure that everything here on the Eastern Front is foolproof!”

Akado nodded, his gaze also shifting from the loss report. He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, vigorously rubbing the inner corners of his eyes. He hadn’t slept last night either, but what he had been waiting for was no longer news of victory. This made him feel a little uneasy, because Germany’s failure had begun when the war had turned into a stalemate. The current deadlocked war was not a tempo that Germany was good at.

After a night of fighting, even if the Americans were to sally out in force on the second night, they could not achieve the same effect as the first. First, the number of planes could not be guaranteed. After all, with the loss of 84 planes, the American aircraft reserve on Iceland had dropped to a pitiful 200-odd. At most, they could only launch 200.

Next, without the help of the Norwegian resistance for ground guidance, the German Norwegian defenders, with no more worries, could organize their air defense operations, and the bombing effect would inevitably be weakened. With these two situations combined, the outcome of the American bombing on the second night was imaginable.

Although the American bomber force, which was eager to go to war, did in the end fly to Norway on the second night, they were met by an even more intensive interception from a larger number of night fighters. The air battle between the two sides had ended in a 4 to 62 loss. The German night fighter force, at the cost of 4 Ju-88G night fighters, had shot down a full 62 American B-17 bombers.

On this one night, the German army had launched a full 90 Ju-88G night fighters against 198 American B-17 bombers. Although they were still at a numerical disadvantage, compared to the first night, the ratio of German to American planes had shrunk, and the battle was much easier.

This time, only 107 of the 198 American planes that had flown to Iceland had returned. In other words, the American bomber force on Iceland had had 175 B-17s shot down in two days. Even the wealthy U.S. Army Air Forces felt a sense of despair at this unbearable loss.

If they had known that on the second day they had only accidentally cut a section of the railway to the mine and a small transit station, and that the rest of their bombing could be considered ineffective, then the high-ranking generals of the U.S. Army Air Forces would surely have jumped up and down, cursing. Because of the disparity in aircraft, any Anglo-American plane that tried to reconnoiter Norway in the daytime would be intercepted by the German Ta-152 fighters. So the United States and Britain could only bomb blindly, based on old maps and rough navigation. In addition, with the deliberate interference of the German ground lights, to have been able to hit a section of the railway and a small station was already an explosion of good luck.

The two consecutive days of high-altitude bombing, although they had had a certain effect on interfering with Norway’s iron ore production, had also come at a heavy price. Germany’s steel production had been threatened, and the high-speed war machine had stuttered.

The maximum production capacity utilization plan, which Speer had meticulously designed and debugged, had been slightly disrupted, causing the new aircraft carrier construction plan that Germany was supposed to have started this month to be postponed. This superman of German industrial management, after several days of hard work, had managed to prevent the production plans for the important German fighters and tanks from being disrupted by these two days of attacks.

At the end of the second night, 20 American fighters and 70 replacement B-17s flew to the Allied airfield on Iceland. This replacement had brought the number of Allied aircraft on Iceland back up slightly. The number of planes, which had been halved, had risen back to 200.

Unfortunately, when the evening of the third day arrived, the American Army Air commanders were so frightened by their huge losses that they decided to temporarily cancel the night’s bombing plan. Another reason that had stopped them was that the Norwegian resistance, after having been through a catastrophe, had finally gotten one of its spy stations back up and running. They had transmitted a precious piece of intelligence back to Iceland: “Stop bombing immediately! You have hit nothing!”

This intelligence was repeatedly verified. In the end, although the Americans still did not believe the content of the intelligence, they still cautiously decided to give up the third bombing plan. After all, the 70 B-17s that had just arrived on Iceland needed to rest and refit. If they were to continue to bomb, they would only be able to launch less than 80 planes that night.

To send 80 B-17s to Norway to carry out a bombing mission, everyone knew, was no different from suicide. Those ghost-like German night fighters would absolutely ensure that these planes would not return! So, after a brief hesitation and discussion, the Americans had bowed their proud heads in front of Hugh Dowding.

“Perhaps you were right, General Dowding!” the American Army Air general said, his voice dejected. “We must change our plan and adopt a more threatening offensive method!”

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