Chapter 992: German Air Raid

Just as the Americans were largely familiar with Norway, the German Air Force was also very familiar with the Allied base on Iceland. They had conducted extensive reconnaissance of the Allied base on Iceland back when Britain did not have the Meteor fighter, and had drawn up high-definition aerial maps.

When these materials were laid out on General Dick’s table, he knew exactly which places his planes should bomb. However, on the third night, he temporarily canceled the night bombing order. After repeated calculations, the German Air Force command had concluded that a night raid was not worth the cost for Germany.

“Even if the British have deployed over 100 fighters on Iceland, we will still have an absolute numerical advantage when we take off. Choosing a night raid with its inherent inaccuracy in this situation would seem to interfere with the bombing effectiveness,” a high-ranking strategic bomber commander voiced his thoughts.

And his thoughts represented the opinion of most of the others—the German bomber fleet’s attack on Iceland should be carried out during the day, as this would better leverage their advantages.

First, in terms of navigation and formation, a daytime raid allowed for better organization and coordination of the aircraft. Navigation and flying were relatively easier, and pilots could more easily maintain their formation in daylight.

The second reason was that the German Air Force felt that by committing to one massive bombing raid, even at the cost of about 100 planes, they could destroy the majority of the military installations on Iceland. For General Dick, this was a worthwhile gamble. He only had to endure one heavy loss to eliminate the threat from Iceland once and for all.

The third reason was an analysis report submitted by the fighter units. They believed that the Allied military base on Iceland could hold 400 aircraft at its absolute limit. Since the bombers taking off from there numbered around 300, the Allied fighter wings stationed there could not be more than 70 aircraft, and perhaps even fewer.

The fourth important reason came from the Navy. Dönitz, the Führer-appointed godfather of the U-boat arm, had assured Generals Dick and Kesselring that under his submarine blockade, the Allied airbase on Iceland was even weaker than imagined. This guarantee was very persuasive; after all, the initial intelligence that the Allies were reinforcing Iceland had come from the U-boat force.

Similarly, the German fighter units had also proposed their own opinion regarding escorts: although the Ta-152 fighter, even with drop tanks, could not fly all the way to Iceland to provide escort, if they took off from airfields in northern Britain, they could ensure the German bombers were escorted for the majority of the flight.

Adding to that the confidence of the strategic bomber commanders in the “Butcher” bomber’s performance and defensive capabilities, changing the bombing time to daylight seemed to be a very advantageous move for the German Air Force.

And so, after this operational plan was presented to the Führer, it was finally approved. The Führer agreed to let General Dick deploy over 380 “Butcher” long-range strategic bombers, escorted by 30 Ta-152 fighters, to conduct a strategic daylight bombing of Iceland in retaliation for the Allied sabotage operation against Norway.

The third day after the bombing of Norway passed quietly, with neither side attacking the other. Then, at dawn on the fourth day, the very moment the sun rose in the east, the atmosphere over the entire British Isles changed instantly.

At the tense commands, squadron after squadron of German bomber crews ran out from their hidden barracks. These crews included men and women, and they quickly formed a dense, neat square on the grass.

“Attention!” The ground crew commander, a Major General, walked up to the aircrews, his hands clasped behind his back, looking at all the young faces. Someone behind him shouted the command to salute, and all the soldiers snapped their heels together, their heads held high.

The Major General waved his hand, signaling everyone to stand at ease. Only then did he speak: “You are all my proud subordinates. I have nothing more to instruct you. I have only one request for you: please, do your absolute best… to come back alive!”

“Heil Akado Rudolph, our Führer!” Everyone proudly raised their arms, standing at attention, and gave their superior a German salute. They had bombed London, bombed the deserts of North Africa, bombed Stalingrad and Moscow. To this day, no other bomber force in the world possessed as much real-world bombing experience as they did. For this reason alone, they deserved to be proud. For this reason alone, they could be called the most powerful bomber force in the world.

“Move out!” The Major General waved his hand, and the huge formation broke apart. Some crew members began stowing their gear bags on the planes, while the pilots and navigators gathered around the ground commanders to make a final confirmation of their flight paths, return routes, and other details.

The German military possessed the most real-world experience in long-range bomber navigation in the world. At their peak, they could dispatch over 500 aircraft of various models at once, flying in formation to conduct massive air raids on enemy targets thousands of miles away. They had a combat record of destroying targets even in the face of dense enemy anti-aircraft fire. For them, Iceland was just a weak target, nothing more.

With the help of the ground crews, the massive propellers on the “Butcher” strategic bombers’ wings began to turn. The roar of the engines was deafening. The entire base bustled with this rhythmic sound. One by one, the German pilots made their final ascent into their aircraft and pointed their noses toward the runway.

“Final checks on all aircraft systems! Check your instruments, then notify the ground tower. Report when ready, then take off!” In the headsets, the officer in the ground control tower, responsible for guiding the takeoff, gripped his radio transmitter and spoke loudly to the pilots.

They took off from Ireland and northern Britain, formed up into a massive bomber stream over the sea, and then headed for the only Allied base on Iceland. Accompanying their takeoff were a full 110 German fighters. These FW-190Ds would turn back halfway; the escort mission would be completed by the remaining 30 Ta-152s.

The sky, filled with warplanes, awed everyone who saw them. The local civilians, who had just managed to escape the shadow of war and were busy restoring production, looked up at the dense mass of German planes passing overhead, too frightened to speak.

Had it been over a year? They seemed to have forgotten the nightmare of those German Iron Crosses circling overhead, forgotten the sound of the Stuka bombers diving with their piercing wails. But at this moment, the German Air Force, in the most oppressive way, reminded everyone that this war was far from over.

A middle-aged man, carrying a briefcase and ready for work, held his hat with one hand and squinted at the “Butcher” bombers roaring past. His face instantly turned pale. He looked around, then quickly turned and ran desperately back towards his home.

On the street corner, two patrolling Northern British police officers scanned every passerby, trying to find any “His Majesty’s spies” hidden among them. The man running back saw the two policemen and immediately slowed his pace, pretending to be nonchalant as he walked slowly towards his residence.

When he finally reached his home, he quickly pushed open the door, looked around cautiously, then closed it and threw all the locks. He slumped into the chair at his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a spy radio. Checking it against his codebook, this spy, hidden in northern Britain, began frantically tapping out a message to Iceland.

In the telegraph room on Iceland, a British radio operator carefully checked the coded message he had just received. His expression turned grim. He snatched the paper and rushed towards the air defense command post.

Less than a minute later, several officers from the U.S. Army Air Forces and some British officers were assembled. Grave expressions hung on their faces. They had all just received intelligence that German aircraft were massing—over a hundred planes had taken off from Britain and were heading for Iceland.

“General Hugh Dowding, what I want to know is, how many fighters do we have in total that are available for air defense?” an American USAAF general asked, his brow furrowed, his voice heavy. “You realize, we have over a hundred aircraft just sitting on the airfield…”

“The aircraft that are able to fly include 7 Meteors… 16 Hurricanes, and 19 P-40 Rolls-Royce variants. The rest of the planes are grounded with mechanical failures. The only others are your 20 fighters that arrived the day before yesterday. I don’t know how many of those are airworthy,” Hugh Dowding, who knew his assets like the back of his hand, answered directly.

“…” The Americans knew that very few of their own fighters had completed maintenance. It seemed only about 10 could scramble. Counting all of the British assets, they had a total of only 52 available aircraft. And while 7 of those were the newest jet fighters, the number was hardly reassuring. The deadliest part was that of those 52 planes, 16 were Hurricanes that couldn’t intercept the Germans at 10,000 meters. In other words, the effective Allied force was only 36 aircraft.

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