Chapter 997: Bombing Iceland

The weak are always in a passive, beaten position in war. But war doesn’t mercifully hold back just because one side is taking a beating. On the contrary, the very existence of a weaker side is what invites war to erupt, and it does so without a shred of pity.

The Royal Air Force on Iceland was weak, so weak that it could not withstand any significant losses. By the time the fourth Meteor jet fighter was shot down by the German bomber formation, the British fighters had no choice but to disengage from the combat airspace. In the face of absolute power and absolute numbers, their slight qualitative edge proved fragile, shattered in an instant.

So, by the time the German planes opened their bomb bays, the British fighters had been completely swept from the sky. There wasn’t even a respectable amount of anti-aircraft fire in response. There was virtually no interference at all.

“Change of plan, gentlemen!” The German air commander, seeing the perfect situation unfolding, immediately decided to alter the plan. He felt it would be an unforgivable sin to waste such a golden opportunity, so he decisively issued a more aggressive combat order.

The composed, middle-aged officer pressed his throat microphone, his voice booming to all aircraft, “All planes! Descend to 7,000 meters! We will release at 7,000 meters! I repeat, release at 7,000 meters! Execute!”

For a World War II bomber, altitude was directly tied to accuracy. Every few hundred meters closer to the ground meant a significant increase in bombing precision. After completely suppressing the enemy, or even just by arriving over the target, bomber formations would often lower their altitude to ensure the bombs they dropped would accurately destroy their objectives.

“Descending! Descending! Number 9 is descending! All nearby aircraft, maintain separation!” The radio channels instantly filled with a cacophony of voices. The massive fleet of aircraft began its slow descent, and the Iceland base was now right in front of them.

“Bombs away!” With a single shout, the attack began. Every bombardier pressed their release button. A faint click was heard in the planes, and then everyone could feel the slight shudder of the fuselage as a bomb detached from its rack and fell toward the earth.

“Bombs away! I have released!” “Bombs are clear!” “Bomber 18, bombs away!” “Bomber 26, dropping!” The headsets were a chaos of voices. The German bombers’ payloads were on their way. The only things that could stop them from destroying their targets now were the wind and luck.

“Hey, look at the ground! It’s covered with enemy bombers!” one bombardier exclaimed, even as he lined up his sight on a ground target and skillfully sent another deadly bomb on its way. The airfield he was bombing was packed with Allied planes that were under repair or had mechanical failures, unable to escape. Such targets were a rare sight at this stage of the war.

After all, no one was willing to leave their airfields exposed to enemy attack. Even if they did, they would meticulously camouflage them, hiding their precious planes and supplies. But that was not the case on Iceland. It was just like when the Germans had launched their surprise attack on Poland; most of the planes were still parked in the open, easy prey.

“My God… are they stupid? They didn’t even try to camouflage?” a German pilot muttered, his head turned, trying to catch a glimpse of the spectacular scene below from his limited angle. It was a rare thing indeed… to bomb a military base and still be able to see the buildings, runways, supplies, and planes.

In truth, the Americans had wanted to hide their planes, but after some effort, they had found it was a futile process. The British base on Iceland was too focused on functionality. Huge swathes of buildings were still covered in the white cloths they had used for winter camouflage, but most of the runways and hangars were just bare, uncamouflaged structures.

Due to the German U-boat blockade and the reduction in Allied investment in Iceland, most of the construction here was still in the most basic, ‘just-get-it-built’ phase. No one had cared about ridiculous things like camouflage.

The Germans’ cautious cancellation of aerial reconnaissance, and their failure to ever raid Iceland, had, in another way, reinforced the British idea that “the Germans won’t attack Iceland.” In the end, these thoughts had clouded everyone’s judgment. Camouflage materials had been swapped for more bombs and fuel—things that were utterly useless for hiding airplanes.

The air-raid siren wailed helplessly across the sky. The people on the ground looked up as the sky-blotting swarm of planes flew over their heads. They watched the nearly seamless formation, desperately praying for the coming ordeal to pass quickly.

“Oh God! Save us! You’ve been on the Germans’ side since the war began. This is too unfair to us!” a British naval officer lamented, gazing up at the German planes. He had never seen so many aircraft in one place, and the first time he beheld such a spectacle, it was a sky full of enemies coming to bomb his base.

BOOM! Not far away, on an outlying anti-aircraft position, an aerial bomb exploded next to a large tree, blowing its thick trunk to pieces. A massive black column of smoke shot into the air, as if announcing its destructive power to the entire world.

A second explosion immediately followed, as if rehearsed. Then a third and a fourth, then a fifth and a sixth. The sound of the bombs exploding grew denser, and the impacts landed closer and closer to Iceland’s airfield and other vital facilities.

With another massive explosion, an anti-aircraft gun was blown into the air by a bomb, breaking apart in mid-air before falling back to earth. This small-caliber gun, which had been useless against a target at 7,000 meters, was now, because it was fixed to its emplacement and unable to move, blown to bits by a lucky hit before it could even try to flee.

The disaster was far from over. Most of the bombs dropped by the German planes had not yet landed, and in the bomb bays of those terrifying “Butcher” bombers, many more were waiting to be released. The Germans were not just bombing the airbase; over 100 planes had flown to the vicinity of the port and were also dropping a dense rain of bombs.

A cataclysmic explosion finally erupted. It was a massive fuel depot next to the airfield. It had been hit by a German bomb, setting off a large-scale secondary detonation. The massive fire sent a sky-blotting cloud of black smoke, and the entire island of Iceland seemed to tremble from the blast.

Before the British could even think of fighting the fire, another bomb landed on the airfield runway. After a deafening roar, a huge crater was left in the flat tarmac. The dust from this crater had not even begun to settle when a second bomb landed not far from it, followed by another massive explosion, connecting the two craters.

The destruction was devastating, one explosion after another. The Royal Air Force’s ground control tower, not long after the bombing had begun, collapsed onto its side in a raging fire. It crushed an empty hangar, destroying the aircraft repair tools inside and a pile of bombs that someone had stacked there.

The fire burned near the bombs but did not immediately set them off. However, no one in the vicinity had the courage to fight the fire. They could only let the flames consume the area, waiting for the bombs to melt and cook off in the blaze. Some ground crew personnel at the base tried to make a last-ditch effort to save something, running around with gasoline cans or pushing bomb-supply carts, looking for anything worth salvaging.

A B-17 sat on the tarmac. Not far from it, another plane had already been burned, leaving only a collapsed wing on the ground. But this one sat there, unscathed, as if this massive bombing had nothing to do with it.

Another B-17 not far away was not so lucky. This plane had been sitting there, perfectly fine, when it was hit directly by a bomb. The immense force of the impact snapped the plane’s fuselage in two, breaking the massive aircraft apart. Its entire tail was thrown high and flew a long way off.

Immediately after, a huge explosion blew the nose of the plane to bits and threw its wing dozens of meters away. The sharp-edged wing, like a giant sword, plunged directly into the cockpit of another B-17. Fortunately, there seemed to be no one in these planes, so while the scene was tragic, the loss of life was not great.

Iceland was, after all, a military base. Even if it couldn’t hide that much equipment, it could still hide some soldiers. The soldiers, hidden in the underground shelters, listened in terror to the continuous sound of explosions outside, feeling the entire island tremble violently.

On the surface, one B-17 after another was destroyed by the German bombs. One after another, the warehouses, piled high with fuel drums, were turned into seas of fire. The runway was cratered beyond use. The facilities that had been built with such difficulty were all blown beyond recognition.

“Bombs away! Keep dropping!” Inside the German planes’ radios, the voices coordinating the bombing were still a chaotic mess. Even with all their experience, it was impossible for such a massive bomber formation to not have some accidents during a raid.

For example, at this moment, 10 American fighters charged in, attempting to interfere with the German bombing.

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