Chapter 42 Carrier? Carrier!

"What? No sighting of the British carrier group? Tsk!"

About 2 kilometers away from the Cardiff harbor, inside a seaside villa, Logan scratched his head vigorously, oblivious to the fact that such actions might make his hair turn gray prematurely like Keiselin's.

It had been several hours since they disembarked, and Lindemann had eaten something, his complexion finally improving. Regarding the report sent by the communication officer, he calmly looked at the operational map:

"The Irish Sea is vast. They could be hiding in some inconspicuous harbor or staying in coastal ports. It's not easy for dozens of aircraft to search. How about sending some seaplanes for reconnaissance?"

"No, that won't work! They're too slow!" Logan firmly rejected the suggestion. The He-115 could only fly at a maximum speed of 355 kilometers per hour, even pushing its limits, and the British Gladiators could easily shoot them down. Moreover, the farther north they went, the higher the likelihood of being attacked by British Royal Air Force fighters.

"Cunning Brits! They're like foxes. Trying to trap them is really difficult!" Lindemann suddenly sighed.

"The key is to understand their psychology!" Logan rearranged his poor hair, took a deep breath, "Wait, wait for our second batch of aircraft! They must be somewhere!"

According to the plan, the second batch of aircraft was a joint formation of Bf-110 fighters and Ju-88 bombers. In case the first batch of aircraft or early-deployed submarines failed to detect the British carriers, this group of over a hundred aircraft could search a wider area in the Irish Sea. With Ju-88's maximum operational radius, they could even fly to the northern part of Scotland. However, the current control range of the German Air Force was limited to England, and although the main force of the British Royal Air Force had been defeated, they were still producing "Spitfire" and "Hurricane" fighters at a rate of nearly 20 per day. Although the German Air Force had designated British aircraft factories as bombing targets at this stage, due to the "Wrath of Poseidon" plan requisitioning more than half of the air force's aircraft, the priority bombing had to be postponed!

In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the seemingly genteel communication officer almost burst into the command room, "Sir, we have a lone Messerschmitt Bf-110 fighter that has discovered three British aircraft carriers and a few escort vessels in the Irish Sea!"

"What? Excellent!" Logan glanced at Lindemann excitedly. Then, both of them asked simultaneously, "Where are they?"

The communication officer did not hesitate at all: "According to the data provided by the navigator, they should be about 40 kilometers east of Dublin!"

"Dublin?" Logan and Lindemann both looked at the operational map—both the air force and the army were probably less familiar with the western waters of Britain than ordinary naval sailors.

"Yes, about 275 kilometers from Cardiff!" The communication officer used kilometers here, which matched his army uniform perfectly.

Logan estimated, "275 kilometers... It's nearly 400 kilometers from Isle of Wight and 460 kilometers from France. No wonder our first batch of Messerschmitt Bf-110s didn't find the target! They had exceeded the reconnaissance radius we initially set! And the submarine unit is still over a hundred kilometers away from there!"

Lindemann shrugged. He had no say in naval and aerial combat.

"Well, that's ultimately the last wealth of the British mainland fleet!" Logan said directly to the communication officer, "Report to the headquarters that the British carrier formation is about 40 kilometers east of Dublin, and the attack aircraft groups of each wave will take off as planned! Um... Also, due to the bombing of Cardiff Airport by British aircraft, transport planes cannot take off temporarily. After it is repaired, Hans. Logan will return to the headquarters in time!"

Regarding this last sentence, the communication officer looked a little curious and surprised, but he still dutifully went to execute the order.

"Major Lant!" Logan turned to the naval liaison officer, "Your Heinkel 115 will take off after the air force's bombing ends!"

"What about other types of aircraft?" The major asked naturally.

"Leave them. There's another show to come tonight!" Logan smiled slightly, his earlier frustration swept away with the news of the British carriers.

Meanwhile, beside the only runway left at Cardiff Airport, German Air Force Lieutenant William von Bolning, along with his peasant-born partner, the short-statured Camorl, smoked cigarettes while watching ground crew members use a hand pump to transfer aviation fuel from barrels to aircraft fuel tanks. At this moment, there were over a hundred gliders scattered around the large airport, which were used by the German troops during the airborne operation last night. Some were damaged in the previous British bombings, but most were relatively intact lying in the grass. Among them were also some broken aircraft wreckage, presumably British fighters destroyed by the German Air Force earlier, ranging from new to old, with limbs shattered and clearly of no value for recovery and reuse. As for the German combat aircraft destroyed in the previous raid by the British Naval Air Service, most of them had been dragged to the side of the taxiway—Stuka, Junkers Auntie, and a Messerschmitt-109, some charred black, some with damaged fuselages. Looking around, it seemed that only the Bf-110 parked there under the sunlight was resilient!

"Sir, we only have 7.92mm machine gun bullets and 20mm cannon ammunition now... There were some, but they were all bombed by the British! It is said that the landing fleet brought a lot, but it seems to be unloading at the port! Shall we wait and see?" The young ground crew member in his early twenties said apologetically. Like in the battle of Isle of Wight, the ground technical personnel were airlifted here via Junkers Ju-52 after the situation stabilized. Along with them came some oil and ammunition for emergency landing German combat aircraft. With the arrival of the landing fleet, more combat supplies had been transported ashore, but due to limited transportation capacity on the road, it would take some time to distribute them to various positions and airports in Cardiff.

"Then load the machine gun bullets first! Ah, the cannon ammunition is all gone?" William scratched his head, seemingly forgetting the pleasure he had when beating up the British Gladiator!

"Well, there seem to be 500 rounds of bullets left!" The ground crew replied.

Camorl took the initiative to throw a cigarette to the young ground crew and then sarcastically said, "It's hard work for you to reload bullets again. Some people don't know how to stop pressing the firing button. They don't even know how to graduate from aviation school!"

"Hey, you, still holding a grudge! I just added half a victory for each of us!" William waved his fist.

"Half a victory? Is there such a calculation?" The ground crew lit a cigarette with Camorl's cigarette butt and laughed, then ran back to the aircraft.

William changed his smile to his companion, "Let's fight another one to make a whole later? That way, we'll be one step closer to becoming aces!"

Camorl gave him a grin, "Yeah, good! But let me tell you, the seawater now is very cold at night!"

While waiting for the ground crew to refuel the aircraft and replenish machine gun bullets, the expected 20mm cannon ammunition had not yet arrived. Before long, a buzzing sound came from the sky, but there was no air raid alarm at the airport. People erected sunshades with their hands and saw a large group of aircraft flying from the south-east direction.

"It's our aircraft!" The ground crew, who had been bombed before, was delighted to see their aircraft, but they were all flying high in the sky, and only those slightly larger or slightly smaller could be seen with the naked eye.

"Majestic!" William found a word he thought was cultured.

"Heh, they can attack the British aircraft carriers, thanks to you spotting their traces!" While people stopped to watch the roaring flight formation, a slightly thin, nearly 1.85-meter-tall Air Force captain quietly came to the Bf-110 parked on this runway and said softly to William.

"Oh? So, none of our aircraft from the same batch spotted the British carriers?" The young lieutenant pilot seemed to be unaware of this situation.

"No, they didn't! When you landed, there wasn't much fuel left in the tanks, right?" The Air Force captain, who looked like a telegraph pole, said.

"Well... there wasn't much left, indeed. If it weren't for Cardiff Airport, we would probably have to make a forced landing in the Cornwall Peninsula or the English Channel! Right, Camorl?"

"Yeah, who made someone forget the squadron leader's orders after seeing that British biplane?" Camorl took the opportunity to mock.

William smiled disdainfully, "Hehe, how else could we have found the British carriers? But, sir, I don't quite understand. The strategy we originally formulated was to follow behind the British after repelling their carrier-based aircraft. That way, we were sure to find the British carriers. How did it change later..."

The captain snorted, "The British are not stupid. Seeing that their carrier-based aircraft couldn't win, they all headed for Anglesey Island. Our fighters didn't find the British carriers. Instead, they were ambushed by British Spitfire squadrons and lost several aircraft!"

"Damn Brits, we should give them a good beating to avenge our brothers who have to stay in the sea for a day!" William immediately put on a righteous expression.

"Hey, although the British's tactics are cunning, now that the carrier formation probably doesn't have many fighter planes to spare, they can't escape far. Our attacks this time should yield some results!" The Air Force captain said expectantly.

"I'm already itching for it! Hey buddy, how about we go like this?" William asked his companion for opinions.

The peasant-born short guy shrugged, "I never have much say in these matters!"

"Captain, can we go on the attack?" William turned his head.

The captain also shrugged, "Um... technically, I have no authority to restrain your actions. My task is to supply ammunition and fuel for every German aircraft that lands here! However, I suppose our commander will apply for medals for you for your contributions to the battle. I guess... at least a Knight's Cross, right?"

"Oh, that's great!" The lieutenant happily nudged his companion with his elbow, "See, I told you we'd earn a medal for ourselves!"

"Well, it looks like we're really lucky today!" Camorl forced a smile.

The lieutenant turned to look at the Bf-110 basking quietly in the sunlight, and in his still slightly frivolous tone, he said, "But... we don't like getting something for nothing! Camorl, let's go! Let's give the British another profound lesson! Oh, by the way, Captain, I hope when we come back, the cannon ammunition has arrived!"

"That's for sure!" The captain looked at the heavy fighter aircraft with eyes that seemed to be recalling his childhood dreams. In those days, how many people longed to live as proudly and die as proudly as the "Red Baron"?