Chapter 32 Fire Brigade Captain

In the dark night sky, the roar of the three engines of the Junkers Ju-52 sounded particularly deep. The soldiers, fully armed, had stern expressions on their faces. Among them, the highest-ranking officer was a young colonel in the Imperial Air Force. Just a few hours ago, this senior officer, highly regarded by the Fuhrer with the little mustache, was comfortably asleep in a luxurious bed in a villa in Amsterdam. However, due to the unexpected death of General Püschiell, the commander of the 7th Parachute Division, and the disappearance of the deputy commander, Augustus, the rare opportunity fell into his lap. The High Command had granted the Operation Sea God Headquarters extremely high battlefield decision-making power, making it possible for Colonel Hans Rogan to temporarily take command of the division!

The key figures in this "incident" were Richterhofen and Freck. Facing Rogan's repeated requests, Richterhofen was the first to concede. The General seemed to have grown tired of someone acting as an invisible commander in his ear all the time. Moreover, the German staff had meticulously planned the deployment of the entire operation, and the only thing that needed on-the-spot adjustments was the timing of the operation. Besides, Richterhofen, as one of the most outstanding commanders in the German Air Force (arguably the top), naturally could handle it with ease; the Vice Admiral had always turned a blind eye to the internal strife in the Air Force. Since the commander agreed, his deputy commander naturally would not obstruct him. So, the three-person command group of the headquarters jointly made a decision: Hans Rogan would directly command the various units airdropped into Cardiff Harbor, and this result was immediately reported to the High Command.

Before waiting for the response from the High Command, Rogan flew from the Netherlands to France and then boarded the "scheduled flight" to Cardiff. With the fastest transportation efficiency of the era, he appeared over British soil.

"Colonel, we're ten minutes away from Cardiff Airport! Our soldiers have already secured the airport, but the runway is still being cleared. Um, it's British territory down there, good luck to you!" The co-pilot specially came to the cabin to inform, a gesture they wouldn't usually extend to their passengers.

Rogan gave the young "fan" a calm smile. "Don't worry, parachuting into enemy territory is already routine for me!"

Just before flying over the Cornwall Peninsula, the sound of exploding anti-aircraft shells suddenly filled the air. It had been almost five hours since the first batch of German aircraft appeared, and even a pig-brained British commander should have been able to guess the rough route of these transport planes. Adjusting the configuration of anti-aircraft firepower was the most basic response. With the swaying of the Junkers, the soldiers in the cabin crossed themselves. Rogan wasn't religious, but he silently prayed in his heart: General Püschiell was one of the parachute commanders he admired the most. When he established the model airborne battalion, he received great support from him. His misfortune was truly heartbreaking. However, imagining the elite German soldiers who died in flight accidents in World War II, Rogan suddenly felt that this was fate, a fate that humans couldn't resist!

After a few moments, the co-pilot came out of the cockpit again and walked to Rogan's side. "We've spotted the ground signal. There's a southwest wind blowing, about three knots to the left! It might be a bit bumpy during landing, so hold onto the handrails next to you!"

Receiving such treatment, ordinary paratroopers would never have experienced it before. Rogan patted his shoulder understandingly. "Thanks, Hank. Let's have a drink after this battle!"

"Hey, good luck!" The opportunistic co-pilot once again offered his blessing. Compared to the profound vocabulary of the East, Germans were much more straightforward in expressing their emotions.

Rogan nodded, and through the porthole next to him, he could already see the two runways on the ground marked by many red signal sticks.

Cardiff, here I come! Britain, here I come!

At 3 o'clock in the morning, in the western part of the central English Channel, some British warships had barely escaped the harassment of the German minefield. However, including the fleet flagship, the HMS Queen Elizabeth, several warships had been damaged by torpedoes. In particular, the HMS Revenge, a battleship, had been hit by the second torpedo while turning, resulting in a large amount of flooding in the compartments. At the proactive request of Captain Elsendorf, the ship was reluctantly ordered to beach itself near the shore—and as close to the landing site of the German paratroopers as possible.

"General, bad news! Bad news!" The communication officer hurried into the command room, but didn't notice the garlic under his feet, and ended up with a graceful stumble.

At this point, Forbes had completely lost the mood to scold his subordinates. He sat on his chair absentmindedly. "Has the Army's attack failed again?"

"No, not the Army!" The communication officer hastily got up, ignoring his bleeding lips, and reported in a panic, "The Germans have parachuted into Cardiff!"

"Cardiff?" Forbes slowly turned his head, his mind not reacting for a moment, just pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to the poor communication officer.

"Yes, Cardiff!" The communication officer took the handkerchief, astonished by the favor, and wiped while speaking, "And, our patrol ship in the eastern part of the Celtic Sea was attacked by German warships, a large destroyer! It seems there's a fleet on the sea!"

"Cardiff? Bristol Channel?" Forbes murmured, seemingly lost in thought. General Dutt, who had been facing the porthole, suddenly turned around and exclaimed loudly:

"Are the Germans planning to land in the Bristol Channel?"

"Landing?" Forbes suddenly jumped up from his chair, his sudden zombie-like posture startling the officers around him.

"Damn it!" Forbes slapped his thigh abruptly. "We've been fooled by the Germans! They only had two landing sites from start to finish: Le Peta and Cardiff! Everything else was a smoke screen, including that damn Wash Bay! But we lost the most combat-capable heavy warships there. Damn it, really damn it! All those idiots in the intelligence department should be shot!"

Dutt looked at his long-time superior officer blankly. If it weren't for the tremendous shock he had received, the gentlemanly gentleman in the eyes of others would never have become like this!

"Hahaha!" Forbes suddenly laughed a few times. "The damn Germans are finished this time! They dare to land in the Bristol Channel. As long as we have the Hood to block their retreat, all those landing ships will be done for! Excellent! Excellent! Excellent! Send my orders, the 2nd Cruiser Squadron and the 1st and 2nd Destroyer Squadrons will cover the Hood and rush out of the strait at full speed, heading for the Bristol Channel! Also, have our aircraft carriers move down from the Irish Sea and attack the German landing forces after dawn!"

"Yes, sir!" The communication officer quickly recorded this long command.

Forbes, with a renewed vigor, exclaimed, "The Germans are finished. As long as their landing forces in the Bristol Channel are annihilated, our Army can continue to rely on the Greater London Defensive Circle to resist their landing forces in Le Peta. We'll soon have the Americans join this war—even if not, we'll get a ton of supplies from them. We'll train millions of troops in Scotland, Wales, Canada, North Africa, and Asia, and then transport them to the mainland, overwhelming the Germans with overwhelming superiority! Also, we need to get the Russians moving, to strike them from behind while the Germans concentrate their main forces on the Western Front!"

Listening to these words, which were originally top-secret at the high level, Dutt and the other officers were all dumbfounded. So, there was still hope for Britain!

At this moment, a staff officer interrupted General Forbes' imagination untimely: "Sir! The damage control report, the hull breach can no longer be repaired. We've closed two watertight doors, but the flooding is severe. We fear we can only maintain a very low speed!"

Under the attack of German torpedo bombers, the HMS Queen Elizabeth had taken three aerial torpedoes. Although it had managed to withstand them on the surface, some watertight doors were damaged, and the breach caused by the torpedoes had once again expanded. The 30,000-ton warship was now carrying an additional 5,000 tons of seawater. It was a miracle that it hadn't sunk yet!

"Beach her, let's act as a coastal artillery battery along with the Revenge! Have the Malaya follow the Hood out of the strait! Hmph, we've paid the price of half a fleet here. Let's see what the Army and Air Force people have to say!" Forbes calmed down slightly, thinking for a moment. "Send a report to the Joint Operations Command, asking them to immediately dispatch the main force of Fleet H northward. No matter what, we must annihilate the German forces landing in the Bristol Channel—this is our only hope of victory!"

Under the cover of night, another battleship of the same class as the HMS Queen Elizabeth slowly passed by its barely surviving companion. Under the escort of several destroyers, it embarked on a new journey, but before it could leave their line of sight, the German aircraft group roared into view from the southern horizon once again. Judging by the time, the German bomber group that had demonstrated its prowess in Wash Bay last night should also be engaging in combat operations on this side!

General Forbes rushed to the bridge. Although they had bypassed the minefield, from here, they could still see the British ships, which were severely injured and could only float on the sea, awaiting their fate.

"Open fire! Full firepower! Launch illumination flares to attract the Germans' attention to our side!" The old general seemed to have made up his mind to die in battle.

"General..." Dutt looked around helplessly. Since its completion, the HMS Queen Elizabeth had long served as the flagship of the British Home Fleet and even the symbol of the Royal Navy, but unfortunately, time spares no one. They had spent more than twenty years enduring storms and witnessed many familiar companions being dismantled in the fleet reduction wave. Now, it seemed that their time had truly come to an end?

"General, the Revenge has successfully beached herself, and her position is about 40,000 yards (approximately 36 kilometers, while the maximum range of the British Mk I 15-inch 42-caliber naval gun with extended-range shells is 33,380 meters, both the Queen Elizabeth-class and the Renown-class battleships use this type of naval gun) away from Le Peta!" the communication officer reported.

"No, it's too far!" Forbes gritted his teeth. "Let's try to move forward another five miles, and prepare for the final fight!"