Chapter 12: The Arrival of Death

Late at night, near a makeshift airfield on the outskirts of Coventry, six large black tents were deliberately covered with additional camouflage nets. Inside the tents, lights were on, and technicians in blue-gray overalls were repairing fighter planes adorned with Iron Cross and swastika emblems on their wings and fuselages using tools like oxyacetylene welders. Among these six aircraft, four were single-engine light fighters and two were twin-engine heavy fighters. While the insignias representing different units varied on their fuselages, without exception, there were severe scratches and uncleared mud traces on their underbellies. Some propellers were severely bent, some had lost landing gear, and some cockpit canopies were in a shattered state.

At the entrance of one tent, a middle-aged balding technician and an Air Force officer in deep blue uniform stood facing each other, each holding a cigarette.

"The difficulty is considerable, sir! We need more parts, especially propellers! If necessary, I suggest using our own propellers and then painting them with the Germans' usual paint! But, all of this will take time, more time!"

"Sorry, John, but we don't have time!" The officer glanced at his watch. "Within two hours, my men should be able to tow two nearly crashed Messerschmitt fighters from Thorne. They might have the parts you need! By tomorrow, at least four German fighters should be airworthy, preferably giving our pilots some time to adapt!"

"Tomorrow? That's impossible! Even if our people work around the clock, we can only repair two at most. One is a 109 that made an emergency landing near Mursk Village, and the other is a 110 that landed on the Coventry Canal! Once we fix their lines and load them with fuel and ammunition, they should be ready to take off smoothly! But... sir, what do you want to do with them? Confuse the Germans?" the technician asked curiously.

The officer flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, carefully stamping it out. "Don't worry about that. Honestly, I don't know either! My task is to assist you in repairing them as much as possible within the specified time!"

"Oh, well, hmm!" The technician pinched the last bit of the cigarette between his fingers. "Didn't we capture and repair two 109s in Liverpool just over a week ago? Are the higher-ups trying to assemble a squadron of German fighters? But that's not enough!"

"I really don't know, and you shouldn't ask too much!" The officer checked his watch again, looked around, then pulled back the tent flap and disappeared inside.

The technician crouched down, carefully extinguishing the cigarette butt on the ground, then tucked the remaining tobacco into his pocket, muttering to himself, "Strange guy! Don't the Germans repair our fighters to cause trouble?"

On December 2, 1940, after days of large-scale operations, Hermann Göring, Commander-in-Chief of the German Air Force, felt somewhat satisfied. After making a round, he returned to Southampton and summoned the senior German Air Force commanders on the Western Front to announce the next phase of the air campaign in a tone of fluctuating rhetoric, summarized in one sentence: "Crush the British resistance at all costs and strive to end the war between Britain and Germany before New Year's Day."

Under General Busch's command, the mighty German Army had thoroughly swept through the southwest of England, and the last two stubborn British strongholds were nothing but small islands in the vast ocean. Utilizing partially repaired railway lines, the main force of the German Army had completed its assembly from Portsmouth to Bristol, and in a few more days, new ground operations would be launched. In the Atlantic, the "Gneisenau" and "Scharnhorst" had just severely damaged the British QB27 convoy, and in the engagement, they severely damaged a Kent-class heavy cruiser. Meanwhile, the submarine force had sunk a British seaplane carrier and a large troop transport ship in just one week. With the "Scharnhorst" already repaired and operating with the powerful "Bismarck" in the Norwegian Sea, Britain's situation seemed precarious. With steady efforts, it was not impossible to meet the New Year's deadline, but Göring's specific orders were for the German medium bomber group to continue advancing northward and threatening Scottish ports—to shatter the British's last hope of escape!

Field Marshal Kesselring was the first to voice opposition, citing the casualties of the German 2nd and 3rd Air Fleet, the need for a two to three-week rest period. In his capacity as Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Lothar immediately supported Kesselring's proposal. As a result, both were subjected to Göring's furious rebuke. In his excitement, the corpulent and disabled man almost stood up from his wheelchair, speaking without reservation, full of sarcasm, even using some unspeakable words. This angered the two senior officers, but constrained by strict rank, they could only sit back in their seats, red-faced and gritting their teeth.

"The German Air Force is finished!" Logan sighed infinitely. If it weren't for the last shred of reason holding him back, he would have wanted to shoot this super jerk right then and there.

Sometimes, once a strategic direction is set, no matter how brilliant the tactics, it cannot change the situation. Having spent half a month in England, Logan and Jessenneck decided to return to Germany with Göring and try to persuade him to change his strategy along the way. When the meeting ended, Göring did not mention when he would return to Germany, but after lunch, he suddenly sent a staff officer to inform that a special plane would fly directly to Germany in 30 minutes, requesting Logan, Jessenneck, and other senior officers to go to the airport without informing accompanying personnel.

"Do you know about the eunuchs in ancient times who were castrated to accompany the emperor? Because they permanently lost a part of their body, they gradually became extremely unbalanced psychologically, with erratic emotions and distorted personalities. Sometimes arrogant, sometimes petty, they distrusted everyone around them, feeling that they would be plotted against anytime, anywhere!" Logan almost mechanically criticized the Imperial Marshal who was disabled in the roadside bomb incident, perhaps it was this injury that deviated from the historical time and space that made this person even more brutal and unpredictable.

"Uh, hmm!" Jessenneck smiled bitterly and shook his head. Soon, the car stopped next to a Do-217 transport plane without any major base emblem but painted with ordinary blue-green camouflage. Since its successful maiden flight in 1938, this rapid twin-engine aircraft has produced four models totaling 63 aircraft. Although the bombing type E-1 slightly outperformed the Ju-88 in terms of speed, defensive firepower, and bomb load, given the latter's large-scale production and greater maneuverability, the German Air Force high command only classified this excellent twin-engine bomber as an auxiliary model.

"Sir, we'll be flying straight to Berlin after takeoff, so if you want to use the facilities conveniently, it's best to take care of it before boarding!" Göring's dedicated flight crew reminded each officer who had been summoned. In addition to the Chief of Staff and the Deputy Chief of Staff of the Air Force, those who boarded the plane back to the homeland included General Leutnant von Greim, who was returning to Berlin to report to the High Command, General der Flieger Kurt Student, the newly appointed Deputy Chief of Staff of the Air Force, and two Colonels from the Air Force High Command, along with a Colonel and a Major from the General Staff. Including Göring's aide and crew members, there were 23 people on the twin-engine aircraft—but once inside, Logan realized that it had been transformed into a small flying palace. Without the large support structure like on the Condor 52, the space here was fully utilized. The cabin walls were decorated with palace-style wall lamps, two rows of spacious and soft sofas, with backs and armrests all made of expensive fur. An oval coffee table fixed a very special electric coffee heater and a pot for heating wine. A circle of grooves was set on the edge of this table to hold coffee cups or wine glasses, even during landing, they would not be damaged. Including the additional food, the weight of these 23 people was less than ten heavy bombs. After refueling, the seemingly unpretentious Do-217 taxied easily and eventually took off from the runway. At this time, there were only eight fighter planes escorting directly in the air, but the number of escorting fighter planes in the periphery was quite astonishing!

Leaning back on the seat, Logan looked out of the porthole in a daze. The ground was gradually moving away, and the winter sun looked so comfortable. From his position, he could see Göring's round head and changing face through the window. Was this guy full of glue or shit?

Perhaps the most painful thing in the world is watching someone you hate laughing and talking loudly in front of you, while you can only silently imagine killing him a thousand times in your heart.

Due to the position of the London Defense Zone, the plane flying straight to Berlin from Southampton had to fly south for a distance before heading east. Shortly after takeoff, the blue sea replaced the gray-brown land. The cabin crew poured coffee for everyone, but Logan didn't feel thirsty at all. Suddenly, he noticed a BF-109 turning abnormally and flying in the opposite direction. He turned his body and looked back curiously. Several black dots were coming from the north, but the surrounding escort fighters did not form an interception formation as if they had encountered an enemy, only the previous plane went to meet them. The two sides did not open fire but quickly passed each other. When they got close enough, even Logan, a non-professional, could identify the models. The blue-green paint was a common camouflage for German fighters in the Battle of Britain. Were they here for routine patrols or specifically to bid farewell?

No, neither!

Under the glaring sun, sparks suddenly flashed at the nose of one BF-110, followed by gunfire from the machine guns and cannons on board. Watching this scene, Logan's mind went blank. But instinct drove him to push Jessenneck sitting next to him away and bury himself tightly under the seat. Almost as he completed this series of actions, bullets whizzed through the reinforced cabin wall panels. When bright blood spurted from his chest, Hermann Göring was looking out of the porthole with an incredulous expression, still holding the cup of precious coffee from South America...