Bombardment

Even before the German ground troops had crossed into Poland, the Luftwaffe's aircraft had already penetrated deep into Polish airspace. Dozens of fighter formations had taken charge of securing air superiority along the border, while numerous bomber groups were dispatched to their designated targets according to pre-assigned missions.

Adolf Galland soared above the clouds in his cherished, state-of-the-art Fw-190D fighter jet. He and his wingmen were tasked with intercepting and engaging any Polish aircraft that dared to take off in their controlled airspace. Unfortunately, he had yet to encounter the targets he eagerly sought. Below him, the only Polish military airport in the vicinity was under a relentless assault by ten Stuka dive bombers. The entire airfield was enveloped in flames, with smoke clouding visibility. Despite the obscured sight, the audacious dive bomber pilots continued their descent, targeting any visible structures, eager to unload their ammunition for maximum impact. A line of Polish fighters on the tarmac had been completely obliterated, their wreckage strewn across the runway like crushed pigeons. The minimal anti-aircraft fire from the ground was utterly suppressed by the 20mm cannons of the attacking aircraft. The bodies piled around the decimated anti-aircraft guns bore silent testimony to the devastation.

"Lead plane! Lead plane! Below the clouds! Do you see them? Two monoplanes! Definitely not ours!" came the crackled voice of Galland's wingman over the radio, tinged with static.

"Wingman! I'm going down to engage! Keep watch!" Galland responded as he pushed the joystick forward, sending his aircraft into a steep dive.

The Fw-190D was equipped with two types of engines for the Luftwaffe: one was a specially designed interceptor variant with an enhanced liquid-cooled engine that demonstrated superior performance at high altitudes; the other was an air-cooled engine model, akin to those used by the Navy, optimized for lower and medium altitudes and mass-produced for broader deployment. As a squadron leader, Galland's fighter was outfitted with the modified liquid-cooled engine, which, although slightly cumbersome at lower altitudes, still offered a formidable speed advantage.

"Wingman! Stay alert! I'm in attack position!" Galland announced as he zeroed in on a Polish fighter trying to maneuver away. He calmly aligned his aircraft behind the enemy, squeezed the trigger, and the nose cannons of his Fw-190D roared to life. Tracer rounds laced with ordinary ammunition rained onto the Polish aircraft, shredding it into fragments within seconds. Galland's plane swiftly banked to the side, narrowly avoiding the plummeting debris, and immediately locked onto another Polish fighter.

The enemy plane desperately tried to evade, but it was no match for the speed and agility of Galland's superior aircraft. Another burst of gunfire from Galland's fighter tore through the Polish plane, perforating the cockpit and the pilot within, before lodging in the engine. The damaged aircraft trailed smoke as it descended, ultimately erupting into a brilliant fireball before it could hit the ground.

"Captain! You can add two more to your tally when we get back," chuckled the wingman through the radio.

"Protect my tail! Next time the squadron awards medals, you'll help me collect mine!" Galland laughed heartily, pulling up his aircraft to regain altitude. "Keep your eyes peeled for more enemy planes!"

"No sign of enemy planes! If this is all the Polish Air Force has to offer, we might as well be hunting rabbits next time!" boasted the wingman, clearly enjoying the spectacle of Galland's aerial prowess.

Throughout the hour, the Polish Air Force demonstrated their bravery, launching 92 fighters in a desperate attempt to intercept the invaders. Only three of these aircraft returned, with seven pilots surviving the ordeal. On this day, the Luftwaffe deployed 150 fighters, claiming 67 victories, while additional Polish planes fell to the combined firepower of Stuka dive bombers and Do-217 bombers.

Despite their successes, the Luftwaffe's inexperience in large-scale air battles led to several mishaps. Nearly a fifth of the bombers veered off course, inadvertently sparing the targets they were meant to obliterate. Tensions flared among the pilots, with one incident of a bomber mistakenly opening fire on a friendly fighter, causing no damage but highlighting the Luftwaffe's operational flaws.

Above, a formation of over thirty Do-217 bombers struggled to locate their assigned targets beneath the clouds. The imposing fleet moved with a sense of urgency, yet confusion reigned among the crew.

"Pilot! I can't find any recognizable terrain features! We're not even close to the intended area!" a bombardier lamented, scrutinizing the aerial map in frustration.

"The lead navigator got us lost! I told you!" complained the radio operator. "There's no anti-aircraft fire; we're definitely not over a military target. What now?"

"How should I know? Squadron 29 messed up our flight path, and now we're off course!" the pilot's gunner shouted from his station.

"This is BH2 formation calling! We've missed our target! Requesting permission to return!" the pilot of the lead navigator broadcasted over the radio.

"Control tower here. Your position is unclear, and another aircraft is already on your return path. If you have enough fuel, hold your position," the ground controller's voice crackled through the headset.

Acknowledging the directive, the lead navigator responded, "Tower, we'll continue west for five more minutes. If we spot any hostile targets, we'll engage. Then we'll head back."

"Approved. Keep your comms open and be cautious," the tower instructed, the transmission ending in a hiss of static.

"Follow me, adjust course! I see a railroad track below. Let's follow it; it should lead us to a station," the lead pilot announced, setting a new course for the formation.

"Unit 1, roger that! We have the tracks in sight!" came the response from the aircraft behind.

"Unit 2 following. Should we drop a couple of bombs?"

"Good idea. Units three and four, descend and deploy your payloads on the railway," commanded the formation leader.

As two bombers adjusted their altitude, bomb bay doors opened in preparation.

"Bombs away!" reported the bombardiers. 

"This is Bomber 17, tail end of the formation. I see the impacts—great job, the rail line is severed!"

"Maintain course! Approaching a town with a visible train station. All units, be alert for anti-aircraft fire and enemy fighters. Gunners, stand by," the leader ordered, tightening the formation's readiness.

After issuing the alert, he contacted the lead pilot: "Use the battlefield channel to coordinate with nearby fighters for support. And make sure we don't hit our own forces!"

"Understood," replied the navigator, as the formation neared the target.

Suddenly, ground forces spotted the bombers and began firing anti-aircraft artillery. Although their aim was poor, it was a clear sign of resistance.

"Over the target area! Open bomb bays! Begin the bombing run!" the commanding officer ordered.

"Unit 1, bombing now!"

"Unit 2, releasing payload!"

"Unit 3, bombs away!"

As each unit executed their orders, the bombardiers watched the impact of their deadly cargo. "I see Poles down there—lots of them!" one bomber observed.

"Not for long!" another joked as explosions rocked the ground below, unleashing chaos and destruction.

"Turn and adjust altitude! We attack again! Repeat, attack again! Drop all bombs, then we head home!"

Meanwhile, on the ground a few kilometers from the action, Ren lowered his binoculars, observing the retreating bomber formation. "Looks like our boys just hit a Polish army division. Now's our chance to strike at their headquarters amidst the confusion," he remarked to his companion, Kard.

"Let's go," Kard replied, nodding.

With that, their tank roared to life, belching black smoke as it lurched forward. Ren's tank followed suit, with Tank 112 close behind, carrying seven armored grenadiers ready for the assault.

In the nearby town, two Leopard tanks lay concealed behind foliage, forming a defensive line with five soldiers and an armored personnel carrier. They awaited reinforcements—the town's other side was secured by eight German soldiers guarding 134 Polish prisoners.