Chapter 228: Startled a Flock of Gulls and Herons
Paris.
British commander Montgomery and Pétain, who had rushed there overnight, gathered in the tactical discussion room with a group of senior officers, each offering advice for the next stage of planning.
"Marshal Pétain, do you still have tank units that can be mobilized?"
Pétain nodded.
"We still have one tank division stationed near Paris. It is already moving toward the Meuse River and is expected to reach the river defense line within three days."
His finger pressed against the sandbox.
"The Germans are bold. Very bold. But this boldness will cost them their lives."
The next moment, the tightly shut door of the tactical room was suddenly struck from outside.
Bang, bang, bang.
The adjutant pushed open the door, panting heavily as he repeated, "Your Excellency Marshal! The Meuse defense line has been breached."
London, Britain.
With a pipe in his mouth, Churchill once again spoke to the assembled generals.
"Gentlemen, I know some people in the Army still harbor defeatist ideas, believing Germany to be unstoppable."
He swept his gaze across the room.
"I will repeat this once more. Britain will fight Germany to the end. Just as we won the Great War, we will win this war as well."
A staff officer reported, "Your Excellency Prime Minister, the first contingent of one hundred thousand Army troops is being transported to Paris by train. Mr. Daladier is asking whether we can dispatch warships to relieve naval pressure in the Mediterranean. Germany's aircraft carriers and submarines have greatly hindered their landing plan against Athens."
Before he could finish speaking, the telephone rang.
Ding-a-ling-ling.
Churchill picked up the receiver. His face suddenly turned grave.
"Say that again. Is the situation confirmed?"
"It is confirmed, Mr. Prime Minister. The Meuse River defense line has been breached. The Germans erected pontoon bridges overnight. Damn it, who knows why they move so fast."
Churchill put down the receiver.
He naturally understood the importance of the Meuse River defense line.
Once the Meuse River defense line was breached, Germany's last true obstacle would no longer exist. The plains beyond were perfect terrain for tank advances.
If Germany could cross a natural barrier like the Ardennes Mountains in only two days, then how many days would they need to cross the flat plains of France?
Four?
"What is going on?"
Churchill's voice sharpened.
"Did Daladier not promise me that the Meuse River could be defended for at least a week? How is it that in less than a day, Germany not only broke through the river front but even built pontoon bridges?"
The other end of the telephone fell silent for a moment.
Then the voice replied gloomily, "Your Excellency Prime Minister, Germany deployed more than five hundred bombers and continuously dropped bombs on the river front for six hours."
"I understand."
What had happened had already happened.
No amount of blame could reverse it.
Churchill hung up the telephone and looked around the room. His gaze fell directly on the Air Force representative seated nearby.
"Chief of the Air Staff Charles Portal. How many fighters does the Air Force currently have available?"
After a brief moment of thought, Charles Portal replied, "Fifteen fighter squadrons and eight bomber squadrons can be immediately dispatched from the homeland."
"Dispatch twelve fighter squadrons and five bomber squadrons to reinforce France."
Churchill's tone left no room for negotiation.
"Even if they must crash, the fighters must seize air superiority over the Meuse River. Even if they must carry out suicide attacks, the bombers must destroy Germany's pontoon bridges."
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Churchill continued urgently, "The German Army must not be allowed to break through the Meuse River again. Once this line is fully consolidated by Germany, a continuous stream of supplies will be transported from the Ardennes to Sedan."
"With Germany's massive industrial capacity, they can directly establish an unobstructed supply line and keep feeding fuel to their tank units."
Churchill put down his pipe and drank the rum in his glass in one gulp.
The fiery liquid burned down his throat like the roaring muzzles of German artillery.
"The Navy will not provide direct support. Spain must have set up dense defenses in the Strait of Gibraltar. Transporting forces through the Red Sea will take too long."
He looked at the map.
"Are the Spanish not invading Portugal? Speak with the Portuguese and see whether we can resolve Spain."
Looking at the map, Churchill sighed.
If Britain's domestic government had been tougher earlier and seized control of Spain while Germany's military strength was still insufficient, they would not be so constrained now.
As twelve fighter squadrons and five bomber squadrons departed from various British airfields toward the Meuse River, Pétain also committed France's final air strength from coastal airfields.
Different types of French fighters took off one after another, followed closely by bombers.
More than five hundred aircraft filled the sky.
Their objective was clear.
Regain air superiority over the Meuse River and cut off Germany's iron hooves at the riverbank.
At the same time, after receiving the Führer's special order granting them the privilege of defending the Meuse River at all costs, three German wings, totaling more than three hundred fighters, immediately moved.
Those with existing missions canceled them.
Those without missions took off at once.
They rushed toward the Meuse River like a roaring gale.
There was no doubt.
This was the most intense battle since the beginning of the war, a clash representing the current peak of world air power.
Britain sent Blenheim bombers, Gladiator fighters, and more than a hundred newly produced Hurricane fighters into France.
France committed its MS 406 fighter fleet and its best remaining group of pilots.
Germany sent FW 190 fighters and Bf 109s into the sky at the same time.
These two aircraft would now face their own test.
This war would determine whether they truly deserved their fearsome reputation as masters of European airspace.
In addition, the First and Second Anti-Aircraft Artillery Regiments under Delaporte's command were waiting in the city and along both banks of the river.
Hundreds of 88mm anti-aircraft guns and new 37mm mobile anti-aircraft guns formed a luxurious network of anti-aircraft firepower.
At the command post in the city, Delaporte felt the crisscrossing rain of bullets in the sky. He lowered his binoculars and gave the order.
"No pigeon that slips past the Air Force, and no bomber that infiltrates at low altitude, is to be spared."
In the air, Karl piloted his FW 190, weaving up and down through the clouds.
Below him, no land could be seen. There were only dense black clouds and more than a dozen aircraft poised for battle.
His earpiece remained silent.
Until several enemy aircraft broke through the clouds.
"Stop them!"
Karl drove his aircraft forward, relentlessly biting onto the flank of an MS 406 fighter while also being trapped between two Hurricane fighters.
The highest-level aviation creations of the world were now locked in combat over the same patch of sky.
A web of fire woven from autocannons and machine gun rounds spread across the high altitude.
From time to time, aircraft were hit and plunged downward trailing black smoke.
From time to time, aircraft stalled after attempting difficult maneuvers.
Through the earpiece, shouts of "I hit him!" occasionally rang out, mixed with despairing cries of "I've been hit!"
And the situation Karl least wanted to face was when he asked for the status of various aircraft, only to receive chilling silence from the other end.
The battle in the sky was fierce.
The confrontation below was equally brutal.
Low-flying bombers became living targets for the First and Second Anti-Aircraft Artillery Regiments.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The anti-aircraft network hurled shells into the sky. Piercing shock waves shook leaves from the trees and made the earth tremble.
Facing such dense anti-aircraft fire, the pilots of the British Blenheim bombers could not escape.
They could only grit their teeth, descend to low altitude, and search for the pontoon bridges.
Each descent brought them into the jaws of death.
Anti-aircraft bursts harvested these moths in batches.
Explosions tore them into fragments.
Flames swallowed their wreckage.
For safety, British and French bombers began dropping their bombs indiscriminately.
Great columns of water shot into the sky from the riverbed. The smoke-filled river surface was covered with dead fish.
But the pontoon bridges still stood firm across the river.
Aircraft wreckage piled up along the banks.
Yet the moths drawn toward the flame continued rushing forward recklessly, repeating the cycle of bombing, acceleration, and destruction.
Because they knew very clearly that if this air battle was lost, the more than four hundred thousand defenders on the Maginot Line would be caught in a pincer.
And if they lost, Germany's tanks would have an unobstructed road into the heart of France.
.....
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