"Hah." Meindl let out a heavy breath as he stood by the window of one of the airport buildings, looking out over the single runway, now filled with unusual-looking aircraft.
"So this is the new naval bomber..." he murmured, watching a young man standing on the runway. There was something about him that caught Meindl's attention, though he could not have said what it was.
Erich Hartmann looked toward the nearby building. An older man stood at the window, and for a brief moment their eyes met. Erich narrowed his gaze, trying to make out the silhouette, but to no avail. Before he could step closer, a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Where are you going? We have to protect these things, in the air and on the ground," Bakhaorn said, causing Erich to turn around.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
At that very moment, the sirens began to wail. The two men exchanged a brief glance before sprinting toward their fighter, already refueled and ready.
Meindl watched as the two aircraft roared down the runway, his mind already racing with plans to defend the airport. That was his task, after all, holding the damn runway and warehouses until the battle was over.
"We will set up machine-gun positions at every gate. The same goes for the tanks."
Under his direction, the defense of Stavanger Airport slowly but surely took shape. Wehrmacht soldiers and Ghost units assumed positions, effectively entrenching themselves across the airfield. Sandbags were hauled into place, barbed wire and other barricades established, and tanks were stationed at every gate and weak point, all in preparation for the inevitable counteroffensive by the British and Norwegians.
"Once they understand what is happening," Meindl muttered, eyes fixed on the glowing sunset, plane after plane lifting off the small runway toward the open sea.
Tirpitz, five kilometers off the coast of Stavanger
Raeder rose from his seat on the bridge, glancing down at his legs. They felt strange, almost alien.
"Fear, excitement, let it be fear that leads me. Fear is rational in this case," he said, looking through the bridge windows into the distance, where countless silhouettes, small but visible in the sunset glow, approached.
"Almost in range, sir," one officer called out, breathless with urgency.
Raeder nodded and slowly picked up a device.
"This is Grand Admiral Raeder speaking. Commander of Strike Force Barbarossa. With my authority as fleet commander, I order all ships to open fire at will."
He turned to his second officer and nodded.
"Open fire."
"Open fire."
"Open fire."
The command reverberated through hallways and compartments with ghostly speed, reaching every ship and captain.
Raeder closed his eyes for a moment. Then it began. The Tirpitz shook violently, releasing its first salvo. Dozens of other ships in the German fleet followed, creating a deadly umbrella of shells hurtling toward the British ships on the horizon.
"The battle begins," he muttered, assuming his position as the chaos of the command bridge erupted into a routine frenzy.
Water splashes surrounded the fleet as the first British salvo landed, barely missing the Scharnhorst.
"Mass shelling by the British," the adjutant on the Scharnhorst reported to Admiral Dönitz, who leaned against his armrest.
"As expected. Return fire, and once they hit the mark, contact him," Dönitz ordered, adjusting the collar of his pristine uniform while another barrage landed near the massive steel monster he was sitting in.
"Bri..." he began, when suddenly the ship shook violently, almost throwing him off his chair and sending several officers on the bridge to the floor.
"Report status!" Dönitz roared, climbing out of his seat, his body suddenly tensing up.
For a few seconds everyone scrambled back to their positions. One of the officers held a telephone in his hand. After a brief pause he nodded and quickly turned toward Dönitz.
"Turret one was hit and is completely out of order. Two reported deaths and another two injured."
Dönitz nodded, suddenly far more vigilant than before.
"Fire all remaining turrets and change course by 2.6," he added, stepping before the glass front and looking into the distance at the British warships looming ahead.
After some painful minutes, Raeder watched as another shell fired by one of the British battleships hit a nearby destroyer, a devastating fire devouring the upper deck. Still, the Germans were not completely unsuccessful. In the distance, several fires could be observed.
"Hit!" an officer shouted. "Starboard side of the Warspite."
While the battle continued to rage on at sea, the clash above seemed just as bloody as the two forces finally met.
Sky above the German Fleet (Barbarossa)
The flak guns of the newer German ships thundered relentlessly, turning the sky above the fleet into a sea of dark explosions as multiple British bombers were caught in the barrage and shot down.
"Shit!" Erich Hartmann shouted, turning the controls of his Bf 109 violently and making the plane shudder under the pressure. His head quickly turned as he searched for the plane that had taken him into its sights.
"Seems..." he murmured, suddenly widening his eyes as the British fighter once again appeared at the edge of his vision.
"You bastard," he said, lifting his plane sharply and maneuvering, trying to evade the heavy machine gun spray of his adversary. Still, some lucky shots hit.
Erich quickly glanced at his right wing, which was smoking slightly, but it seemed that nothing major had been damaged. The Bf 109 was still descending when he suddenly turned around in a spectacular maneuver, managing to surprise the British pilot.
Erich closed his eyes for only a split second, but that was all it took for him to press down the firing button.
A barrage of armor piercing bullets tore through the steel of the British fighter, completely obliterating it and making it explode midair.
"Hartmann, are you still there?" Barkhorn asked, only hearing curses through the radio. "Hartmann?" he repeated, also looking around the sky for the familiar Bf 109 of Erich when suddenly something pierced through the smoke cloud created by the British fighter.
"Hahahah!" Erich laughed loudly, seemingly letting out all the tension he had felt during the dogfight.
Barkhorn shook his head before turning his plane to the side, pursuing a British Swordfish naval bomber heading directly toward the massive silhouette of the Tirpitz.
"No, you won't," Barkhorn whispered, pressing down his firing button, but the British pilot managed to evade to the right, making a sharp turn and creating some distance. The bomber was now even closer to the battleship beneath them, in a direct nose dive.
Barkhorn focused on his breathing. The G force put a heavy burden on him, yet he continued, knowing what the outcome would be if he failed.
"Come on!" he shouted, accelerating even faster and tilting the nose of his Messerschmitt fighter further downward.
Then suddenly he tore the controls violently, having reached the Swordfish, which was now only hundreds of meters away from the Tirpitz.
"Got you!" Barkhorn roared, hitting the fuselage of the British plane and making it catch fire. The aircraft spun violently out of control, shooting past the bridge with only meters of distance before falling into the violent waves of the North Sea.
"This is command. 1st fighter squadron, you are ordered to give protection to the 2nd naval bomber squadron. Start the retaliation!" A voice crackled over the ears of all remaining German Messerschmitt pilots as large silhouettes appeared on the horizon.
Together with the fighters they formed a tight formation, closing in on the British fleet and leaving the German one behind.
Aboard the Nelson
"Where is the goddamn air support!" Tovey roared, smashing his fist onto the nearby controls. "What is the commander of the Ark Royal doing? He is to send in the second wave!"
Tovey watched as plane after plane left the deck of the Ark Royal in the distance, forming up to confront the massive force coming closer and closer.
"Still, our ships should tank whatever they throw at us," he murmured while watching the unfamiliar silhouettes of the German naval bombers in the distance.
At the same time, an unnamed fjord, one of countless along the Norwegian coast
The scenery was peaceful, with crystal clear water and a beautiful snowy mountain landscape. Yet what truly loomed here was not the eagle circling in the sky nor the fox hunting in the woods.
It was a pack of wolves, not on land but coming to life deep beneath the sea surface.
A faint vibration rippled across the still water. Beneath the surface dozens of long, dark silhouettes came to life, preparing for their inevitable hunt...
-------------------------------------
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.