"That's it, get the can opener stuck here, and press down hard, see it, try it yourself." Captain Mannerheim handed the can back to the young recruit.

"Thank you, sir, I thought this thing was broken." The new sailor was only seventeen years old, a cheerful lad who had completed his regular training as a submarine crew, and if he performed well on this voyage, he would receive the official submariner's badge.

"Well, there's still a lot to learn, kid." Mannerheim winked at the recruit, then lowered his head and began to read the magazine in hand.

"Which one did you choose, if you can't make up your mind, I can recommend one to you, this year's latest Volkswagen, the price is cheap and the performance is good, anyway, you don't have much time to stay on the shore." Lieutenant Fiessler was holding an unlit cigarette and was using a playing card to calculate the future for the medical officer.

"Ah, six of spades, you're such a lucky fellow. Let's look at the next ......"

"Captain, the command has been translated." The Signal Corps poked his head out from behind the curtain in the telecommunications room and shouted.

"I'll be right here." Mannerheim threw down the magazines in his hand, got up from the corner couch in the officer's resting quarter, and walked down the narrow aisle toward the telecommunications room.

"This is the first one, this is the second one, and the order of the two copies is like this, I have double-checked." The communications officer handed the telegram paper to the captain. Mannerheim took the telegram paper and stood in the hallway of the communications room, reading it by the overhead light.

"Faessler!" Mannerheim called out to his co-captain.

"We're going to change the course and have new missions." With the two telegrams in hand, he stooped through the waterproof door beside him and entered the command module next door.

"The captain enters the bridge." The non-commissioned officer on duty shouted loudly, and all the officers on duty turned to the captain to salute in tow.

"Everybody, please continue." Mannerheim nodded to his men, then walked straight to the chart table.

“35…… 11…… F......" he picked up the slide rule and began to calculate the parameters.

"What's the new mission?" Faessler slipped into the command cabin, his shriveled cigarette in his mouth, his soft-capped combat cap in his hand.

"The order from the Main Command of the Navy, we should have started to carry it out the moment we got the order. Since it took some time to decipher, we were already a little late, and now our location is a bit northerly. Mannerheim measured a course with a ruler.

"It's a shame that the ship we were tracking had to give up, that guy had 4,700 tons." Faessler picked up the telegram and looked at it carefully.

"There is no way, the orders of the command have the highest priority." Mannerheim drew a cross at a point on the map.

"We're going to get to this position in twelve hours, and it looks like a big operation to join the naval task force. I've never seen so many new codes enabled at the same time, as well as the latest radio identification codes, and the revised nighttime identification lights. Mannerheim dropped the pencil in his hand. Crossed over and looking at the charts.

"Depending on the meeting point, we may have to enter the Mediterranean, which is the first time that the German Navy's submarine forces have entered this sea area. Did we bring a chart of that area? Faessler rested his elbows on the chart table and measured the voyage with a compass.

"There should be a copy in the chart box, sandwiched in the pile that was newly sent after the last return."

"Ah, I found it, is this one? All in French? ”

"The French have more Mediterranean charts than our standards, they have to re-survey them every year, and our Italian friends ......"

"Okay. I believe the French in this regard. Faessler rolled up the chart and stuffed it into the map shelf next to the chart table.

"We have half of the fuel left, eight torpedoes, food and fresh water for two weeks. If possible, there should be some additional replenishment at the meeting point. ”

"Are we the only ones who have been notified?" Faessler flipped through the latest edition of the ship identification manual with the number on the telegram.

"Look at the call code, it's sent to our entire fleet."

"A flock of rubber duck boats? Sounds like a bunch of bathtub toys. ”

"I like the name, you think. No matter how you push it into the water, it will always surface as soon as you let go. ”

As radio waves emitted from the long-range radio stations of the German Navy General Headquarters swept across the North Sea and Scapa Bay, orders from the Luftwaffe General Headquarters began to be transmitted from field airfields to the field.

"That's the thirty-fourth."

"Thirty-three. Thirty-three. ”

"Thirty-four, you fool, look at my fingers, one-two-three-four, thirty-four." Ainz. Feng. Air Second Lieutenant Nemo held out four fingers and shook them at his companion not far away.

"You two bastards don't chat in the communication channel, I'm taking orders from the Major." The squadron leader's roar was heard in the headphones.

"Thirty-four." Nemo mouthed silently into the cabin, continuing to wave those four fingers. Apparently unwilling to compromise with his partner, who was flying close to Nemo's plane, he also held out his hand in the cabin and gestured to the number three.

"All the 1st Squadron listen, change course, adjust your compass, course 155. We're going to cross the French lines, so keep an eye on the situation around us, and there will be French planes coming to lead us, and they say they won't shoot at us, but we can't take it lightly. The FW190, the leader, shook its wings, then made a quick half-roll, instantly reversing the course of the plane.

These nine FW190s belong to the First Special Training Group of the Air Force, and as an adaptive training unit for the new aircraft, the group is not only responsible for training the seed training pilots of various wings, but also undertakes various test tasks such as exploring the practical tactics of various types of aircraft in actual combat, finding out the advantages and disadvantages of this model, and enriching the content of the flight operation manual.

"Heading 155, two-thirds of the fuel in the drop tank, where is the final destination? Sir. Nemo pressed the throat transmitter and sent a question to his squadron leader.

"I don't know, second lieutenant, probably near Lyon, or somewhere further south. The major simply ordered us to fly in this direction, and there would be French planes to pick it up. ”

"We've flown across the border, and I'm counting where we are."

"Number four. Pay attention to the course and stay in formation. ”

"Look around, watch the heights."

"That blue-painted fool is thirty-four."

"Thirty-three, you red fool."

"Shut me up immediately, and I'll report in detail to Major Spojou on the irregularities of you two idiots"

The course was set, and the pilots of each squad began to talk about each other on the radio.

Ensign Nemo turned off the radio transmitter switch, and he pulled a map of France from his map bag in his leg, turned it over and plugged it back in. Now the squadron is flying over the French-controlled zone, and there is peace and tranquility on the ground. Farmland and villages are coming back to life, and you can even see the traces of vehicles shuttling back and forth on the road.

A month ago, it would have been a messy attack from the ground, but now the nine German fighters were flying over France without a single one disturbing them. Through the transparent celluloid film wrapped around his legs, Nemo marked the track on the map with a pencil.

"Target found, left front, 270, two thousand at a distance." The leader of the flanks raised the alarm.

"Maybe it's coming to pick up our plane. Be vigilant. "The squadron leader gave a vigilance order. Nemo waved his hand at his partner not far away, then lifted the cannon fire safety clasp on the handle.

The two French planes spotted the German fighters at the same time, and they quickly turned their noses and began to move towards the German group. The French pilots who led the team were very mature and steady. Apparently not wanting to misunderstand the Germans, his flight posture was very smooth and steady, without any hint of demonstration or provocation.

The Germans were relieved at the same time, and the performance of the French pilots immediately filled them with favor. The fighter formations returned to cruising flight. The pilot released the oxygen mask and turned off the cutout switch of the gun circuit.

"This is the French Air Force Dürr. Lafayette Flying Squadron, ordered to come and navigate for you. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Squadron Leader Major Noel and Wingman Second Lieutenant Thierry. The headphones sounded the German call of the French pilot with an accent.

"This is the 555th Squadron of the Luftwaffe, and I'm Captain Charrell, the squadron leader, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Major." The leader replied in fluent French.

"I never thought that one day I would lead the way for German fighters, and now I have mixed feelings, three months ago, I was still fighting with you, you shot down many of my good men, and we took down a lot of your fighters. That's when the whole world went crazy and everything was a mess. ”

"I can understand your feelings, Major, I also lost quite a few friends in the war, we are all warriors, fighting for our country,"

"Thank God that now that everything is almost over, we may have a true friendship, sorry to tell you, Mr. Captain, please follow us now, I will lead you to the predetermined base to land, your liaison officer is already waiting for you at the airport." The French fighter swayed its wings a few times, then flew to the front of the group and began to lead the group to turn slowly.

As the group slowly penetrated into the French control area, the signal strength of the Paris navigation station dropped somewhat, and the German pilots turned the FM knob one after another to change the frequency of the positioning station.

"Look, those Stuka "Nemo's partner Dio. Second Lieutenant Sara stared in amazement at the bottom of the group.

"What? Oh, that's a rarity. Nemo turned the fuselage sideways and looked down, only to see a group of Stuka bombers painted in blue and white camouflage at a low altitude of a thousand meters above the ground, marching in the same direction in a neat formation.

"Is that naval aviation? There's a brigade. Dio said on the radio.

"God, look behind you." Another pilot chimed in. The two aces hurriedly turned their faces to look, and they were immediately attracted by the spectacular scene in front of them.

The blue-white and gray-white painted bombing secrets were densely packed in formation, like mottled rain clouds, one group followed by another, and the mighty line stretched to the edge of the horizon.

Continue to ask for a monthly pass, please see if there are any extra monthly passes, please vote for this book, thank you for your continued support, and look at the gradually improving results, which makes me more confident in completing this work. (To be continued......)