Looking up at the altitude of 3,000 meters, the atmosphere looks like a flawless blue crystal. As far as the eye can see, the color of the sky changes with the altitude, and the closer you get to the horizon, the color becomes lighter, the blue turns to emerald green, and then to a dazzling white.

"There are some broken clouds at an altitude of five hundred meters, but they are not dense, and the machine gunners pay attention, we are leaving the land." The headset came the slow voice of Corporal Goss, the navigator.

RAF Private Jebson hurriedly retracted his head from the opening of the machine gun tower and fastened the cable ties of the canvas oxygen mask.

"The machine gun is ready, and I ask for permission to test fire." Through the microphone in his mask, Jebson made a request to the captain.

"Wait for orders." The captain, Sergeant Gaunt, tilted his head to look at the long plane in front of the formation, saw the long plane's machine gun turret on its back turning to the side, and then saw muzzle sparks and tracer bullet tracks across the formation. Accordingly, the machine gun turrets of the wingmen on the side also began to be test-fired.

"Alright, let's test shoot." Sergeant Gaunt gave the order.

Jebson sat in the pneumatic linkage seat, holding the joystick of the electric turret with both hands, and the turret turned to the side in the sound of the motor, Jebson looked at the empty sky in the crosshairs, pressed the firing button, and the 7.7mm Bedford machine gun spewed out a long gun flame. One five-shot burst, two three-shot short bursts, tracer bullets flew straight into the distance, and finally slowly fell down in a parabola.

"Shooting is done, everything is normal." Jebson shouted as he reached out and shook the hose interface of the cartridge case's bag, then wrenched the joystick to turn the machine gun turret back to the rear position.

The Blenheim bomber group flew smoothly over the clouds, and the machine gunner tugged up at the collar of the white turtleneck, the machine gun tower was the most frozen-looking post on the Blenheim bomber, and in order to get a good view, this machine gun tower turned out to be semi-open, except for the glass windshield at the top and rear, the front was completely open. Except for the fact that there is a palm-sized ricochet steel plate next to the machine gun, it can be said that there is no obstruction.

There is a hydraulic lifting lever under the seat of the machine gunner, and the seat is connected with the gun carriage of the machine gun by a linkage structure, which can automatically adjust the seat height with the pitch of the machine gun to ensure that the shooter's aiming line can always be kept level with the machine gun, when the machine gun is placed in the gun tower, the seat rises to the highest position, at this time almost half of the machine gunner's body is outside the fuselage, as long as the head is easily turned in the gun tower, you can get the omnidirectional perspective of the upper hemisphere. It is the best observation deck of the RAF.

Gibson looked left and right in the turret, his comrades in the formation staring nervously at the sky, shrugged his shoulders, lowered his seat, and retracted into the cabin.

"Annalise has a little secret...... Gibson hummed a little tune, leaning against the cramped cabin wall and pulling his thermos from the glove compartment hanging on the wall.

"Give him a kiss...... Gibson unscrewed the lid of the thermos and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee.

"Let's dance...... Gibson put the thermos and drank it in small sips with his cup in both hands.

"That Jebson guy must be lazy again." The navigator sat against the bulkhead of the bombing seat. Use red and blue pencils to mark the time to reach the steering point on the navigation map.

"If it weren't for his lazy nature, he would have been promoted to corporal. His marksmanship is good, and he can be trusted as long as he starts fighting. At least I believe him. Gaunt stared at the lead plane. Gently adjust the throttle.

"Gaunt, this mission won't be as easy as those guys say, the Germans won't be stupid enough to wait for us to bomb. I don't know how many people will make it back alive this time. Heard about the two Wellington squadrons that Red Hill dispatched last night? Yesterday the airport was full during the day, and this morning it was empty like a ranch. None of the two squadrons returned, and only a group of ground and civilian officers remained at the entire airfield. Corporal Goss got up and poked his head out of the bow compartment to look at the captain.

"I've heard worse. Last night it was not just two squadrons that were dispatched, but all the Wellingtons in the East and South Sectors, as well as five Hampton squadrons to the north, which were reportedly intercepted by the Germans at night and were badly beaten. Gaunt glanced at the navigator and pushed the side-by-side throttle sticks forward.

"I don't know what their results were."

"It's very hanging, so today we have to complete the task, the Germans have gathered a large number of ships, they will land at any time, as long as we destroy their assembly ports and fleets, we can disrupt their plans, delay their landing, and gain time for us to establish a defensive line, the most important thing that Britain lacks now is time."

"Just our Blenheim and that Hamptons. We don't even have escort fighters. ”

Goss was initially opposed to the operation, believing that it was all about sending them to commit suicide, but in order not to be court-martialed and unwilling to bear the stigma of deserting his comrades, he finally climbed into the plane.

"The range of the Spitfire and the Hurricane is not enough, the southern front airfields have been destroyed, the Eleventh Air Force has been defeated, and the fighters taking off from the airfields of the Twelfth Air Force must return after flying to the coast of France, and this escort is better than not having one." After Gaunt finished speaking, he suddenly nervously covered his headphones.

"Fighters! Nine o'clock! That's a lot! At the same time, Jebson's howl was heard from the rear cabin.

"Keep the formation, keep the formation! All aircraft remained in their respective positions. The lead commander shouted over the radio.

"Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, I can't count!" Gibson shouted.

"They're coming! 109! on top. Then the cabin was filled with the sound of machine-gun fire.

"Go to hell, bastard! Look here! Germans! Oh hell! Jebson expertly flipped the lever of the turret, and the twin Bertford 7.7mm machine gun bullets swept through the air with two chains of bullets that flashed white light.

Jebson fired a frenzied burst of fire at a long plane in the middle of a German four-finger formation approaching from behind, and as he skillfully fine-tuned, the arc trajectory of the tracer bullet quickly approached the shadow of the enemy plane.

At this moment, a piercing roar remembered, Jebson turned his head in panic, only to see a Blenheim flying in formation following the Gaunt aircraft fifty meters away, the engine spewed out a ball of flames, and the billowing black smoke instantly covered the bomber's fuselage. Behind the tail dragged out a long column of smoke.

Jebson could clearly see the constant flash of light on the poor bomber's fuselage and the flakes of aluminum and paint scattered after the fuselage was torn apart by bullets, the top windshield of the machine gun tower on its back was shattered, and the machine gunner's head was tilted against the windshield pillar on the side, his neck twisted, facing the sky on his back, and the shattered windshield beside him was coated with bright red liquid.

Jebson hurriedly looked up, and a BF109 twin-plane formation was inserted almost vertically from the top of the group formation like lightning, and before Jebson could react, the two demons spraying tracer bullets were on the right side of Gaunt's landline, less than ten meters from the end of the bomber's wing, passing through the group. Without hesitation, he rushed towards the sea.

"Attention! Eleven o'clock, 109! The screams of the navigator could be heard in the headset, and he had no machine guns in the bow compartment, and could only stare at the approaching enemy planes.

Jebson strafed the German fighter approaching from the tail, completely unable to respond to the navigator's instructions. The number of German fighters far exceeded the resistance of the bomber groups.

"Stay in formation, all planes remain in formation!" The air commander in the lead plane was still shouting loudly.

"This brute who drinks raw blood! Bastard! The navigator cursed loudly.

A German fighter flew over the outside of the group in an elegant arc, made two sharp rolls, and then began to climb again with its wings crooked. At the same time, the white smoke from the outermost Blenheim engine slowed down suddenly. Jebson watched as the poor plane struggled out of formation and began to descend. Four BF109s surrounded them like hyenas on the African savannah when they saw an injured wildebeest.

"Poor Anderson, they're finished!" Jebson turned his gun turret to face a German fighter approaching from the right, and the 109 did not hesitate to pass through the barrage of bombers on the right, charging straight at the three-plane formation at the tail of the group.

"Come on. You little Nazi! Let Uncle Jebson love you well!" Jebson was at the control of the twin machine guns, and the front sight in the steel plate sight pressed down on the entire fuselage of the fighter. Jebson grinned and pressed the launch button, but one of the machine guns only honked twice before it stopped.

"Oh! Shit! Jebson kicked the gun mount pillar hard and continued to fire with one of his remaining machine guns.

Messerschmitt walks through a trailing barrage of machine guns. Like a light swift sweeping the waves. In the blink of an eye, the BF109 grazed Jebson's desk and rushed out of the range of the machine gun.

Jebson hurriedly turned the pistol turret. But it was too late, and he could only watch as the fighter rushed into the three-plane formation behind the tail. The muzzles of the two 20-mm guns on the wings of the fighter flashed with dangerous fire, and the cannon shells began on one side of the long plane and continued to plow into the cockpit of the wingman. As soon as the German fighters swept by, the noses of the two Blenheim planes sank, and one fell in two directions, one left and one right.

"Stay in formation! Keeping ...... "The entire fleet had lost more than half of it, but the commander still stubbornly demanded to keep the formation, and the pilots of the formation cursed their own commander while enduring the torture of the German fighters. Then, the damn lead plane exploded into a fireball in front of all the pilots of the formation.

"Fighters! Just above! Gaunt looked up through the transparent flap at the top of the cockpit and saw a line of black dots in a neat formation of bombers against the background of a turquoise sky.

"The formation is scattered! Disperse! Drop the bomb and everyone will run for their lives. One of the drivers in the headset shouted.

Gaunt couldn't tell who it was, but reacted immediately by pushing the throttle full and pulling the two damper levers to the end. "Drop the bomb! Goss! Open the magazine door, and we're going to go down to the surface of the sea so we can get out. ”。

"Got it!" Lin Hangman threw himself on the bomb throwing seat and pulled the bomb magazine opening switch, and when the green light was lit, he did not hesitate to pull down the bomb throwing switch, and a metal friction sound sounded in the bomb magazine, and the plane instantly rose more than ten meters upward.

"Everybody's belted! We're going to rush! Gaunt jerked forward the butterfly steering wheel of the Blenheim bomber, and the nose of the bomber immediately sagged and began to dive towards the surface of the sea at great speed.

"320 miles, 350 miles...... It's almost the limit. The fuselage shook violently, Gaunt gritted his teeth and pressed the steering wheel desperately, he turned his face to look out of the cabin, not far away a Blenheim was doing the same thing as him, apparently also an experienced veteran, and made the same choice as Gaunt.

"It's Waynes, them. Once we get to the surface of the sea, we can form with them. Goss tugged at the safety belt with both hands and poked his head out the window.

"The Germans followed! Oh my God, it's so fast! Jebson's roar suddenly rang out, followed by the sound of machine gun fire.

"Break them up, Jebson, we've got two kilometers left." Gaunt steadied the fuselage so that the Heavy could shoot accurately.

"Oh God!" Goss shouted, and Gaunt looked out the window to see the Blenheim on his left struggling in an unimaginably dense hail of bullets. Fist-sized tracer bullets rained down like a torrential rain. Huge sparks exploded on the wings and fuselage of the bomber.

The bomber was still diving, but it was clearly out of control, and Gaunt saw a series of flashes of fire from the root of the engine wing to the cockpit, and the entire wing was torn off the fuselage, and the bomber began to roll like crazy, and began to fall apart under the gaze of Sergeant Gaunt.

"God bless them." Gaunt didn't look back at the plane's fate, and he confirmed that no one would survive.

"Look, God! What kind of fighter is this, I've never seen it! Jebson shot wildly. Trying to drive away the approaching enemy planes, he discovered that the two German fighters that were following them were not the Messerschmitt he was familiar with, but rather larger and thicker fuselages. Apparently has a huge flat head.

Gibson strafed as hard as he could, and he was surprised to find that the fighters on the other side were able to change their attitude flexibly when diving, and they easily rolled their fuselages to aim their noses at Blenheim.

The Air Force private pressed the gun fire button hard, but the machine gun suddenly stopped roaring. He hurriedly looked down to see that the remaining ammunition indicator on the magazine showed four zeros, and he had already used all his ammunition. Jebson looked up. Desperately watched as the German fighter turned its fuselage and approached at high speed.

In the evening, in the crimson glow, a large motorboat painted in gray-green paint slowly moves slowly on the pink sea. A sergeant of the German Army military police, draped in a short shawl, stood at the bow of the boat and looked around with a telescope.

"Sergeant, it's getting dark, when are we going to get back?" The helmsman stood at the edge of the wheelhouse, holding the steering wheel in one hand and a lunch box in the other, and a soldier with a red cross armband carried a kettle to pour hot water into the lunch box.

"One more turn and I'll go back. Doctor, did you feed those prisoners of war hot water? The sergeant asked loudly with his binoculars.

"I drank them all, and I saw that two of them were very badly injured, and I gave them two shots of morphine." The medic looked back at the stern.

In the cabin, several men in the blue woolen uniforms of the British Air Force sat on the floor with their heads bowed against the side of the ship, their hands handcuffed behind their backs, and in the middle lay two wounded, curled up and groaning secretly. On the platform at the stern of the boat, more than a dozen long white cloth bags were stacked, some still wet and dripping, and a pile of parachutes and various life-saving supplies were crammed into a corner of the cabin.

"Wait a minute, turn to eleven o'clock, there's a situation." The gendarmerie sergeant shouted loudly, and the helmsman hurried back into the wheelhouse. The engine of the jet ski roared and began to accelerate in the direction the sergeant had directed.

"It looks like a bomber, weapons ready, three alive." The sergeant shouted and jumped off the bow. Several gendarmes who were sitting in the bow cabin chatting immediately stood up, and the sergeant received an MP40 submachine gun from one of his subordinates.

The motorboat was moving rapidly, and not far away, an airplane painted with brown and green camouflage was half-floating and half-sinking on the water, the tail was raised high and pointed obliquely to the sky, and there were two figures lying on the inclined fuselage, and there was a person sitting on the fuselage, holding the antenna pillar on the fuselage with one hand, and waving desperately towards the motorboat with the other hand.

The jet ski slowed down, and then slowly stopped on the side of the plane. (To be continued, please search, the novel is better and updated faster!)