"It's a beautiful day!"

"yes, it would be nice to be able to sleep on the beach in such beautiful weather. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 info The abominable war has disturbed our peaceful life, so let it end sooner! ”

Beside a rammed hard flight strip, two young officers in light gray flight suits and leather flight caps appeared to be praising the sunny weather. Like the hectic and tense atmosphere at an airport, their expressions were not relaxed.

Unlike most Irish pilots, their armbands are not dominated by an eagle, but by the silhouette of an aircraft carrier, which is the hallmark of the Irish Naval Aviation.

"Gentlemen!"

The ground officer, who had been standing next to the plane earlier, held an ordinary book-sized register in one hand and a fountain pen in the other, as if he had just finished the last few strokes in the register.

"There are no problems with your plane, good luck!"

"Thank you!"

The blonde, tall pilot smiled and nodded at the non-commissioned officer, and climbed into his plane with agility.

It was a land-based version of the ME-50 that was favored by Irish pilots for its superior maneuverability and greatly enhanced firepower of older biplanes.

Once in the cockpit, Second Lieutenant Martin Peterson quickly and skillfully checked all the equipment. The second lieutenant, who has been in the Irish Naval Aviation for six years, received this nickname in large part from his strong "aggressiveness": a fiery temper and excellent flying combat skills.

It didn't take long for the airport, which had been relatively quiet, to become noisy, and the rumbling of engines could be heard near and far. The field airfield, about 20 kilometres from Dublin, is home to three air wings, the largest of any front-line airfield in eastern Ireland.

"The 17th HNA Squadron enters Runway 4!"

A clear command sounded in the headphones, and Peterson slightly increased the grip of his hand on the joystick. After a while, the two groups of fighters in front slowly slid onto the runway under the power of the propellers, and when the signalman in the side waved the small flag, the ground crew quickly removed the skids under the wheels. Out of the corner of his eye, after seeing the ground crew running away, Peterson pressed down the throttle with just the right amount of force. The engine of the aircraft instantly let out a powerful whining sound, and the whole body trembled slightly, like a knight before a sprint, and rode forward at a slow speed.

Such a scene was nothing new to Peterson, and on another runway nearby, Irish Air Force twin-engine bombers were waiting to take off. Despite the lack of verbal stimulation, Peterson felt that his blood was speeding up - a big war is always so tempting for honor-hungry soldiers, or rather, men are already full of fighting elements, which may be why war and football are so prevalent on this planet.

"Sailfish 5 is fine, please take off!"

"Permission to take off!"

Peterson added more power, and the cockpit was filled with a cacophony of mechanical sounds, but as the plane gradually accelerated, he still heard the wingman pilot talking to the command platform through the headset:

"Sailfish 6 is fine, please take off!"

"Permission to take off!"

The inertial pressure of the propeller aircraft as it lifts off is not large, and the slight change is just a wake-up call for the pilots. After flying off the runway, the pilots usually follow the pre-arranged flight to the airspace west of the airport to assemble, at which point the fighters and bombers that had taken off in advance should be hovering there.

Peterson habitually looked back, and the wingman had followed. Despite being a fighter of the Naval Air Force, it is sprayed in almost identical livery to the Irish Air Force: the upper part of the fuselage is yellow-green camouflage, which makes it easy for enemies to confuse it with the ground when viewed from high to low, the sides and lower parts of the fuselage are painted in a light blue that is not so conspicuous in the air, and the cockpit and tail are painted with the tactical number and the clover logo.

Five minutes later, Peterson's Sailfish 5 was in a V-shaped formation of 16 ME-50 fighters, with several similarly sized or larger flying formations behind them.

Thanks to the rigorous training and German calculations of the past, the aerial build-up was completed in a short period of time, and the pilots did not need to waste their precious fuel here.

During the flight, two groups of aircraft took off from other airports to join in.

At the normal speed of the ME-50 fighter, flying over the narrow St. George's Strait was a very easy affair, and the breezy weather seemed to come from God's attention. According to the plan, before they saw the British coastline, the advance air force fighters and dive bombers were to carry out concentrated attacks on the airfields and air defense positions of the British army.

Flying over the Strait meant entering the battlefield, and the commanders of the squadrons began to alert the pilots to concentrate via their squad radios. The war was a brutal battle between the brave and the brave, and the pilots from the Irish Naval Air Force had no doubt about it. It is not known how effective the first wave of attacks will be from our own air force, but the task of escorting bomber groups to the deep airfields of the British army for bombing is no easy task!

"Enemy aircraft spotted ahead! Enemy aircraft spotted ahead! Stay in defensive formation, stay in defensive formation! ”

The sound from the headset again was unusually calm, and after assembling and in-flight adjustments, the huge group of aircraft quickly formed a dense ring defense, and as soon as the battle began, the squadron's communication channels gradually became busy.

"To hell with it! Damn British! ”

After a whole series of bullets were gone, Peterson couldn't help but explode a small foul mouth, he clearly saw that his target had pulled up black smoke, if he could catch up with it at this time and hit again, he believed that he would shoot down the opponent, but before this sortie, they were ordered to closely protect the accompanying bombers, and on this premise, all fighters were not allowed to leave the formation without permission to pursue the enemy planes - even if the other side was wounded.

Despite his reluctance, Peterson could only use dirty words to vent his dissatisfaction, and then looked back at his comrades, in order to protect his own bombers, the fighters could not give full play to their speed and agility advantages, and the pilots' personal skills were also limited, and in just a few minutes, their squadron seemed to have been shot down by 3 fighters. Fortunately, after repeated attacks and attrition by the coalition air force, the British Air Force is no longer as fierce as the day before yesterday, and there are less than 20 British fighters that came to intercept the Irish bomber group, otherwise, they will definitely suffer even greater losses.

Soon, a British airfield with two leveled runways came into view of the Irish pilots. Before the Irish fleet could reach the airport, black fireworks exploded in front of their flight path, and the sound of dense explosions was incessant.

Looking down from the sky, the grass green ground shone with yellow light and black dots in the sunlight.

"Oops!"

Peterson felt the plane pound violently, and this feeling was very different from that of a bomber dropping a bomb - it came from a powerful external force, and it was very likely to have very terrible consequences. Peterson's empirical suspicions were confirmed, and after a strange gurgling sound, the engine stalled, and as the revs decreased, the propellers became clearly visible.

The most experienced pilots were not to be deterred by any surprises, and Peterson tried to restart the engine several times in a row, but it appeared that it was badly damaged after British ground artillery fire, and the propeller finally stopped

"This is Sailfish 5, I was hit, I have lost power, ready to try a forced landing!" Peterson communicated with his wingman over the radio, but fortunately, the radio equipment on board was working properly, and the wingman's pilot's voice was soon heard in the headset:

"Sailfish 6 received, I'll cover you!"

"No, there's no need for that!" Peterson shouted, the situation no longer allowed him to deal with communications, the M-50 was falling to the ground with its nose down, the altimeter needle was flying counterclockwise like crazy, he held the joystick tightly, but he could not change the state of the plane at all, one more second of hesitation could have fatal consequences, after deciding to give up, he pushed open the cabin canopy, and at the moment of jumping out of the cabin, an unprecedented sense of loss surged from the bottom of his heart, and like a glass of bitter wine, quickly filled every part of his body.

Loss didn't help solve the problem, and Peterson pulled open his parachute bag, and the lift made him feel like he was almost dislocating, but soon he had the opportunity to look at the battlefield in a new environment. British anti-aircraft artillery positions were scattered irregularly around the runway, and dense artillery fire was firing into the air relentlessly.

The large formation of more than 100 Irish planes looked like a dark cloud from a distance, and a flock of black crows when they flew over the airport, strings of black bombs fell with a piercing scream, and the moment they hit the ground burst out with an astonishing sound, as if to wipe everything on the ground alive.

Despite being shot down by British ground artillery, Peterson still had a sense of victory as he watched his fleet bomb the British airfield, and if the war continued like this, he believed that the Allied forces would be victorious, and that even if he was captured by the British, his return to his homeland would be just around the corner—in Europe, there was no shame in prisoners of war, especially pilots shot down on enemy soil. However, when several large-caliber machine gun bullets passed from a close distance, the peculiar roar still made Peterson's back sweat, and he would rather be killed in the crossfire than be killed by an unknown enemy in this helpless situation, but fortunately, his luck was not over, not a single bullet favored his body or his parachute before landing on a vegetable patch, and the soft earth almost broke his foot, but after laboriously cutting the ropes on his body, he was temporarily free.

Syllable...... Syllable......

Peterson quickly fell to the ground, stretched out his right hand and pulled out his imitation Browning pistol from his waist holster, but when he saw the whole company of British soldiers in khaki uniforms at the end of the field and the open terrain around him, he decided to give up fearless resistance.

Over the airfield, the bombing of the Irish fleet was nearing its end, and the bombs had caused considerable damage to the leveled runways and rudimentary hangars, and several old biplanes had been destroyed on the ground - a gain that seemed to be a bit more than worth the losses suffered by the entire fleet during the flight and during the bombing, but judging from the comparison of the strength of the two air forces, even if the coalition forces were to fight for attrition in a ratio of 2 to 1 or even 3 to 1, they could quickly drag down the British air force.

(End of chapter)