Novel Full Chapter 57 Beware of Aerial Attacks (Extra for 10,000 monthly votes)
While the First Mobile Group Army was idling about, the situation was much the same for the Tenth Prussian Army Group.
“They still haven’t attacked,” General Boke said, arms crossed, looking at the map, “So now we are just standing around here, wasting time?”
No sooner had he finished speaking than a mosquito landed on the general’s face.
Enraged, he slapped at his own face, only for the mosquito to take flight and avoid the blow, buzzing around his ear as if to mock him.
General Boke: “Damn it! Rocossov is in the city, living in houses, while we can only sleep in tents and command vehicles, dealing with swarms of mosquitoes every day!”
Chief of Staff: “The Science Academy has issued special mosquito-repelling gear…”
“That gear is a nightmare to use! Don’t they know that?” General Boke continued, agitated, swinging his arms to hit the fluttering mosquitoes, inevitably failing of course.
At that moment, the general’s aide suggested, “We could burn something that produces a lot of smoke to drive the mosquitoes away. That’s what we do back home.”
General Boke glanced at the maps and paper documents stacked inside the headquarters and shook his head: “Forget it. If we end up setting fire to the headquarters just to repel mosquitoes, I’ll become the laughing stock of the entire army.”
The Chief of Staff offered an idea: “We could use strong-smelling perfumes that make mosquitoes reluctant to approach.”
In fact, using perfume to repel mosquitoes works by masking human scents, similar to using camouflage to hide one’s shape.
The same principle applies to fumigating with smoke, but at that time, people’s understanding of mosquitoes was not so sophisticated; they thought the fragrance “dispersed” the mosquitoes.
General Boke asked the Chief of Staff, “Do you have any strong-smelling perfume?”
“I have cologne.”
General Boke immediately reached out: “Here, give me some.”
The Chief of Staff promptly took out the cologne and passed it to General Boke.
The general, without hesitation, unscrewed the cap and poured it liberally over himself.
The Chief of Staff, wanting to say something but holding back, simply watched the general’s antics.
After dousing himself with cologne, General Boke looked around and listened intently for a while, then said, “It seems like there really isn’t any buzzing from mosquitoes.”
No sooner had he spoken than the cry of some insect echoed from a corner of the headquarters, as if mocking General Boke.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
Chief of Staff: “Because of the mosquito problem, since we entered the grasslands, the number of soldiers falling ill has been increasing daily. We’ve ordered the soldiers to wear long sleeves to avoid mosquito bites, but still, many have contracted malaria.”
General Boke: “Get the soldiers some quinine.”
“Because the number of sick has exceeded our expectations, we’ve run out of quinine. Since replenishments prioritize ammunition, food, and penicillin, all levels of medical facilities are currently short of quinine.”
General Boke sighed: “Then we can only wait until we retake Yeisk—no, break through the Suhaya Weili River and complete the first phase of the Blue Plan before stopping for a thorough rest.”
Saying this, he picked up a clipboard, removed the documents clipped on it, tossed them onto the desk, and used the clipboard to fan himself and shoo the mosquitoes while he stepped up to the map.
“What do you think, could Rocossov really be hoping for mosquitoes and diseases to defeat us?”
“That’s unlikely,” replied the aide. “I’d say Rocossov is waiting for his own supplies to come through. The grasslands are harsh for us, but no less so for the Ante People. At most, they have local support which helps them be more familiar with the grassland conditions.”
General Boke: “You’re saying Rocossov is waiting for supplies…”
At that moment, the roar of engines came from outside.
The command post of the Tenth Army Group was too rudimentary to have any soundproofing, so the sound of engines in the sky was distinctly audible.
General Boke rushed to the entrance, pushed aside the curtain, and stepped out, looking up at the sky.
Indeed, there was a very small dot in the sky, indistinguishable as either Ant Air Force or Prussian Air Force.
General Boke stated confidently, “That’s enemy aerial reconnaissance. Damn it, our Air Force has to interpret the reconnaissance results themselves before handing them over to us! By the time we get them, the information in the photos is already outdated.”
The Chief of Staff then turned to his subordinates to confirm, “Are the artillery units positioned directly opposite Rocossov well concealed?”
A staffer reported, “They began constructing attack positions yesterday. According to standard operation timeframes, they should be finished by tomorrow. Don’t worry, General. The grasslands are so vast, and without landmarks for reference, aerial reconnaissance photos will hardly pinpoint our artillery positions.”
General Boke nodded, well aware of these military fundamentals himself, not requiring a reminder from his staff.
This was the limitation of the Air Force of the era, a situation that gradually eased with the implementation and improvement of onboard electronic equipment, until positioning systems like GPS and Beidou were introduced, which ultimately solved the problem of aircraft not knowing their exact locations.
But at the moment, aerial reconnaissance photos could only be deciphered with the help of landmarks and other surface features.
In short, expecting to find and direct artillery to destroy enemy guns solely based on aerial reconnaissance was practically wishful thinking.
So even if the artillery positions weren’t well camouflaged, it wasn’t a matter of much concern—
Probably.
————
Ant Air Force, Fourth Combat Bombing Squadron.
Originally this was the Fourth Assault Squadron, but after re-equipping with the Federation’s P47, the squadron also gained some air combat capability, so it was renamed the Combat Bombing Squadron.
All P47s were categorized as combat bombers, because after dropping their bombs and returning to high altitude, they could still take on the Prussian BF109s in arm-wrestling matches.
The former leader of the Fourth Assault Squadron, Delachenko Grigoyevich, was now the leader of the Fourth Combat Bombing Squadron. At this moment, he was under the biggest sunshade, assigning missions to his team members.
Delachenko said, “Yesterday’s aerial reconnaissance discovered some enemy artillery units, but we don’t know their exact location, and our ground cannons can’t hit them. Now it’s our turn to play a role. The photos you received are all marked with coordinate grids. Our mission today is to plow through every single grid!
“Make sure to be thorough and find the enemy artillery positions! We can only have such good equipment and break away from the Il-2 thanks to Lieutenant General Rocossov! Now his troops can’t handle the enemy’s heavy artillery, and we must ease his worries!”
The pilots answered in unison, “We guarantee to complete the mission!”
Delachenko said, “I paid out of my own pocket to develop so many photos! You must remember how the enemy artillery positions look! Find them, drop the bombs, and then strafe!”
A pilot said, “These artillery positions are protected by anti-aircraft guns, aren’t they?”
“They are covered by large-caliber anti-aircraft guns, which are meant for heavy bombers. As long as we keep changing direction, we can avoid their fire area!” Delachenko waved his hand and declared, “Don’t be afraid! I will personally lead the team and help you dodge the enemy’s artillery fire! Alright, let’s move out!”
The pilots all clipped the photographs to their map boards and stood up, running toward the aircraft parked not far from the sunshade.
The ground crew had already hung bombs under the stubby fuselage of the P47s.
The Ant ground crew and pilots had grown very familiar with the P47, realizing that the technical specifications provided by the Federation were conservative. In reality, the P47 could still fly even with twenty percent more bombs than the standard load.
Generally, pilots would hang fewer bombs to ensure the maneuverability of the aircraft, but the pilots of the Fourth Assault Squadron, having gotten used to the clumsy Il-2, found that an overloaded P47 was still very agile and unanimously chose to overload.
If someone couldn’t take off due to overloading, they would be the laughingstock of the entire flight squadron.
The pilots ran towards their own “bomb trucks.”
Delachenko also arrived at his own plane, took off his large cap, and placed it on the crew chief’s head. He then took the flying helmet and goggles from the crew chief’s hands, put them on, jumped onto the aircraft’s left wing, and then climbed into the cockpit.
The crew chief, wearing his large cap, poked his head into the cockpit and said loudly, “All is well! Enough to blast the Prussians into the sky!”
“Thank you, old pal,” Delachenko patted the crew chief’s shoulder, gripped the control stick, gave it gas, and the plane slowly began to slide on the grass.
The makeshift airfield where the Fourth Combat Bombing Squadron was stationed was essentially a flat expanse of grassland, with only the rudimentary windsock tower made of wood proving that it was an airfield.
Delachenko glanced at the windsock on the tower, confirming the wind direction and force—since the airfield conditions were too poor, there was no control tower to tell him this information, so he had to check for himself.
After getting ready, Delachenko gave the throttle full gas, and the plane suddenly accelerated.
Due to the overload, the plane picked up speed very slowly, and it was only with difficulty that it reached takeoff velocity as it neared the end of the runway.
Delachenko gently pulled on the control stick, helping the aircraft lightly glide into the air.
“So heavy,” he said, “enough to give those Prussian bastards a hard time.”
————
Prussian 190th Infantry Division artillery position.
The head of the engineer battalion ran to the artillery battalion commander and saluted, “Report, sir, the ground underneath is full of moleholes, which is why your cannons keep sinking suddenly during firing.”
The artillery barrage this morning had suddenly stopped because the ground suddenly collapsed during the bombardment, affecting three 105mm howitzers and two 150mm howitzers, making it impossible to guarantee shooting accuracy.
To avoid more cannons being sucked into the sinkhole, the artillery battalion commander ordered a halt to the shooting.
Because of this, the division commander had thrown quite a tantrum.
But the artillery battalion commander stood his ground and even got the division commander to agree to cease fire and sent the engineer troops to reinforce the position.
The head of the engineer battalion continued to report, “Given the current situation, we can’t continue to shoot from here; we need to move the position.”
Artillery battalion commander: “Then where are there no moles?”
“Don’t know,” said the head of the engineer battalion.
The artillery battalion commander was about to speak when someone at the adjacent anti-aircraft gun position shouted, “Beware of enemy air raids!”
The artillery battalion commander looked up and saw something sparkling in the distant sky approaching fast!
“Damn it! Take cover!” he shouted loudly.
At the same time, the anti-aircraft guns opened fire, and the 88mm guns roared at the sky.