Chapter 34: Bombing Liège Fortress

Aachen, Germany.

A frontline airfield near the German-Belgian border suddenly blared with combat alarms.

"What the hell’s going on? Why are we scrambling?"

Confused soldiers, half-dressed in their flight suits, fumbled with their gear as they sprinted toward their aircraft.

"We just got a distress telegram from Liège Fortress. The British have sent dozens of heavy bombers to hit them. We’ve gotta get up there and stop them — no way we’re letting them finish that bombing run!"

Hermann Wilhelm Göring, commander of the 1st Fighter Wing of the Imperial Air Force, personally answered the question burning in every pilot’s mind.

"Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go tear ’em apart!"

"That’s right! Send those British bastards to hell!"

As the Empire’s most elite fighter wing, the 1st Fighter Wing boasted the finest aces Germany had to offer.

This was the unit that produced legends like the Red Baron — Manfred von Richthofen (80 kills), Ernst Udet (62 kills), and Erich Loewenhardt (54 kills) — aces among aces!

Sure, they drew the most dangerous, most suicidal missions, and their casualty rate never stopped climbing.

But that never scared these brave pilots. Their will to fight was never in question — and their record spoke for itself. Back when the Red Baron was still alive, enemy pilots lost the nerve to even take off and fight the 1st Fighter Wing.

Even though the Red Baron had tragically fallen, the legend he left behind still lived on in the wing — inspiring wave after wave of young pilots to charge into battle.

"Commander, are you leading this mission too?"

"If you’re leading, can I apply to be your wingman?"

Seeing Göring suited up just like them, clearly ready to lead the mission himself, the other pilots in the wing jumped at the chance to fly alongside their commander.

When Göring first took over the 1st Fighter Wing, the aces in the unit weren’t exactly sold on him.

He’d earned their respect the hard way — with raw skill, real leadership, and results on the battlefield.

Unlike those aces who only cared about padding their own kill counts, Göring was all about teamwork. He didn’t give a damn about personal stats. What mattered was coordinating with other aces to take down enemy planes — and making sure his wingmen and his team made it home alive.

In Göring’s eyes, every ace was a national treasure for the Empire. You don’t just throw that away.

Every ace he saved on the battlefield could pass down what they knew — training a dozen, even a hundred excellent pilots for the Empire through their example!

So even though his personal kill count wasn’t flashy — nothing compared to the Udet, Loewenhardt, and Lothar von Richthofen types — he was the guy everyone wanted to fly with. Every mission, pilots lined up for the chance to team up with him.

"The enemy’s coming in force. This time, we’re all going up. Get the job done — but watch your own asses out there!

We’ve still got more fights ahead of us, and the Empire’s sky is gonna need every one of you to hold the line!"

With that, he climbed into his cockpit, rolled his fighter onto the runway, and lifted off into the sky.

Behind him, all 35 aircraft of the 1st Fighter Wing took off one after another — charging toward the battlefield with everything they had.

At Liège Fortress, the defenders had already traded fire with the enemy air force before their own planes even showed up.

Ever since 1911, when the Italians dropped a few grenades on Ottoman troops from their planes during the Italo-Turkish War, air power had stepped onto the stage of history.

During World War I, both sides produced tens of thousands of aircraft and fought brutal dogfights across the skies of Europe.

Bombers and zeppelins of every shape and size appeared, posing a massive threat to ground forces.

Armies across the continent were forced to start taking air defense seriously — cranking out anti-aircraft weapons of every caliber, from heavy machine guns to anti-aircraft guns of all sizes.

The Germans had been equipping their troops with anti-aircraft guns converted from field guns since 1914.

By 1916, as the Entente started fielding heavy bombers with bigger payloads and higher ceilings, the Germans began deploying purpose-built anti-aircraft guns — like the Flak L/35 77mm and the Flak 16 88mm (the granddaddy of the famous 88).

Both of these guns had serious range, serious punch, and could reach up — threatening every target under 7,000 meters!

By the end of the war in 1918, the Western Front had over 2,000 anti-aircraft guns of various calibers!

And of those, more than a fifth were deployed at Liège Fortress!

The Entente knew Liège Fortress was a porcupine for ground troops — a nightmare to crack.

What they didn’t know was that for air units, it was just as much of a nightmare.

Because World War I planes flew so damn slow, they couldn’t use bomb momentum to release from a distance like they would in WWII or later.

Bombers of this era basically had to fly directly over their target.

Even at 5,000 meters, they’d still have to drop their bombs within 800-900 meters of the target.

That kind of distance was nothing for the big-caliber anti-aircraft guns the defenders had. No safety in that at all.

Hell, the German AA crews opened fire before the British bombers even got into bomb-release position — the guns just had that much more range.

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Dense gunfire erupted, blooming black smoke clouds all around the British bombers.

The lead planes — fighters and bombers alike — were the first unlucky bastards of the day. Shells tore straight through their fuselages and wings.

To save weight, most World War I planes were made of wood. They couldn’t survive a hit from a big-caliber AA shell.

The fighters that got hit disintegrated on the spot — the pilots didn’t even have a chance to bail out. They died right there with their machines.

The exploding wreckage, mixed with the pilots’ bodies, scattered across the sky like flower petals — putting on a damn "meteor shower" show for the soldiers watching from both sides.

Compared to the fragile fighters, the bombers — heavier and bigger — could take a bit more punishment.

The first bomber to get hit took a shell straight through the belly, blowing a massive hole in it. But it didn’t break apart.

Instead, trailing black smoke, it nosedived straight into the ground.

Whether the pilot died in the explosion or couldn’t bail out during the freefall — nobody could tell.

Either way, no one was seen escaping from the aircraft during the entire descent.

Until a massive BOOM — the bomber slammed into the earth and turned into a giant fireball.

The leftover fuel and ammo on board detonated on impact. The explosion was absolutely massive — you could feel the ground shake from miles away.

Debris from the wreckage flew so far it landed more than 2,000 meters from the crash site.

"Goddammit, they were ready for us! Break formation — scatter! Attack targets freely from different altitudes and angles!"

The British commander, eyes burning with rage, gritted his teeth and gave the order — then, flying straight into the dense barrage, he steered his plane toward a German gun battery.

He’d been watching that battery. Its anti-aircraft fire was especially intense. If he could take it out, it might open a gap in that sector — letting the bombers behind him push deeper into the fortress and hit other targets!

The battery he’d locked onto was Gun Battery No. 1, armed with three 305mm heavy guns.

The Germans defending it caught on to his plan fast and swung their barrels toward him, opening fire with everything they had.

Whether it was dumb luck or just a tough bastard to kill — he dodged wave after wave of German shells. Aside from a scratch on his wing, he hadn’t taken any fatal hits.

2,000 meters!

1,500 meters!

1,000 meters!

Almost at bomb-release range. The bomber’s bay doors were already open, revealing that massive orange-painted bomb sitting inside.

But just as the bombardier was about to hit the release button — an Albatross fighter with a silver Iron Cross painted on its fuselage burst through the clouds, appearing right off the bomber’s tail.