Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Arslan pulled the Iron Bird high into the air, its nose pointing skyward, the fuselage almost perpendicular to the ground, like a silver arrow shot into the heavens. Then, with a swift and clean roll, belly up, it flipped back up, the movement crisp and decisive, as if drawing a perfect comma in the sky with the Iron Bird's body.

De la Maril drew one perfect circle after another in the low sky. The radii of the circles were so small that it seemed the plane might stall, crash, or plunge into the river at any moment, but it didn't. Its wings remained perfectly level, as if an invisible hand was supporting it from below. The end of each circle was the beginning of the next, continuous and unbroken, like a shuttle weaving through the air.

Darkus's aunt demonstrated her absolute control over the aircraft with a series of rolls, her movements unhurried and unhurried, as if strolling in her own living room, a cup of tea in her left hand and a newspaper in her right, seemingly casual yet each step exquisite. The fuselage rotated around its longitudinal axis, the nose rising slightly with each rotation, as if an unseen hand was gently manipulating the iron bird, making it dance to her will.

As for Kallien, his performance was the quietest, yet also the most outrageous.

He flew very low, so low that the wind pressure generated by his propellers could create white ripples on the river's surface, like countless water snakes swimming swiftly across it; so low that his wings almost brushed past the modules lying across the river, so close that the soldiers standing by the bridge instinctively shrank back; so low that the soldiers on the riverbank could see the grinning face in his cockpit—a boyish, mischievous smile, the kind that only appears after a successful prank.

Then he pulled up, a leap, a half-roll and a reverse turn, pulling up high, the nose pointing back to the sky, the fuselage forming a sharp angle with the ground, like a dagger that could fall at any moment.

A few seconds later, the small dive resumed.

It's not the previous 70 degrees, not the 50 degrees, but a gentler, more subtle 30 degrees, like a dragonfly skimming the water.

But the harpy's howl did not weaken as the angle of its dive decreased. It exerted its power again, and that piercing sound, somewhere between a whistle and an organ pipe, tore through the sky once more. This time, it did not come down from above, but surged in from all directions at the same time, as if countless invisible harpies were circling, howling, and showing off above the river.

No one spoke on the hillside.

No one whispered or murmured; everyone endured the piercing, agitating, and unsettling howls. Everyone's eardrums vibrated, and everyone's teeth ached, but no one covered their ears.

All eyes were on the sky, following the trajectory of the four iron birds, moving from east to west, from south to north, from low altitude to high altitude, and from high altitude to low altitude, like a group of puppets being pulled by the same invisible string, with only their eyes moving, only their necks turning, and only their chins slightly raising or lowering.

They just watched, mouths agape, eyes wide, as the iron birds drew streaks of silvery white light across the sky, crisscrossing like everlasting fireworks.

Those tracks intertwined, covering the sky above the river and the bridges that were still extending, like a net that was slowly tightening.

No one knows what this net will catch, but everyone knows—they are already in it.

Dakos stood on the hillside, arms crossed, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Can it be like those vehicles in the distance?"

After looking up for a moment, Aris turned to look at Darkus, who was standing there in a daze, seemingly deep in thought. His gaze shifted from the iron bird that was circling low in the sky to Darkus's profile, carrying a complex, hesitant look, as if he were confirming something but was also hesitant to confirm it.

“You mean… mass production?” Darkus confirmed.

Ares neither nodded nor shook his head; he simply stood there, looking at the Moon Bow in his hand with a complex expression.

“As an excellent machinist, you shouldn’t be asking this question. It’s a bit… you know what I’m trying to say.” Dakos shrugged.

The gesture of spreading his hands was very light, but the meaning was very clear: you have personally machined parts, so you know what machines can do.

If vehicles can be mass-produced, why can't iron birds be mass-produced?

If you've machined one part on a lathe, you can machine a hundred identical parts. If you've drawn an airplane on a blueprint, you can produce a hundred identical airplanes on an assembly line.

This is the logic of industry: simple, brutal, and irrational!
Aris smiled.

There was speechlessness, relief, and a self-deprecating sense of "How could I have asked such a question?" in his smile. He gently plucked the bowstring, which emitted a low, sigh-like hum before quickly disappearing into the roar of the iron bird's engine.

Yeah, he asked a stupid question.

If vehicles can be mass-produced, why can't iron birds be mass-produced?

Everything is unique when it is handcrafted; once it becomes machine-made, it becomes a product.

Products don't need to be unique; what they need is—the next one you need, waiting for you in the warehouse.

"Drivers are also welcome, and they don't need a second view, they just need to... not have a fear of heights?"

Then, Dakous added another sentence.

No second eye is needed, no spellcasting ability is needed, and no decades of studying are required.

All you need is to be unafraid of heights, not prone to motion sickness, quick enough to react, and bold enough, and then spend enough time flying in the training field to be able to pilot that iron bird.

It's not "you might", it's "you can".

Because every part of that iron bird is mass-produced, it won't be different from today's or yesterday's, and it won't be different from this one or that one.

Learn to fight this one fight, and you'll learn to fight all fights.

“A new era…” Aris exclaimed.

The exclamation was short, just two words, but those two words carried a heavy weight. So heavy that he needed to hold the bow with both hands to keep it from slipping from his grasp; so heavy that his shoulders slumped slightly, as if something was pressing down on them.

This time, Dakotas did not respond, but instead began to ponder.

The new era is here, without a doubt. But regarding airplanes, it seems there's still one step to take?
His gaze shifted from Aris to the iron bird pulling up in the distance—it was Kalion, beginning his reckless low-altitude flyby once more. The wings were almost skimming the ground, the propellers whipping up dust from the riverbank, and his grin widened.

Actually... his initial idea was to skip propeller planes, that is, piston planes, and use the energy provided by the Arcane Sphere to create something similar to a jet plane.

It's faster, flies higher, has a longer range, is quieter, and doesn't need that creepy harpy howl.

Piston-engine dive bombers were not in the plans at all.

As a result... once things started, they were beyond his control.

The engineers were so excited about the new materials that they couldn't sleep. They spent days and nights drawing blueprints and built the first prototype.

Everyone was happy, including Darkus, but his feelings were complicated: the path he wanted to take was one that no one else was on; the path he didn't want to take had been trodden into a highway by the engineers.

Yes, change, praise Tzeentch!
Fortunately, he was already used to the absurdity of "plans not keeping up with changes".

You think you're in command, but you're just being pushed around; you think you're making choices, but you're just confirming.

That's how it ended.

Piston-engine dive bombers appeared, and flying artillery appeared, and they were widely praised.

Darkus had a feeling that for a long time to come, the Elves would widely equip and use dive bombers, and further upgrade and optimize them.

By the standards of the previous life, the engine was from the mid-1930s—not the most advanced, but not the most outdated either, with a lot of room for improvement.

Cylinders can be made larger, compression ratios can be higher, and fuel injection systems can be more precise. The engineers are already drawing up new blueprints, and before long, more powerful, faster, and higher-flying engines will step off the blueprints and be installed in the iron bellies of those iron birds.

The aircraft's overall appearance is somewhat unsettling, resembling a combination of a Ju87 and a drunken SBD Fearless.

The nose and rear half of the fuselage have the robust and powerful style of the Ju87, like a strong man wielding a hammer; while the middle and wings have the smooth and elegant curves of the SBD Dauntless, like a strong man wearing a tuxedo.

Having two styles crammed onto the same plane seems like it's saying, "I can fight tough battles and attend banquets," though neither quite fits the bill...

The second issue is whether to add a co-pilot's cockpit, although there is actually no "co-pilot" role.

The aircraft had only one pilot, with a machine gunner and radio operator in the rear seat. In combat, he was responsible for operating a rotatable machine gun mounted on a movable gun mount in the rear cockpit to fire at enemy aircraft attacking from the rear or side and below, while also keeping watch on other directions during flight.

Secondly, he operates the airborne radio transceiver equipment to maintain communication with ground command and other aircraft, receiving target coordinates, return instructions, etc. In long-range missions, he is also responsible for navigation assistance, such as direction finding, route determination, and course correction.

Secondly, it assists in observation and recording, helping pilots observe ground anti-aircraft fire and target damage effects. In some missions, it carries a handheld camera to photograph the attack results. In emergencies, it can also help pull certain emergency levers, such as manually releasing stuck bombs or ejecting the hatch in an emergency.

But it seems unnecessary?
As far as Darkus knows, the air fleet project seems to have been initiated.

The blueprints are being drawn, the model is being made, and the materials are being prepared.

The aircraft carrier hovers directly above the battlefield, so aircraft don't need to take off from field airfields. Instead, they can take off directly from the aircraft carrier's runway and then enter the battlefield in a semi-flying, semi-landing manner.

So the radio operator's job was cut?

There's no need to contact ground command anymore; the command center is right overhead. There's no need to receive target coordinates anymore; the commander is nearby. The back seat will likely only have the function of "machine gunner" left.

As for machine guns... that depends on who the enemy is and who the hypothetical enemy is.

If the enemy has no air force, then the machine gun is useless; if the enemy has an air force...

But then again, with an air fleet already in place, dive bombers seem somewhat redundant.
Wouldn't it be better for airborne ships to simply descend to a lower altitude, then aim their artillery and launch a vertical strike?

Like an AC-130 gunship, it uses a large-caliber cannon and several small-caliber autocannons to circle above the target, unleashing all its firepower on a single point. No need for dives, no need for the howling of the harpy, no need for the pilot to endure six Gs while simultaneously aiming and dropping bombs.

All you need to do is fly high enough and fly steadily enough, and then fire one by one.

Safer, more accurate, and more durable.

I don't know, Dakos really doesn't know. With the great development of materials science and the improvement of tactics, the future is full of uncertainties.

What seems useful today may be outdated tomorrow; what seems superfluous today may become essential tomorrow.

This is not something he can control, just as he cannot control why engineers prefer to build piston-engine dive bombers, just as he cannot control the elves' obsession with speed.

He could only watch, nod after confirming there were no major problems, and then say, "Okay, we'll do it your way."

He didn't know what the future held.

But one thing he was certain of: every scene of that day, from the military parade to the bridge-building, from the bridge-building to the bombing, from the bombing to the air show, would be remembered by everyone present.

It is imprinted on their retinas, on their eardrums, on their minds, and on their hearts.

From that day on, they could no longer view war through the lens of the old era, nor could they view Trucchi through the lens of the old era.

Those old dreams about "the glory of the elves," "the pride of the elves," and "the invincibility of the elves" shattered, scattered, dissolved, and melted into the earth turned upside down by the bombs in those explosions, in those plumes of smoke, and in those iron birds drawing circles in the sky.

As he pondered, Dakotas turned his gaze toward the Anasara Bridge.

During the time he was lost in thought, the six iron bridges advanced quite a bit further, the structure suspended over the river becoming longer and longer, getting closer and closer to the opposite bank.

After the iron birds took their solo performance time, the pontoon bridge troops returned to work. They were not distracted by the aerial performance; they simply kept their heads down, bent over, and focused on the task at hand.

The artillery crews, who were previously responsible for operating the ballistae and conducting anti-aircraft defense, began, under the guidance of their officers, to rotate the ballistae and aim the muzzles at the iron birds in the sky, conducting a simulation.

Yes, simulation.

When actually facing those iron birds, the effectiveness of these ballistae is... barely better than nothing, not as practical as magic arrows conjured by hand.

Undoubtedly, in the future, these artillery crews assigned to pontoon bridge units will be equipped with various types of anti-aircraft guns to deal with diving iron birds like the one just now.

In addition to anti-aircraft guns, there also need to be anti-aircraft balloons. These huge balloons, which are tied to the ground with cables and filled with hydrogen, can form a barrier at low altitudes to prevent iron birds from entering from low altitudes.

But today, the air-raid balloons were not raised to avoid scratching the iron birds that were performing.

Time passed by, second by second.

The Asur nobles standing on the hillside had numb legs and aching feet, but not one of them asked to sit down or rest. Their gaze remained fixed on the sky, on the trajectory of the four iron birds, and on the occasional howl of the harpy.

Half an hour later, the four iron birds completed their formation. It wasn't the loose aerobatic formation they had before, but a tight combat formation, with wingtips almost touching, as if they were strung together by the same thread. They pulled up from low altitude, climbed to cruising altitude, and then turned northwest, heading towards a distant field airfield.

The roar of the engine changed from high-pitched to low, from low to distant, from distant to faintly audible, and finally disappeared completely.

This means it's out of fuel, not that the show is over. If there was still fuel in the tank, Calien would probably have been flying until nightfall?
And the Anasara Bridge, in the quiet after the iron bird departed, ushered in its most crucial moment.

As the soldiers pushed, the weight of the module on the river exceeded that of the module on the bank. In the instant of the torque reversal, the module on the river began to fall automatically, not crashing down, but falling, with a slow, irreversible, and relieved feeling, as if a long wait had finally come to an end.

Those modules suspended on the river surface resembled a person who could finally lie down, slowly, steadily, and precisely placed onto the ground on the opposite bank.

The sound of it landing was not loud, but deep, like a muffled thunderclap, which traveled from the river to the hillside.

Now that we've reached this point, the most difficult stage is over.

Then, each pontoon bridge unit's small boat appeared precisely on the opposite bank—no, not just precisely, it was calculated.

Before the boat had even come to a complete stop, the soldiers carrying the jacks jumped off, their boots splashing through the muddy water of the shallows. They carried the jacks to the bottom of the first module and placed them under the raised section beneath it.

The jack is mechanical, with a spiral structure; with each rotation, the jack rod rises a short distance.

As the soldiers continued to pry open the jacks, the second module was gradually lifted up. Once the height was right, the soldiers who had been waiting nearby immediately inserted the rocker arm rollers.

"They're going to push forward!"

Compared to studying iron birds, Berlanal preferred studying those peculiar bridges. He watched the bridges when the iron birds flew in the sky; he watched the bridges when the iron birds swooped down; he was still watching the bridges when the iron birds dropped bombs.

While others gazed at the heavens, his gaze fell upon the earth. The moment the rocker arm roller was inserted, his eyes lit up, his lips moved, and he uttered those words with an air of "I knew it all along."

He already knew what was going to happen next.

Sure enough, the soldiers on the riverbank began pushing the bridge.

It wasn't the kind of forceful, shouting, all-out pushing; it was a more relaxed, less strenuous, and effortless movement, like pushing a boat with the current. The bridge began to move slowly along the rollers, like a snake shedding its skin, the old shell being pushed out and a new one taking its place from behind.

The movement was continuous, uniform, and stable, like a calibrated machine operating at a pre-designed speed. Once it reached a certain position, the soldiers on the other side of the river used their tools to unload the first and second modules.

It's not dismantling, it's disassembling.

Like disassembling building blocks, remove the modules that have completed their mission from the front of the bridge and set them aside.

At this point, these two sets of modules have completed their mission. They have moved the bridge from one side of the river to the other, turned the impossible into possible, and proved that the bridge is not just a line drawn on a blueprint, but a physical object that can be touched, pushed, and used.

But the construction of the entire bridge is not yet finished.

That's just the skeleton; there are still several steps to go before it can be used by people or cars.

The soldiers began installing upper supports at both ends of the bridge. These were triangular, spliced ​​steel frames, one end fixed to the bridge deck and the other end angled downwards into the mud on the riverbank, like giving the bridge a crutch.

Next are the lower supports and bearings, which are thicker, heavier components that require multiple people to lift. They are responsible for transferring the weight of the bridge to the foundation on the riverbank and preventing uncontrollable deformation of the bridge deck when vehicles pass over it.

The installation process was slow and meticulous. Every step had to be checked, every bolt had to be tightened to the specified torque, and every connection point had to be inspected for proper functioning.

No one rushed them, no one was in a hurry, because they all knew—the bridge couldn't be allowed to break down.

If problems arise in the earlier stages, the worst-case scenario is that the bridge cannot be built and we have to start all over again.

But something went wrong here. In the worst-case scenario, the bridge collapsed, people were killed, the car overturned, and all the subsequent steps were lost.

That would be a big deal.

At this point, the overall construction of the bridge is considered complete.

The framework is in place, the support is in place, and the connections are in place.

But it's still not passable. The structure is empty, just a frame made up of side panels, beams, and support rods. Walking on it, you can see the river below, the stones on the riverbed, and the small fish darting among the water plants.

The bridge deck also needs to be built. These are modules welded together from steel plates and anti-slip netting, which are laid piece by piece on top of the frame, fixed with bolts, and secured with shock-absorbing pads.

After each piece was laid out, a soldier would stomp on it twice to make sure it wouldn't wobble.

The total construction time is calculated from the moment the entire bridge deck is laid, not when the framework is completed or the supports are installed, but when the last bridge deck module is bolted on and the last "click" is heard.

Dakos wasn't interested in which pontoon bridge unit had completed its construction in the shortest time. After all, he wasn't part of the military system; those rankings, those records, those "we were half a minute faster than you" competitions were matters between soldiers, not his.

He rolled up his sleeves and glanced down at his watch. Sunlight fell on the dial, clearly showing the shadows of the hands; the hour hand pointed to ten o'clock, and the minute hand to twelve. It was already ten o'clock in the morning.

According to the plan, the moment the bridge is completed will be the moment the convoy can pass through.

Once the bridge deck is paved, the first vehicle must cross it; there can be no gaps, no waiting, no "wait a minute, we're not ready yet." A seamless, interconnected system is the design philosophy behind this war machine.

However, the convoy did not appear...

The road on the other side of the river was deserted.

There were no engine sounds, no dust kicked up, and no long lines of trucks loaded with soldiers and supplies.

Darkus raised his head, looked at the end of the road, stared for a few seconds, then lowered his head, his lips twitching slightly.

Unsurprisingly, the expected poor performance occurred. (End of Chapter)