Republic of China: Ace Pilot

Chapter 695 The Taishan Airlift from Dunkirk (3): Nighttime Transfers and a Comparison of British and Chinese Military Rations

A fleet of 53 seaplanes, led by Fang Wen, flew over the English Channel.

This area is now outside the German operational range and poses no immediate threat.

The aircraft flew northeast and arrived at the narrowest part of the strait 20 minutes later. This place is also called the Strait of Dover, which is only 34 kilometers wide at its narrowest point. It was also the place where the British and French troops chose to retreat.

Fang Wen magnified his supernatural vision to the extreme, and every detail of Calais City was clearly imprinted in his mind, even more clearly than he could see through a telescope.

This small seaside town was no longer peaceful; it had become a battlefield where blood and flesh flew everywhere. The German army's steel torrent was pressing in from the east and south, and the French army's resistance was like a candle flickering in the wind, yet they still persisted.

In the city's narrow streets, French soldiers used wrecked trucks, piles of overturned stones, and broken tree trunks to build roadblocks, cutting the once-open streets into winding defensive nodes.

Several French soldiers huddled behind the barricade, gripping anti-tank rifles they had obtained from the British, their muzzles pointed at the corner at the end of the street.

Soon, the tracks of two German Panzer II tanks rolled over the cobblestone road with a dull thud as they slowly came into view.

"Fire now!" a French squad leader roared, and the anti-tank riflemen immediately pulled the trigger.

The bullet whistled out and accurately hit the side armor of one of the tanks, but only made a crisp "clang" sound, leaving a shallow bullet hole.

It ricocheted.

The tank was completely unaffected. Its turret slowly rotated, and its 20mm cannon aimed at the roadblock. A single shell instantly shattered the pile of rocks.

Amidst the flying debris, two French soldiers were thrown into the air by the blast wave and slammed against the wall, where they remained motionless.

The remaining soldiers did not retreat, but changed their angle and continued firing. However, no matter where the bullets hit the tank, they could not penetrate the thick armor. Instead, they exposed their positions and were mowed down by the tank's coaxial machine gun.

It seemed that the British and French troops were in a very critical situation. Fang Wen frowned slightly. Could things have developed differently from history?

The supernatural vision shifted to the other side of the street, where German flamethrower units were advancing.

Two German soldiers, carrying heavy flamethrowers and under the cover of infantry, pressed forward and pulled the trigger on a house that was putting up a stubborn resistance.

Orange-red flames shot out like venomous snakes, instantly engulfing the doors and windows of the entire house.

The crackling of burning wood and the creaking of collapsing house structures rose and fell, while the screams of French soldiers echoed from inside the house before fading into silence.

Flames licked at the walls, blackening the stone houses, and thick smoke rose from the rooftops, mingling with the smoke from other parts of the city and enveloping the entire city of Calais.

Looking down, Fang Wen saw some civilians who hadn't escaped hiding in the basements of their homes. The cramped spaces were crammed with people—the elderly, women, and children huddled together, barely daring to breathe. A young mother tightly hugged her infant child, covering the child's ears with her hands, trying to block out the explosions and screams outside, but the child still trembled with fear, tears silently streaming down their face. A small amount of thick smoke drifted into the basement ventilation shafts; someone couldn't help but cough, but was immediately covered up by those around them, lest their location be revealed. Through the small basement windows, they watched in horror as the streets burned and German tanks advanced, their eyes filled with despair.

Resistance continues in the city.

British and French troops deployed a large number of fortifications and weapons in the city.

Between the buildings, a large number of infantrymen were concealed, equipped with 50mm Mle 1937 mortars that could be operated by a single soldier, as well as heavy mortars with a range of 2 kilometers.

The intersections were not only fortified, but also used British and French tanks as cover, and were equipped with 25mm Hotchkiss SA34/SA37 anti-tank guns, as well as the 'tank killer' 47mm SA37 heavy anti-tank gun.

With its armor-piercing capability of 80mm/500m, the 47mm SA37 heavy anti-tank gun posed the greatest threat to the German tank forces. No German tank could withstand the fire of this shell, not even the most powerful tank the German army had just deployed, the 'Panzer IV'.

It was precisely because of this that the British and French armies were able to temporarily halt the German offensive and catch their breath.

Fang Wen withdrew his supernatural vision, his mind racing.

Calais was the closest point to mainland Britain, so it was the German army's primary target.

British and French troops had no choice but to settle for second best and gather at Dunkirk.

However, judging from the current situation, the resistance from the city won't last long.

If Calais falls, the main German forces will be able to advance on Dunkirk from the south without any hindrance, and the Allied forces will face even greater pressure to retreat.

Shaking off his thoughts, Fang Wen picked up the microphone and ordered the aircraft formation: "Attention all formations, the fighting is fierce in the direction of Gara. The German Luftwaffe may be operating in this area. Maintain altitude, increase speed, and follow my yaw."

"Received!" came the responses from each group in turn.

The 53 seaplanes adjusted their course and increased their speed, flying towards the British mainland under the lead plane piloted by Fang Wen.

When the aircraft were 20 kilometers from the British mainland, they encountered fighter jets attacking from the British direction.

Fang Wen adjusted the frequency of his wireless equipment and received radio voice messages from the Taishan walkie-talkie on the enemy's fighter jet.

The British used the Taishan walkie-talkies they had previously purchased on their air combat aircraft.

A London accent came through the radio.

"This is the Royal Air Force. We will leave two aircraft to escort you to Ramsgate."

"Received," Fang Wen replied simply.

Immediately afterwards, the British fighter jet formation passed by at high altitude, leaving two fighter jets to fly ahead of the Taishan aircraft group to lead the way.

Fang Wen led his squadron in a follow-up flight.

The swarm flew over Dover and then over to a small town on the easternmost edge of England.

This is Ramsgate, a small seaside town.

The fishing boats that were originally moored in the town's harbor are setting sail one after another, their destination naturally being Dunkirk for the evacuation of personnel.

On the sparsely populated port docks, British soldiers waved flags.

On the harbor waters, there were several small boats, using the smoke from their boats to guide landings.

Fang Wen picked up the microphone and spoke to the lead aircraft: "You can go back now."

"Okay, see you in Dunkirk."

The two Spitfire fighters changed course and flew away.

Fang Wenze directed 11 formations to land in batches in the port waters.

After all the planes landed and docked, Fang Wen got off the plane and met with the British officers at the port.

He shook hands with the British officer: "I am Fang Wen from Taishan Airlines, and I am participating in this transfer service on a commercial basis."

"Hello, we have already allocated the aviation fuel you need. The situation is urgent, so I will explain the transfer plan directly. Please follow me."

Fang Wen followed the officer into the port's temporary transfer and dispatch room.

The officer pointed to the completed operational map and explained, “The transfer route is from the western beach of Dunkirk to Ramsgate, a total distance of 43.5 miles, or 70 kilometers. At the speed you provided, it will only take less than 15 minutes. Including boarding and disembarking time, a round trip should take 40 minutes. Our plan is to transport at least 10 flights every night, carrying 5000 people for us.”

After listening to his proposal, Fang Wen replied, "I can arrange for the flight to take place at night, which will avoid German air raids. If nothing unexpected happens, we can achieve your requirements."

Upon hearing Fang Wen's words, the officer was delighted.

"Then I'll report this to my superiors right away."

He dialed a number in London from the dispatch room, and came over after the call ended.

“Mr. Fang, London has informed Dunkirk that the first airlift flight will take place at 8 p.m. tonight. There are still a few hours left, and your pilots can disembark and rest.”

Fang Wen nodded, turned around and walked out of the dispatch room to the dock.

At his command, all the pilots of the 53 seaplanes disembarked and assembled on the open ground of the dock.

Fang Wen stood at the front of the line and said seriously, "According to the British plan, we will conduct transfer flights at night, 10 round trips each night. To ensure flight intensity, all aircraft will be operated without co-pilots and will be divided into two shifts." At his request, the pilot and co-pilot of each aircraft became two shifts of pilots, each flying half the flight to ensure they were fully energized.

Fang Wen himself will lead the flight throughout the entire process.

After the arrangements were completed, the pilots unloaded the supply boxes from the plane and carried them into the lounge prepared for them at the port.

At this moment, a British officer also arrived with a group of soldiers carrying supply bags.

"Mr. Fang, we have prepared dinner for you."

"It was cooked by a local chef we hired, and it's better than the army's meals."

"Really? May I take a look?"

Fang Wen took a bag and took out the food inside.

A steaming aluminum lunchbox contained a fried fish, a few small potatoes, and a slice of smoked meat.

There are also diced cheese, pepper mustard dressing, a cup of hot coffee, and sugar cubes.

Fang Wen knew that these foods were considered delicacies by the British.

He turned his head and said, "The squadron leader is here to collect dinner."

Eleven group leaders happily ran over and took their group's food.

They distributed the food and enjoyed the British cuisine.

He frequently gave the British officers a thumbs-up in praise.

"Not bad." "It tastes great."

The British officers happily led their troops away.

Wait until he leaves.

"What kind of dish is this? I don't like it."

"You say it's bad, but the ingredients are all good, so why does it just not taste right?"

Hearing the pilots' words, Fang Wen chuckled inwardly. This wasn't a matter of taste; Britain truly was a culinary wasteland.

He said, "We can't go hungry tonight. If anyone hasn't eaten enough, eat the food we brought. We brought enough for seven days, that should be enough."

We're just waiting for Fang Wen to say that.

The pilots opened the supply crates and took out the Taishan military rations and canned meat products.

Military rations contain a lime bag that can be easily heated by filling the bag with water.

After finishing their meal, they lit a fire and set up a large pot that they had obtained from the British army. They also boiled several large pots of water and filled each pilot's canteen with military water to replenish their fluids during the flight.

Time passed little by little.

It got dark.

British, French, and German air force fighters returned from the battlefield, and ground fighting gradually ceased, with only sporadic fighting occurring in a few places.

British ships began to set sail in large numbers, and the sea was dotted with their lights.

As the ships approached Dunkirk, the troops gathered on the shore crowded onto them by wading through the water.

The situation remained chaotic, with the troops released onto the beach vying for a chance to escape.

To stop this chaos and make the evacuation orderly.

A command post was set up on the beach, with British Army Major General Harold leading military police to manage the situation on-site.

The western side of Dunkirk Beach, however, is much calmer.

More than a thousand troops were also gathered there, waiting.

8 pm.

Ramsgate’s 53 seaplanes took off.

The aircraft maintained their flight formation in the pitch-black night sky, guided by navigation lights and Fang Wen's instructions.

Thirteen minutes later, the plane arrived over Dunkirk.

Fang Wen used his special ability to observe the situation below.

A campfire was lit on the beach to serve as a landing guide.

However, the landing location cannot be on the beach where the tide is rising and falling, but in waters a little further away.

He picked up the microphone and directed each plane to land.

After 53 planes landed on the sea, 500 British soldiers on the beach took up their weapons and waded into the water toward the seaplanes not far away.

When they reached waist-deep water, they arrived at the location where the seaplane was docked.

"Go go go!" the Eastern pilots shouted to the soldiers in the water in their newly acquired English.

The seawater soaked through the soldiers' uniforms, and the evening breeze made their teeth chatter from the cold, but no one dared to slow down.

They threw their guns into the cabin, struggled to climb onto the buoy, and then pulled the others up with them.

The soldiers boarded the plane, and the pilot counted them. Once the plane was full (50 people), the pilot would stop and let the other soldiers board other planes.

The cabin was packed full, with soldiers pressed chest to back, barely able to turn around. Some soldiers lost their helmets in the water, but they didn't bother to pick them up, just desperately trying to squeeze into the cabin. A young soldier was pushed by the person behind him and almost fell into the water, but luckily an older soldier in front of him reached out and pulled him up.

Fang Wen sat in the cockpit of the navigator, his mechanical perception ability acting like an invisible net, covering the surrounding area. He could clearly sense the location of every seaplane and the progress of the soldiers boarding the ships. At the same time, he was also on alert for the movements of the German forces—although most of the German warplanes had already returned to base, no one could guarantee that there wouldn't be any surprise reconnaissance or bomber attacks.

When it was almost time, he picked up the microphone: "Each group, report on boarding status."

The 11 pilots reported one by one that only 2 aircraft had not yet completed boarding.

Two minutes later, all planes had finished boarding.

Fang Wen glanced at his watch.

It took 20 minutes.

His heart tightened. The round trip flight would only take less than half an hour, but boarding would take 20 minutes and disembarking would also take time, so the round trip would probably take more than 40 minutes.

It seems I'll have to report the situation to the British evacuation command when I get back.

Clearing his mind, he picked up the microphone: "Attention all aircraft, close cabin doors, prepare for takeoff."

After receiving the order, the pilot left the cockpit, struggled to the door, closed the door, and then squeezed back into the cockpit.

Subsequently, 53 aircraft took off one after another, flying to Ramsgate, 70 kilometers away.

(End of this chapter)