Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 120 A Less-than-Smooth Welcome Party
About 8 kilometers northeast of Verdun is the German Air Force base, Duamont Airport.

Accompanied by the distant rumble of artillery fire, the red triplane fighter jets, like actors who had just finished a spectacular performance, slowly landed on the airport runway.

Ground crew brought a ladder and placed it in front of the cockpit, but the young driver only stepped on two steps before jumping down.

Lieutenant Richthofen strode towards the ground control center, kicking up dust as he landed. Judging from his movements and the slight upturn of his lips, the young man, who had just turned 24, was in a good mood—he had just recently achieved his first aerial kill, shooting down a French Neuburg aircraft.

“Hey, Manfred! Here, here!” Someone waved to him from the corner of the barracks, looking a few years younger than the lieutenant.

Kurt Wolff joined the Air Force six months later than Lieutenant Richthofen and is still flying reconnaissance aircraft. The two are in different air squadrons, but they are good friends in private.

"Wolf, you've come at the right time. I have good news for you..." The lieutenant greeted his friend as he approached.

"Um, Manfred, can I speak first?" The other person stepped forward and placed a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder.

"Alright, you go first." The future Red Baron's expression at this moment was more like that of a big boy showing off a new toy, after all, the first shot-down has extraordinary significance for an air force officer.

“Hmm…” Wolfe considered his words carefully. “Manfred, we heard about you shooting down the French plane, but there was a slight mishap.”

"Minor issue?"

"Well, while we all trust your credibility, you really did go into action alone that day, and the target crashed in French territory, so..."

"So?" The lieutenant already had a sense of what his comrades below were about to say.

“So, according to the wartime kill statistics regulations, your kill has been rejected because it cannot be definitively confirmed.” Wolf finished speaking and then secretly observed the other party’s reaction.

There was an awkward silence for about two or three seconds before Lieutenant Richthofen's lips curled up slightly. "Alright, although it's a bit of a shame, let's postpone the celebration for the first kill."

"Hey? Aren't you angry?"

"It's a bit of a shame, but with my skills, it's only a matter of time before I get my first shot down." The young lieutenant took off his goggles, his handsome face radiating confidence and arrogance.

"Dude, it's great that you think that way! Come on, everyone's waiting for you!" Seeing that his friend wasn't discouraged, Wolf happily put his arm around his companion's shoulder.

"where to?"

Wolff led the way while explaining, "Of course it's a celebration for you. Although your record isn't officially recorded, we all trust your integrity, and this celebration was organized privately for you."

The hangar doors were opened, revealing a variety of fighter jets with different paint schemes—red, green, white, you name it—looking like a circus.

“Manfred! We’re here, waiting for you!” In a corner of the warehouse, several young men raised their hands high. A blanket was spread on a wooden crate to serve as a table, on which were placed some canned food and bread. Some of them also took out playing cards and a violin.

The young lieutenant walked by with a smile, and everyone who passed by would reach out and pat his flight cap, a slightly superstitious way of blessing him.

The military is a place where small groups easily form, and this is even more serious in the air force, where most pilots are from noble families and are more likely to stick together among their peers.

These wooden crate gatherings were a way for these people to bond, and as long as they didn't drink excessively or let it affect their combat effectiveness, their superiors generally turned a blind eye. The sound of cans being opened rang out, and the atmosphere at the gathering became lively. People asked the lieutenant about his first experience shooting down an enemy plane, and some even embellished their stories by boasting about their past experiences.

However, a chance event shattered the harmonious atmosphere.

"Moslin, has this gone bad? It smells weird." The lieutenant picked up an open can and gestured to his comrade.

The atmosphere suddenly became somewhat awkward. The pilots exchanged glances without saying a word. Finally, young Wolf stepped forward and said, "Manfred, you just came back from the front lines. You don't know yet, but the rations have changed..."

"The canned food contains horse meat; all the supplies we received this time were like that."

"Horse meat?!" The lieutenant lowered his head and sniffed the contents of the tin can. Judging from the rough muscle fibers and the texture that tasted like chewing leather belt, it was indeed horse meat.

"how could this be?"

In his mind, horses were an important strategic resource and would not be easily used as a raw material for meat consumption.

A well-informed person sighed, "Manfred, you don't know this, do you? We can't afford to raise pigs in the country anymore. We don't have enough potatoes and corn to feed them. Only horses that have been killed in bombings or retired can fill the meat gap."

Seeing his companions' dejected expressions, Lieutenant Richthofen carefully examined the items on the table and realized that this "banquet" was actually extremely shabby.

A small amount of white bread was sliced ​​and distributed to everyone. The canned food served with the meal was mostly horse meat. After taking a sip of coffee, he discovered that it was a substitute made of barley and other ingredients. He had heard that soldiers in the army used this kind of thing before, but he never expected to see it in front of him.

Thinking of this, the lieutenant remained silent for a moment, then took out some banknotes from his pocket. He was of noble birth and had a lot of cash on hand, so he didn't rely on those flight allowances to make a living.

However, this action was stopped by an older companion.

“Manfred, it’s not about the money. The officers’ shop doesn’t have anything right now.”

"Our supply lines have also been attacked by the French, and the supplies that can be brought up now are limited, so we must prioritize ammunition."

Seemingly afraid of dampening the morale of the young people, he immediately added, "But don't worry, the difficulties are only temporary. As long as we take over this area, everything will be fine."

"Is it really like that?" Someone looked uncertainly out the window toward the French positions. The two sides had been fighting for a month, and the German army had made almost no progress except for the initial period.

"Of course it's true!" the older pilot said confidently.

"We're just short on supplies, but the French on the other side are running out of ammunition. If this drags on, they won't last long. We'll soon be able to push our front line to Paris and then take a proper vacation..."

“That’s right, very soon!” the pilots began to try to encourage themselves. “We can even consider buying some gifts, after all, Easter is just around the corner.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than, as if to echo his words, the sound of cannons rang out again in the distance.

(End of this chapter)