My Third Reich

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The wind blew across the wide grassy field, carrying a few broken blades of grass and bringing the chill of autumn to the people here. This was a simple airfield, home to seven newly allocated German Air Force fighters. These planes belonged to the 1st Air Wing and were responsible for fighting for air superiority over the nearby battlefield.

The pilots knew this fighter was codenamed the Adler (Eagle), and they had learned from their training manuals and instructors that its military designation was the Me-109 fighter. As soon as this aircraft appeared on the Spanish battlefield, it achieved an outstanding record of shooting down seven enemy planes without a single loss of its own.

Due to fuel limitations, the pilots participating in the Spanish air war never flew for more than two hours per mission. Therefore, the pilots of the German 1st Air Wing fighting in the Spanish Civil War flew an average of three times a day. This could only be accomplished through the swift and diligent efforts of the aircraft mechanics, who repaired, refueled, and rearmed the planes.

Most of the German Air Force ground mechanics who came to Spain were very familiar with the Me-109. This was because the planes had been disassembled and shipped to Spain in containers aboard “Hercules-class” transport ships, and it was these German technicians who had reassembled them.

Whenever they had free time, the ground crew would gather with the pilots to improve their planes and experiment with new little gadgets, such as incendiary bombs made from modified drop tanks. They would strap small fragmentation bombs to the plane’s external fuel tanks. When these were jettisoned, they could be used as incendiary bombs. Upon landing, the bomb would explode, igniting the residual fuel in the drop tank, which would then explode into a very effective scattering fireball of gasoline.

Of course, the pilots privately held great respect for their ground crews. They had their own way of expressing their friendship: when a pilot shot down an enemy plane, he could receive a case of Munich beer from headquarters. The pilots would immediately take this beer to share with the familiar ground crew who ensured they could continue to fly.

A German technician looked up at the still bright and dazzling sun, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and rolled down his sleeves. “Damn! It’s autumn, and it’s really gotten a lot cooler.”

Not far above him, a German second lieutenant in a leather jacket leaned his head out of the plane’s cockpit and asked the technician who was fiddling with parts on the front of the aircraft, “I feel like the shells are veering slightly to the right. They need to be recalibrated. Probably just a few millimeters should do it, right?”

“No problem. Wait until I’ve calibrated it a bit. It’s very simple, just a matter of turning a few screws! By the way, weren’t the Spanish pilots supposed to fly last time? How come you flew yourself?” the technician chatted as he turned the adjustment bolts on the plane.

“Weren’t my hands just itching? Look at my baby here…” the pilot said, pointing to the three spades painted on the fuselage just below the cockpit canopy. “I’m a pilot who has shot down three enemy planes. If I shoot down two more, do you think I could get promoted to first lieutenant when I go back?”

“Hehehe. Alright, you braggart! You think becoming an ace is that easy?” the old technician chuckled. “If you can shoot down two planes next time, I’ll treat you to a beer at the pub in town!”

“Don’t be so sure! In that dogfight a few days ago, the enemy obviously had a better understanding of our plane’s performance. They tried to fight us in a low-altitude turning battle, and we didn’t gain much of an advantage! If it weren’t for the incredible speed of our 109, we might have been in big trouble!” the second lieutenant pilot said, clicking his tongue in admiration. “But obviously our plane’s performance is stronger, and in the end, we still won.”

“To train you guys, we sent a lot of good technology to those Soviet idiots! Although some of the technical directions weren’t quite right, they can still design some tricky things,” the old technician nodded. “The Führer’s biggest trump card is really talented people like you. Don’t let him down.”

“What do you mean ‘talented people like you,’ as if you aren’t one yourself! I heard Colonel Dick of the 2nd Air Wing asked for you several times, but General Kesselring chewed him out and sent him back,” the pilot said with a laugh, patting the plane’s fuselage. “I heard that you can tell which fuel line is leaking just by tapping the tire with a wrench. Is that true?”

“Where did you hear that load of bull?” the old technician laughed, closing the plane’s access panel. He then pointed to a wooden board with a circle drawn on it in the distance, which the plane’s nose was aimed at. “Fire a couple of bursts. Give it a try.”

“You got it! Just wait!” The pilot ducked his head back into the cockpit, aimed at the wooden board through the gunsight, and gently squeezed the trigger. “Rat-tat-tat!” The fuselage, propped up by jacks and equipment, trembled slightly for a few moments and then stopped. A wisp of white smoke drifted from the machine gun muzzles. In the distance, the wooden target had been blown to smithereens.

“Perfect! If you had tuned this plane a few days ago, I’d be an ace by now!” the second lieutenant said, popping his head out of the cockpit again and praising the old technician, who was covering his ears. “My God! You’ve tuned the machine guns perfectly! I have to thank you on behalf of my baby!”

Unconsciously, the second lieutenant had switched to using the formal “you” when addressing the old technician. It seemed that having reliable skills could earn the trust of one’s comrades anywhere.

“What did you say?” the old technician asked loudly, his ears still covered.

“I said, I thank you on behalf of my baby!” the second lieutenant repeated loudly with a smile. “Let that Spanish rookie rest another day today. I’m going to fly the plane myself one more time! Tonight, you’re treating me to a beer!”

In the distance, a ground crewman ran over with a document. “Werner! Orders from above! We need to scramble two planes from here to patrol the nearby skies. The ground forces are about to launch an offensive, and the enemy might scramble their air force to interfere.”

“Lower the plane! Full tank! And be quick about it!” the old technician said, walking back while fiddling with his wrench. “This one and that one over there can be used directly! They’re both in great condition!”

“Ground crew, attention! Refuel two planes! Make it quick!” a ground crewman shouted. “Take-off in twenty minutes! Clear the runway! Move it!”

A dozen minutes later, two Me-109 fighters were lined up on the runway. “Control tower, this is fighter 79! Pilot Werner Mölders! I am preparing for take-off!”

His wingman also called the tower on the radio. “Control tower, this is fighter 53! Pilot Reinhard Seiler! I am preparing for take-off!”

The propellers of the two planes began to turn, faster and faster until they became a blur. They moved slowly at first, then faster and faster. After aligning themselves, the two planes, one after the other, charged toward the end of the runway and lifted off dozens of meters before reaching it.

“Lead, Lead, this is wingman Seiler! We are currently heading due east. We will enter the combat airspace in about ten more minutes,” the wingman’s call came over the radio.

Werner looked at the instrument panel in front of him and then replied, “Seiler, climb. We’re going above the cloud layer. At this altitude, the enemy will spot us first.”

After a brief exchange, the two graceful Me-109s began to climb. In a short while, they had reached the altitude of the clouds. They slightly adjusted their distance from each other, then plunged into the white clouds, disappearing into the azure sky.

“This is Tower One, this is Tower One! Calling fighter 79!” After approaching the airspace over the battlefield, the voice from the rear control tower came through the headset. “We just received a report from the front line. There are two old Soviet biplanes in your airspace attacking Nationalist ground targets. You are needed to go and drive them away.”

“This is fighter 79, Werner understands! Seiler and I will go take a look!” After replying to the tower, Werner immediately gave an order to his wingman. “Seiler! We are descending! Below the cloud layer. Observe the surrounding situation carefully! Then wait for my command before taking further action.”

“Seiler understands, Lead! I am descending!” Seiler’s response came through the headset.

“Fly a circle on my wing! Find the position of those two Soviet planes!” Werner banked his plane as he descended, hoping to get a basic picture of the situation below.

“Lead! I’ve found the two planes!” wingman Seiler shouted over the radio. “At our nine o’clock, low at our nine o’clock!”

“You attack! I’ll cover you! Disengage immediately after the attack. Do not get into a low-altitude dogfight! Be careful of enemy ground fire!” Werner adjusted his flight attitude and then gave the order to attack.

“Seiler understands!” The wingman, after all, didn’t have much combat experience. Hearing his flight lead give him the kill, he immediately shouted in excitement and dove. Werner watched his wingman begin the dive, then followed in a shallow dive himself, lowering his altitude slightly to provide cover.

However, as he dove, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance straight ahead. There were four small black dots rapidly approaching.

“Seiler, pull up! The planes below are bait! Regain altitude! We’ve been had!” Werner shouted, re-adjusting his plane’s angle while urgently warning his wingman. “Pull up! Pull up! Get into the clouds! Quick!”

“Lead, I’m pulling up! The speed is too high! The plane’s response is a bit slow! My God! I see them! Right at my twelve o’clock!” The wingman had dived for a long distance before leveling out. Seiler was struggling to pull up, hoping to escape to a safe altitude before being tailed.

“Seiler, watch out! They’re firing!” Werner shouted a warning. “Spiral climb! Quick!”