Chapter 402: Aboard the Aircraft

Inside the swaying aircraft cabin, Borol cradled his MP-44 assault rifle, lulled toward sleep by the turbulence. Beside him, Baru squinted a

Inside the swaying aircraft cabin, Borol cradled his MP-44 assault rifle, lulled toward sleep by the turbulence. Beside him, Baru squinted at a map in his hands. The roar of the engines filled the plane, but the soldiers seemed accustomed to the noisy environment.

Suddenly, a red light flashed on. Baru nudged Borol with his elbow. As a company commander, this plane only contained one squad under his command. He opened his eyes, glanced at the glaring red light, and shouted, “Get ready! Watch your step! Check your equipment! In a few minutes, I’m going to kick you all out! If you don’t want to die, check your parachutes properly!”

The soldiers stood up with smiles, inspecting their gear and loadouts. Their equipment was arguably the most advanced in the world, so much so that they could hardly believe how powerful they were.

Borol watched his soldiers complete their checks, nodded, and continued, “Our objective is to capture the town below and block any possible British reinforcements heading towards the beach. We may encounter enemy armored units, so I need you to do your best to protect the Panzerfaust gunners by your side after you secure the town!”

“Once you’re on the ground, form a defensive perimeter immediately and advance into the town. The machine gun teams will provide cover from the flanks. Maintain continuous fire. If all goes according to plan, our reinforcements will arrive in an hour…” Holding the map, he loudly detailed the mission’s objectives and tactical plan.

The plane began to shake violently as it evaded anti-aircraft fire from the ground. The paratroopers were thrown about, their faces pale, clearly unaccustomed to such severe turbulence. Everyone hooked their parachute clips onto the static line running along the cabin ceiling, which would automatically deploy their chutes as they jumped.

The green light suddenly flashed on above Borol’s head. Without the slightest hesitation, Baru pulled open the side door of the plane. A frigid wind rushed in, blasting through the cabin and causing the combat map in Baru’s hands to flap loudly.

Baru stuffed the map into the pouch on his thigh and fastened the buckle, checking it once over. While he did this, Borol had already shouted the order, “Begin the jump! Warriors, let’s go teach those fools a lesson!”

Following his command, the first paratrooper leaped out of the cabin, leaving only his parachute hook and strap dangling and swaying on the static line. The second paratrooper jumped, then the third, and the fourth. Baru jumped just before the fifth man. After watching the last soldier exit, Borol followed, leaping out of the door.

The fierce wind roared in Borol’s ears, drowning out all other sounds. He knew his parachute had opened because his rate of descent was the familiar, neither-too-fast-nor-too-slow speed. His body hung from the parachute lines, swaying violently in the wind as if trying to empty his stomach. He saw the paratroopers who had jumped before him and others dropping from the adjacent Ju 52 transport plane.

One by one, the German paratroopers exiting the aircraft bloomed into a multitude of small white flowers in the sky—first dozens, then hundreds, and soon thousands.

A heavy impact shot up through his legs, and Borol, losing his balance, tumbled to the ground. He scrambled out from under the tent-like parachute and unslung the assault rifle from his chest. Crouching in a patch of tall grass, he gave a series of hand signals to his men nearby.

Baru and the machine gun team jogged over to Borol’s position, where a few new paratroopers were busy setting up an MG 42. A Mercedes-Benz off-road vehicle drove up from the distance, carrying a captain and two sergeants in charge of evaluation. One of the sergeants glanced at his clipboard and shouted to Borol, “Air drop was intercepted by British ground fire. Your unit is judged to have sustained 30% casualties. Please leave the designated ‘killed’ soldiers behind and proceed!”

“Damn it, we’ve already lost a third of our men,” Baru cursed, then pointed. “You! You, you! And you! Stay behind and play the role of casualties. The rest of you, move out.”

“We are 900 meters from our objective! Is that good news or bad news?” Borol asked Baru, looking at the map. “They have two anti-aircraft guns deployed here and here. We’re outgunned, and I’m not sure if a flanking maneuver will run us into a minefield.”

“Let’s go for a frontal assault,” Baru said with a sigh. “Intel says there’s only one platoon of Brits in the town. We still have 80 men. Taking it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I’m just afraid we’ll be judged as having taken heavy losses. Then we’ll capture the town, but the subsequent British counter-attack will kick us right out, and we’ll still be ruled out of the game,” Borol said with a wry smile. He knew the stricter the evaluation, the better it was for them, but they had already failed twice this way. Could they succeed this time?

Baru said no more and led his men to begin the frontal assault. Borol didn’t object but modified the plan slightly, sending a few soldiers to circle around and enter the town from the other side to see if they could sneak-attack a British anti-aircraft position.

After a period of waiting, the umpire overseeing the area arrived and ruled that Borol had captured the town but had lost another 17 soldiers. At this point, Borol had truly lost nearly half his force. His company of about 120 men was now down to just 63.

After setting up a defensive position, they were granted a brief one-hour rest. The exercise rules dictated that the defending side must delay its counter-attack for an hour to simulate reaction time.

Soon, Borol and his men’s good fortune ran out. The role of the British armored forces counter-attacking the beachhead was played by Germany’s 11th Panzer Corps. This was the newly formed elite armored unit scheduled to be the second wave in the invasion of Britain. The corps was equipped with a large number of Panther tanks and consisted of two full-strength panzer divisions and one panzergrenadier division. As it was a new formation, it had undergone intensive landing training and had become the ace of the invasion force.

Soon, German Panther tanks stormed into the town, and fierce street fighting erupted. An hour later, Borol was ruled “killed in action,” and the German paratrooper unit was driven out of the town by the German armored force. The exercise came to an end.

On the town street, Borol and Baru squatted on the curb, smoking. Beside them were two “knocked-out” German Panther tanks, whose commanders were filling out reports detailing the reasons for their “destruction.” A few panzergrenadiers walked by, rifles slung over their shoulders, pointing and commenting on the “dead” soldiers.

On one hand, the German paratroopers were practicing how to seize key areas under intense enemy fire and withstand an armored counter-attack. On the other, the German armored forces were training hard in urban warfare to minimize their losses in the future battle for Britain. This adversarial exercise wasn’t about winning or losing, as it was conducted under highly unrealistic conditions from the start.

Borol’s defeat was a glorious one. His unit had defended the town for nearly two hours, repelling one armored assault. Although they were ultimately annihilated, they achieved the astonishing feat of “destroying” 13 Panther tanks. As a result, they were rewarded with fresh chicken for lunch, while the underperforming armored troops had to make do with black bread.

The unfortunate crews of the tanks “destroyed” by Borol’s unit also had to fill out forms, documenting the process of their destruction so that tactical experts could analyze them and develop better tank assault tactics. Everyone carried out these rigorous exercises and training procedures meticulously, knowing it was the way to reduce their chances of dying. A little more effort now meant more lives saved on the battlefield.

The order to assemble and withdraw was given. Borol and Baru packed their things and led their exhausted men to fall in and march off. They walked along the muddy shoulder of a French country road, singing their paratrooper song. They watched as tanks and armored vehicles of the armored force roared past on the road, the panzergrenadiers atop them smiling and waving.

Suddenly, the sky seemed to darken. Borol squinted and looked up to see a massive formation of German Air Force bombers flying over their heads. Hundreds of bombers, escorted by fighters, were heading towards Britain across the sea. There, they would drop thousands of tons of bombs, blasting the areas where these men would soon fight into a cratered wasteland.

“My God,” Baru said, having also seen the sky-covering bomber formation. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, staring at the dense swarm of aircraft. “If you ask me, are we making too much of a fuss? How could there be that many Brits left after these planes are done bombing?”

“Shut up! Don’t underestimate those British bastards! There’s only one reason we’re training this hard now: to survive when the real fighting starts,” Borol said, kicking Baru’s leg to get him moving again. “Surviving is the most important thing. Survive to kill the enemy, survive to see victory.”

He glanced again at the bomber formation, now flying into the distance, and sighed. “I have a feeling that when we go to Britain, it won’t be any easier than this training. It might even be much, much harder.”

“No way,” Baru said, unconvinced.

“Wanna bet? Five packs of cigarettes,” Borol said, holding out his hand and waving it in front of Baru. “I’ve never lost a bet to you yet!”

The novel has already been fully translated up to the final chapter. You can access it on my Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/c/caleredhair