World War II: Starting with the defeat of the Desert Fox

Chapter 42 Conditions for the Counterattack

Thorne remained lying behind the sandbags to observe the entire time, only a dozen meters away from the chimney.

In the aperture of his binoculars, the German Stuka fighter plane with hull number 26 remained motionless.

It circled the factory area, as if searching for something.

A moment later, the fighter jet suddenly lowered its fuselage and flew low towards the actual factory.

Thorne realized something was wrong.

"We've been discovered," he said, turning his head to Shepherd, who was lying next to him.

"What?" Shepherd exclaimed in disbelief, "That's impossible!"

Before the words were even finished, the Stuka had already whizzed past overhead.

The wings whipped up a strong wind that caused the camouflage canvas to billow and ripple violently, some of it making a splashing sound like surging water.

Shebber's mouth was half-open, and his voice was flustered: "You mean..."

Thorne nodded. This "Stuka" was done intentionally, with the aim of exposing Shepherd's disguise.

As if confirming Thorne's idea, the No. 26 "Stuka" suddenly climbed up with the roar of its engine.

Once it reached a certain altitude, it drew a graceful arc to change course in the horrified eyes of the two men, then suddenly plunged its nose down, diving at high speed at an almost perpendicular angle to the ground.

At that moment, a game title, "Eagle Catches Chickens," inadvertently flashed through Thorne's mind.

"Stuka" is the "eagle" flying in the air, while Shepherd and Thorne are the "chicks" waiting to be caught below.

A piercing whistling sound suddenly tore through the sky, instantly engulfing the area below with an indescribable terror.

It carried the oppressive force of death, like countless demons grinding their teeth and roaring against your eardrums.

The sound grew louder and louder as it approached, as if the entire sky was trembling and collapsing.

Thorne was so shocked that his scalp tingled and his hair stood on end. A bone-chilling coldness shot up his spine and straight to the top of his head.

He wanted to escape the area, but his hands and feet trembled and went limp uncontrollably.

He strained to look up at the Stuka, following the direction its nose was aiming, and his gaze locked onto the giant chimney twenty meters away.

Its target is the chimney.

The chimney is fifty meters high. If it were to collapse, the falling brick fragments would instantly turn into shrapnel and fall from the sky, potentially burying them all.

We must leave this place!

Thorne roared inwardly, but his body seemed nailed to the spot and he couldn't stand up no matter what.

All his courage and strength had been drained away, leaving only a deep-seated fear and despair.

Shepherd was in a similar situation, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness. Although he knew what to do, he stood frozen in place, helplessly waiting for death to come.

Suddenly, a dark shadow swept past overhead.

It was a British Spitfire fighter plane that entered the battlefield just in time.

"Da da da!"

"Da da da da!"

……

Amidst the dense and sharp sound of machine gun fire, bullets, trailing shrapnel, enveloped the diving Stuka.

Perhaps due to a fatal misfire, the Stuka failed to drop the bomb until the very last moment.

Its fuselage tilted sharply, barely grazing the edge of the chimney, with its wings even kicking up a few pieces of debris, before tumbling several times and crashing heavily to the ground.

"boom!"

The Stuka was reduced to a fireball with a deafening roar, its fuselage fragments flying overhead with a whistling sound.

Thorne's tense nerves relaxed instantly, his heart pounded wildly, and cold sweat instantly soaked his uniform.

Thorne swallowed hard, sighing inwardly, "This must be what it feels like to be resurrected!"

Perhaps realizing they had fallen into a trap, the German planes immediately withdrew from the battlefield, with British warplanes in hot pursuit. In just a few moments, the once noisy and chaotic airspace was completely empty.

Only the flames burning on the ground and piles of wreckage from fighter jets and bombers tell people that a fierce air battle once took place here.

"It's safe, Shepherd," Thorne said, his voice trembling so much that Thorne himself could hardly recognize it.

However, Shepherd did not respond.

Thorne realized something was wrong. He leaned over and turned Shebbard, who was lying on the sandbag, over, and was shocked to find a piece of metal stuck in his neck.

Shepherd tried to say something but couldn't, only making a "gurgling" sound in his throat. His legs twitched and struggled, and he held onto the fragment as if trying to pull it out, but he was trembling and had no strength at all.

Thorne froze, completely unsure of what to do. He could only instinctively call out Shepherd's name as he watched blood gush from the wound like a fountain.

Then, Shepherd struggled more and more violently, his eyes rolled back to the white of a dead fish, and he spat out mouthfuls of blood.

Finally, he kicked his legs and collapsed as if his entire body had been drained of air.

"Medic! Medic!" Thorne shouted, looking up and frantically pressing his hands against the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but to no avail.

Wells and Emma were anxiously searching for Thorne in the crowd when they saw this scene and both froze on the spot.

Emma mustered her courage and stepped forward, though she herself was trembling with fear, she still hugged Thorne to comfort him:

"It's alright, Thorne."

"He's dead, there's nothing you can do!"

"It's alright, let him go!"

……

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The British Western Desert Air Force had two command centers:

A core command center located in Cairo, similar to the Middle East Command, is mainly responsible for logistics and coordination.

Another "frontline command post" was also located in Bog-Arab, less than a kilometer from Montgomery's command post, to facilitate coordination with the army.

In order to receive the news as soon as possible, Montgomery simply brought his staff to "move into" the Air Force command.

"There's no need to worry too much, General." Air Force Commander Major General Corningham appeared quite calm. He gestured for Montgomery to sit down, handed him a cup of coffee, and then sat opposite him.

"We all know that the situation is now developing in our favor."

"The Germans were simultaneously attacking Leningrad and Stalingrad in the Soviet Union, and the huge shortage of troops left them no time to attend to North Africa."

"Therefore, victory is only a matter of time."

This is one of the reasons why Montgomery admires Major General Corningham; he has a strong sense of strategic vision.

"I know," Montgomery replied, "but this victory is very important to us."

"Why?" Major General Corningham didn't quite understand.

Montgomery took a small sip of his coffee and explained:

"You must have heard, Major General."

"Not long ago we dealt a heavy blow to the German armored forces, and a significant number of their tanks malfunctioned due to the use of 'poison oil'."

"And it's an irreparable malfunction."

Major General Konningham seemed unconvinced, so Montgomery added, "Our 'poison oil' will destroy their engines, and the Germans can't repair them under conditions like those in North Africa."

Major General Konningham seemed to understand: "You mean, the German tank losses are irreparable in the short term, but if we add the air force losses this time, we might have a chance to counterattack?"

Montgomery nodded slightly, a hint of helplessness flashing in his eyes: "I have to make some preparations; the guy in London has this need!"

Montgomery was quite annoyed by Churchill's repeated urging for a counterattack.

Major General Corningham didn't care about any of this; he smiled and sighed:

"It's hard to believe that both of these crucial conditions were achieved by that oil salesman."

"I mean, if this ambush succeeds."

Montgomery corrected him seriously: "He's not an oil salesman, he's my advisor, carrying out my orders."

"Alright!" Major General Corningham raised his coffee cup. "Salute to your staff officer, 'Hans the Salesman'."

Montgomery was speechless for a moment.

Can't you give me a little face? I deserve some credit for this, no matter what!

Major General Corningham said seemingly casually, "You certainly wouldn't mind if I borrowed him for a while, would you?"

Just then, the communications officer reported: "General, we have successfully ambushed the German Luftwaffe and achieved victory. We are now pursuing the fleeing enemy aircraft!"

The command center erupted in jubilation.

Montgomery breathed a sigh of relief, having eliminated another major threat.

Major General Corningham remained seated, looking at Montgomery with a half-smile.

This arrogant fellow, Major General Corningham thought, seemed completely unaware that his aura of "war genius" was being overshadowed by his status as an oil salesman.