Chapter 47:

Chapter 47:

Chapter 47

‘Ah, I should have brought the Mammoth.’

Rommel and Lütjens stood on the bow of the flagship of the fleet, the Tirpitz, and looked at the coast of Britain that appeared ahead.

Rommel secretly missed his Mammoth.

For the deception operation, he had entrusted his Mammoth to his double – who was actually a shoemaker from a poor suburb – and secretly left. But he longed for that cozy car.

The British bastards make good cars, don’t they?

“It’s about time the British Air Force came to greet us... right?”

Lütjens spoke awkwardly, trying to make some conversation.

Rommel just nodded.

The distance between Britain and France under German occupation was so close that Britain came into sight shortly after they departed from the port of Brest in northern France.

They didn’t need the protection of aircraft carriers.

The planes that took off from land were already destroying the coastal defenses.

The Churchill cabinet had already lost the trust of the people.

When some yellow press reported that they had failed to prevent the fall of Gibraltar and Alexandria and had fallen for the deception operation, the newspapers eagerly copied that article as if they were blowing trumpets.

<German spies in the cabinet>

<Spies in the Admiralty, a pro-German spy quintet from prestigious universities!>

<Prime Minister Churchill, dementia or incompetence?>

All kinds of articles were created from the journalists’ brains and decorated the front pages.

The people didn’t believe everything, but they didn’t deny everything either.

They just thought that Churchill had made a mistake, that Churchill had made a wrong judgment and made them eat poorly and guard the empty coast for nothing!

And that wasn’t even a completely wrong perception.

“Speak of the devil?”

In the distance, they saw Hurricanes and Spitfires closing in rapidly.

The German Air Force’s Bf109s and Bf110s also crossed the horizon and approached with a sonic boom.

It was clear to see, even from this far away, that there were many more planes coming from behind.

Göring Marshal had directed a very effective sporadic bombing operation against Britain.

Actually, it was more like his chosen air force commanders did well. But whoever it was, Göring Marshal rolled his huge belly full of ambition and poured out massive support for the air force, and his subordinates screamed happily and took full advantage of the opportunity.

Thanks to that, Rommel, who had successfully finished Africa and the Mediterranean, was only grateful.

He felt sorry for the top brass of the army who had been dragged to the Eastern Front and had their scarce resources eaten by the navy, air force, and British Expeditionary Force.

‘Actually, not so sorry...’

To be honest, he didn’t feel that sorry.

The Prussian Junkers with von in their names bragged about their careers and family honor.

Frederick the Great did this and Emperor Wilhelm did that and Hindenburg did this... Bastards!

In the end, he was the one who got the marshal’s baton, a commoner who didn’t even graduate from war college.

Ah, he wanted to see the faces of those generals who gossiped behind his back that he was going to fight with savages in Africa on his Mammoth.

And also that soldier who shoved a gun into Rundstedt’s mouth!

Damn it, if he ever met that soldier, he would give him a two-rank, no three-rank promotion with his authority as marshal.

And he would always keep him as his escort.

He would amuse himself by listening to his story of putting a gun in Rundstedt’s mouth whenever he felt bad.

“Everyone! Battle stations!”

Lütjens seemed to have given orders while he was not paying attention.

The fleet signaler flashed and broadcasts from the bridge ordered them to go into battle mode.

Rommel was startled and slipped on the railing.

Lütjens glanced at him and Rommel felt embarrassed.

He pretended nothing happened and shouted loudly.

“Wow~ The wind is refreshing!”

They had almost no mechanized units that could stop high-speed flanking and encirclement.

The British fighters who had been chased away desperately came back with more aircrafts, but the newly landed fleet had already deployed 8.8cm anti-aircraft guns on land to fend them off.

The versatile 8.8cm anti-aircraft gun showed its value here as well.

It was good to shoot at sky or enemy troops and torchkas.

It didn’t hit targets very well, but it was enough to break their will to fight with overwhelming firepower.

Psychologically as well, Germany was overwhelmingly superior.

The boys of 6th SS Division Hitler Jugend stabbed bullets and swords into British chests with their hands that had been eating candy and chocolate until yesterday without hesitation.

From their mouths that sang military songs innocently came curses and mad battle cries.

“Hail Führer! Hail German Empire! Hailiiii!!!”

“Glory to Aryan race! For the Führer!!!”

“Damn it... How can those kids...”

The old soldiers were afraid. What made them like that? When they came to the answer that it was themselves, they were only stained with guilt and madness.

The Italians, who had always been rated as a weak army, were not so at least for now.

The Folgore Parachute Division, the Ariete Armored Division, and the Bersaglieri Division, which had reinforced the Bersaglieri Regiment, composed of the best veterans who had endured all over Africa, were united by their sense of competition with each other and with the Germans.

The division commanders subtly encouraged the competition of who would go ahead, and the corps commander even offered rewards and urged aggressive advances.

They were lucky to land in an area with less resistance, but it was the 2nd Battalion of the Folgore Parachute Division that first seized the port facilities of Portsmouth.

As if they could not give up their appearance even on the battlefield, they wore black shirts that symbolized the Italian Fascist Party under their uniforms and put on berets of the airborne unit.

They hung the division flag of the Folgore Parachute Division on the port administration office.

“Woooooo!”

As the Axis troops cheered, the British troops looked back in disbelief and lost their morale.

They saw troops waving the flag of the Fascist Kingdom of Italy and the parachute flag of the Folgore Division everywhere, shouting.

The enemy in front of them was just the tip of the iceberg.

They were surrounded by fear, which eroded their courage.

Some who lost their courage surrendered. Some who lost their rationality went into a fanatical fight to the death.

“Die, you fascist bastards!!”

One British soldier who shouted and fired his machine gun was shot by concentrated fire and turned into a corpse rolling in blood.

The cowardly ones raised their hands high and surrendered, but a Hitler Jugend soldier – who had just lost his comrade – stabbed his chest with a bayonet.

“Huk, huk, huk.”

When stabbed in the chest, a person cannot breathe and cannot even scream. Blood spurted out like a fountain, as if the bayonet had pierced an artery, but the Hitler Jugend soldier, who wore blood as a helmet, shouted as if he had become a berserker of Norse mythology.

“Woooooo!!!”

In the training course of Hitler Jugend, they were taught old Norse myths instead of traditional Catholic or Protestant faiths.

In their immature minds, the Führer became Odin, the god-king, and they became berserkers and Einherjar who fought for the god on earth.

And secretly, they thought they would be promised a heavenly Valhalla under the guidance of Valkyries when the living space of Aryan race came.

This perception was subtly encouraged and spread among Hitler Jugend soldiers.

“Hail Führer!!!”

As if by conditioned reflex, Hitler Jugend soldiers around him responded with thunderous cheers. Hail Führer!

Hail German Empire! Glory to Aryan race!

The Italian soldiers looked at them with disgust, but soon forgot and advanced.

At least I had to go ahead of that damn Lombard or that tasteless Neapolitan peasant, or that frozen Emilia-Romagna bastard.

“Italians! Advance! Advance!”

The engineers who would seize the port facilities were carefully moved to the most heavily armed armored vehicles.

If they were a day late in seizing the port, our troops would arrive a day late.

And one more day of our blood would be spilled in vain.

Like shooting fireworks, 8.8cm anti-aircraft guns drove away British fighters and protected their march.

Flashing signals and radio messages poured out from the fleet.

<Operation successful. Report victory to homeland!>