PFC Chapter 113 Iraqis Aren't the Only Useless Fools; Italy Can Be Reliable Too
Chapter 113 Iraqis Aren't the Only Useless Fools; Italy Can Be Reliable Too
Chapter 113 Iraqis Aren't the Only Useless Fools; Italy Can Be Reliable Too
At the Madgaron base, after breakfast, the French soldiers from Vichy began their training and aircraft maintenance in an orderly manner. Although they knew that the British had launched an attack, they were still in high spirits.
"Sean Wayne said we would win."
A French ground crew member is inspecting weapons for a fighter jet.
"Yes, we should be able to win. When we were with the British, we were always the ones fighting on the ground. Many people died in the last war. I've had enough of this damn war. If the British want to provoke us, we'll show them what we're made of."
Another soldier, checking the ammunition belt, spoke excitedly.
The base officer on the ground suddenly looked up, rushed to the vicinity of the hangar, and sounded the air raid siren.
The wailing sound echoed continuously within the base.
A large number of British planes attacked.
"Bomber formations begin dropping bombs, escort fighters engage at will."
The bomber formation immediately began to adjust its formation, and they flew in formation over the airbase.
The bombs were as numerous as sunfish laying eggs.
As bombs rained down from above, the French panicked and began to scatter. In Lebanon, the local indigenous people didn't have many aircraft, and the base only had limited air defense. In addition, they had always been allies of Britain, and they never expected that their former ally would turn against them in the Middle East.
The military industry controlled by the Vichy government was largely occupied by Germany, making it impossible for them to supplement their air defenses.
When the first bomb fell, a barracks was destroyed. "Run!" Large numbers of French ground crew ran out of the base.
At this moment, many pilots were still thinking about boarding their planes immediately and taking off to fight.
But the bombs exploded all over the base like rain.
One by one, the fighter jets parked beside the runway were destroyed.
Several hangars were constantly bombarded by falling aerial bombs.
"Damn it." The base commander looked at the airport, which was filled with smoke and flames, with great distress. This was the military treasure of the French military, and every one of them destroyed was one less available.
Similar to the Madgarun base, the Layak base was also in a state of chaos, with most of the aircraft destroyed before they could even take off.
Upon receiving the telegram about the attack on Layak Air Base, Major Jeyeh, an ace pilot at Baalbek Air Base, immediately rushed out of his office.
"Pilots of the first, second, and third squadrons, board immediately."
"What happened, Major?"
As he ran, Reye shouted, "Damn British air raids! Board the planes immediately and prepare for battle! The French are not lambs to the slaughter! We must fight back!"
Upon hearing of the British air raid, a group of pilots immediately dressed and rushed toward their planes.
One after another, Doldin D520 fighter jets began to take off.
The last three planes of the third squadron were about to take off when a large number of black dots flew in from a distance.
"The major spotted the Royal Air Force."
"Shoot them down and protect your comrades as they take off," Reye gave the order directly.
The planes of the third squadron began to accelerate.
The sky was filled with the continuous sound of artillery fire; machine guns opened fire, and bullets streaked across the runway, chasing after the planes ahead.
Boom!
The last Dowding, which had just turned, had a hole punched in its wing and its fuselage was pierced by a machine gun.
With a loud bang, the Frenchmen in the air turned red in the face.
"Kill them, avenge little Noah." Gerard's eyes were bloodshot. They were his excellent pilots who had always protected the interests of France. Gerard had even fought a bloody eight-hour battle in Sedan and shot down many German planes.
But now, as a soldier, he doesn't care about right or wrong; all he knows is that Britain is attacking us.
"Those damned Englishmen!" the French pilot said angrily.
They began to rush towards the British aircraft formation.
A small-scale air battle began, and Reye stared at his ring sight, locking onto a Hurricane.
He piloted the aircraft, composed himself, and fired.
The machine gun instantly spat out flames, and two beams of light swept across the opponent's flight path.
boom!
As the British soldier burst into flames and fell, Reye resumed his search for targets.
"Major, we have fewer than forty planes in our three squadrons. The British have too many of them."
"What should we do?"
"You hold off the escort fighters, I'll attack the bombers."
"Major."
"Look, there's another group of planes over there."
Not only the French noticed them, but the British also spotted the group of uninvited guests.
"It's an Iraqi plane."
"Does Iraq have airplanes?"
"Yes," Reye answered affirmatively, "but most of them are old planes, Gladiators, and a small number of Italian planes, not exceeding sixty in number."
"Major, the enemy has deployed at least eighty aircraft."
"Damn it, these are German planes. I fought them in Sedan. These are BF110s and BF109s. Fuck the Iraqis, these are Germans."
"Germans? Why are the Germans painted like the Iraqi Air Force?"
The French pilots were completely dumbfounded.
The British looked on in surprise, and they too noticed the problem.
"These aren't Iraqis, they're Germans. Don't think we can't recognize them. Don't we know the Iraqi Air Force?"
""
"Whether they are Iraqis or Germans, they are all our enemies."
"These bastards are so despicable, impersonating the Iraqi Air Force to fight."
The British were incredibly frustrated to see BF109s flying ahead firing at them.
Whoosh, several BF 109s flew past the French Air Force.
Reye's mouth dropped open. These Germans were truly shameless.
When he saw the German pilots nearby wearing the black uniforms of the Iraqi Air Force, Reye didn't know what to say.
You guys are fucking amazing.
The German Air Force major gave Gerd Hell a thumbs-up.
It seems to be saying, "Brother, we're on your side now, we're here to help."
My God, Reye looked at his old rival, his mind in turmoil.
"Note that the Germans are friendly forces, no, the Iraqi Air Force is friendly forces."
"Haha." A group of French pilots burst into laughter, never expecting that one day they would become allies with the enemy and fight together.
With the addition of the German Air Force, no, the Iraqi Air Force, the French Air Force made up for its numerical shortcomings and began to annihilate the Royal Air Force in squadrons.
Reye pulled up to avoid the bullets behind him, and was just thinking about how to retaliate.
A BF109 suddenly charged over from the side, opened fire with its machine guns, and shot down the Hurricane that was chasing Zeye.
Reye readjusted his position, dove down, and aimed his sights at the cannon behind a Manchester bomber.
British gunners turned the gun turrets and fired frantically.
Bang bang bang!
Seeing the turret destroyed by his own attack and black smoke billowing from the fuselage, Reye felt a surge of relief.
The BF109 on the side attacked from the side, opening fire fiercely on the cockpit.
The two completed their combined attack.
Reye looked across at the German pilot, who was actually smiling and waving salute.
"This feels so strange."
The British formation was surrounded and attacked by both sides.
Looking at the quiet sky and the air force bases on fire everywhere, the French air force personnel were holding their breath.
Reye pointed in the direction of Saida Port and gestured to the German pilot.
There's a British fleet over there, should we take them out?
The German pilot made an OK sign.
Reye smiled excitedly.
"All pilots of Squadrons 1, 2, and 3, listen up! Those with bombs, come with me to the port. Those without bombs, return to base immediately to replenish them. This time, we're going to teach the British fleet a lesson."
"Let's do it."
"I'll go back and add more."
"I'm going back too."
Iraq direction.
The newly landed Indian 10th Division 1st Brigade arrived at the port.
The remnants of the 2nd Brigade immediately joined the main force.
The Indian Major General of the 10th Division, who had landed, clenched his fists in anger as he looked at the chaotic port.
Godebin Singh gathered the remaining men of the Second Brigade and entered the city, only to find that all the police had fled.
"Notify the artillery company, and the armored car company to march north immediately." Yes, this was an order from the British lord; Singh and his men had to attack Baghdad.
"Yes."
The bearded Sikh men immediately sprang into action, talking and shaking their heads as they communicated with their subordinates in curry-accented English.
The armored vehicles drove out of the city and onto the highway.
Rows of Indian soldiers wearing turbans marched with brisk steps, carrying rifles.
The tractor behind it was pulling the infantry gun.
They didn't conduct any reconnaissance.
On the road to Baghdad, a group of Iraqi soldiers with similar big beards lined up their infantry guns neatly in the bushes on one side of the road.
These artillery pieces came from German arms aid.
The easygoing Iraqis also did not send their planes.
The two teams of novices were each busy with their own tasks.
The Iraqis only got into position when the Indians got close.
"fire."
As the gunner pulled the lever, the cannon moved suddenly.
Flames shot from the cannon muzzle, and shells flew into the sky.
Boom! A series of explosions erupted in front of the Indians.
The armored vehicle immediately applied the brakes.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Prepare for battle!"
Singh shouted and waved his hands incessantly.
The artillery behind them immediately stopped and began loading shells, while the surrounding infantrymen lowered their bodies and secretly aimed ahead.
"Correct, extend forward by two hundred meters." The Iraqis prepared to fire again.
Boom! Then another explosion spread out.
Several armored vehicles were blown to pieces.
The Sikh soldiers retreated with their guns in hand.
The British officer standing nearby panicked when he saw this, shouting, "Why are you running?"
A Sikh soldier shook his head. "Why don't we run? There are cannons ahead."
This problem stumped the British.
"fight back."
"That's the artillery's job."
This answer stumped the British officer once again.
As Indian artillery opened fire, explosions rang out on the Iraqi side.
The power of the explosion sent chills down the spines of Iraqis.
Many infantrymen were also retreating.
They didn't even know how many people were coming from the other side.
The two sides are evenly matched, but neither of them conducts reconnaissance.
Rashid's defense forces were mostly composed of tribal militias, so their tactical skills were questionable.
Both sides' artillery fire caused considerable damage, and both sides' infantry were retreating.
"General, the British army is coming, and their artillery fire is very heavy."
"Continue the shelling; it's not time to retreat yet."
Yes, even the commander of the Iraqi Self-Defense Government's 4th Brigade was considering the issue of retreat; they never thought about defeating the British.
"General, it's almost time for prayers."
The Iraqi major general looked at the tribal soldiers with grief and indignation. "Are you serious? We're at war."
"But we need to pray right away; we need God's protection."
The Iraqi major general waved his hand helplessly, saying, "Do whatever you want."
"General, the Iraqis are putting up a fierce resistance, and we are unable to break through their lines."
The Indian infantry charged twice, losing several hundred men, and then stopped.
Most Indian infantrymen didn't want to die for the British; they joined the army just to get enough to eat, much like in Italy.
"But you need to break through their lines," the British officer practically roared.
"We southerners won't charge. Let the Sikhs of Punjab charge. We refuse to charge."
A southern Indian officer refused the British order.
The British military officer angrily confronted Singh.
"Those Southerners refuse to charge. You are the commander; you give the order."
Singh looked at the other person with regret, "Sir, those Southern guys have different beliefs, religions, and races than us. They don't listen to me."
If I force them, it will cause a mutiny among a million southern Indian soldiers.
"Damn it!" The chaotic command system, coupled with India's caste conflict, left the British feeling deeply powerless.
The two sides exchanged fierce artillery fire from a great distance; where there is a sleeping dragon, there must be a phoenix chick.
The two sides fought fiercely.
The sky finally changed as a strange formation of aircraft appeared, including World War I biplanes, some very advanced aircraft such as the SM79 Sparrowhawk, and some medium bombers.
"He's Italian!" the Iraqi officer shouted happily.
Damn it.
The British officers' hearts sank when they saw the Italian planes appear. Not only were the Germans shamelessly impersonating the Iraqi Air Force, but now Italy was brazenly joining the battle.
When the Sparrowhawk, an aircraft that traversed the Mediterranean and sank numerous Royal Navy warships, appeared, the Indians immediately panicked.
The Sparrowhawk swiftly entered the battlefield, swooping down from the sky. Bombs beneath its fuselage landed on the positions of the Indian 1st Brigade, and machine guns fired incessantly.
The Rolls-Royce armored car on the ground was instantly smashed to pieces.
Large numbers of Sikhs were cut in two by machine gun fire.
"Haha, this bunch of weak Indian guerrillas, wipe them out! Today the Italian Air Force will prove to the world that we are not weak at all."
"Defeat the British."
The Italians at the scene were filled with righteous indignation. The joke about the Air Force, the death of the Marshal, and being ridiculed by everyone filled them with anger.
"Defend the dignity of the Italian Air Force and annihilate them!"
P50s flew over India's 1st Brigade and began dropping bombs.
The explosion on the ground was accompanied by large amounts of blood and dismembered limbs.
The first to run were the people from the South Indians.
Only Sikhs and Gorkhas were still trying to fight back with their limited air defenses.
With the P50 bombarding everywhere.
The second group to run were local Iraqi Assyrian infantry.
They couldn't be called back no matter how hard they tried.
Seeing the Italian Air Force display its prowess, the commander of the Iraqi 4th Brigade excitedly shouted, "Charge!"
Upon receiving news of the Italian Air Force's decisive victory over the 1st Brigade of the British Indian 10th Division, Old Mo excitedly paced back and forth in his office, brandishing his beloved little leather whip.
"Victory will surely belong to us. I will let Sean know that Italy is actually very strong. Pass on my orders to launch a special operation and order the navy submarines, carrying Maiale torpedoes, to launch a surprise attack on Alexandria, Egypt. I want Sean to acknowledge Italy's strength."
It's not just Germany that can do special operations; Italy can too.
We also have advanced weapons that are in no way inferior to those of Germany and Britain.
"Yes, Your Excellency. When our underwater operations become famous, Sean Wayne's opinion of you will definitely improve. After all, he was the one who proposed special operations, but he didn't expect that we Italians would use special operations underwater. This is an unprecedented feat." The black-clad army commander, Zinoa, flattered him.
"Yes, I want him to acknowledge Italy's strength, and also my wisdom."
Old Mo Lang clenched his fists tightly; this seemed to have become a source of anxiety for him.
Early morning of September 3, 1940.
Two Italian submarines carrying human-fish, or underwater submersibles—a revolutionary weapon—sneaked near Alexandria, Egypt.
Several frogmen are preparing for what is the first-ever underwater special operations operation.
Influenced by Sean's special operations theory, the Italians have taken underwater vehicles to a whole new level.
This is the most common and classic tactic used by amphibious special forces in later generations.