[World War II] Thousands of Miles in the Sky

Fold it in half and stuff it into Foco's hand: "Ask Werner Schroer from the first group to go with you, at least there will be a support. If you don't care about the past and the future, if you, the star of North Africa, ask someone to shoot you It’s down, I’m not paying the bill! If the number one ace of the 27th regiment dies, don’t be the leader of the third team!”

"Sir!" Foucault exclaimed happily after receiving the letter, "Thank you very much!"

Doman waved his hand: "Let's not be an example, don't let me catch you in the future. Originally, Schroer told me that although his leadership ability is better than yours, and his combat skills are second only to you, he is not as suitable as you to be an officer. I still don't believe it." ;Now I know why he said that as long as the 27th Regiment has you, other people's conscience will feel better. Go and come back quickly, otherwise you will be caught by Edouard, don't blame me for not reminding you!"

thirteen

March [-].

The sky in Zabst is blue, with a few white clouds floating in the distance.The breeze blew past, and the green under the warm sun and clear sky swayed waves of ripples.

Lieutenant Hohash pressed the joystick, the wings flipped, and the fuselage quickly drew a semi-circle downward, passing down the original flight path lightly, then turned around and rotated upwards to climb.Under his control, the silver Messerschmitt fighter jet flew wantonly like a bird out of its cage.He swooped down to follow another Messerschmitt in the air, and still pursued after the opponent made several sharp turns and rolls.

"Sir," Ellerman said, unable to hold back a laugh, "I really can't get rid of you, don't follow me."

Hohash raised his eyebrows and replied on the radio: "The most important principle of air combat is to keep the opponent within your field of vision at all times, and you can't relax for a second, understand?"

"Understood! Please don't follow me!" Illerman replied with a smile.

"Why are you laughing, be serious, you are in class." Hohash said, but as if infected by the vigor of the young students, a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.He pulled the joystick, and the plane moved away from the top of Illerman's tail, and then the right wing lowered, and the fuselage fell rapidly in the air while rolling for two weeks, then raised the nose and climbed rapidly, the fuselage pitched backwards, and reversed Come over and flip horizontally while the abdomen is facing up, then turn around an Immelmann bend and turn down, returning to the same height as the original.Under his control, the Messerschmitt fighter does not appear to be slow in turning at all, but appears extremely flexible, fully utilizing the advantages of the lightweight design of the fuselage.

Illeman pulled up the tail, pushed the damper switch to the minimum, and almost hovered in the air, witnessing all this.He couldn't hide his admiration, his amber pupils under the sun were full of admiration: "Your turn is really amazing!"

Hohash raised the corner of his mouth, and replied lightly: "What's the fuss, you will do it after practicing with me for a few months. When turning in battle, you must open the damper to the maximum and keep the flaps flat, so as not to be overtaken by enemy planes. , remember?"

"remember!"

Hohash turned his head to look at the blue sky outside the cockpit, his dark brown eyes under the backlight had an indescribable expression.He didn't turn on the talk switch of the radio, but said to himself: "It will probably rain tomorrow."

The dripping water dripped on the window.Illerman looked at the rain and fog outside the glass window, his face was also cool.The sky was dim, and his eyes under the slender eyelashes were as crystal clear as glass beads, reflecting the rain curtain outside the window.The lawn beside the sidewalk is becoming greener and greener under the caress of the spring rain, but the figures of pedestrians on the road gradually become blurred.Illerman turned his face thoughtfully to look at the almost full cup of coffee in front of him, reached out to pick up the stirring spoon, and put it down again.With his arms on the white tablecloth, he turned his head and looked around the room.The guests in the house sat at the table in twos and threes, talking quietly, their low voices mixed with the sound of rain in the quiet afternoon.

The store door opened suddenly, and a man in military boots stepped in.He took a deep breath, glanced around, put the light brown umbrella in his hand outside the door and shook vigorously, then grabbed the umbrella with one hand, and pressed the skirt of the leather double-breasted trench coat with the other, and ran impatiently came in.The unsupported door panel closed behind him with a clumsy, muffled thud.He sat proudly across from Illerman, threw the umbrella aside, and began to unbutton the belt buckle of his black windbreaker.Illerman looked around, and the people who were looking around turned their eyes away.The person on the opposite side didn't seem to be aware of it, and was pulling the long windbreaker off his body by the sleeves of the windbreaker, revealing the light gray striped suit he was wearing inside.

As soon as the waitress with flaxen braids approached, he raised his hand: "A glass of milk, thank you."

Elleman burst out laughing.

"It's so funny," he frowned. "You think you can drink fresh milk every day in North Africa?"

Illerman propped his forehead with one hand, put the other on the edge of the table, and replied with a smile: "It doesn't match your majestic image of a war hero, the absolute ace on the Western Front, Harjo Siegfried Foko. "

Foco shrugged, and took the glass from the returned waitress: "It's not the first day you know me." As he said, he poured some milk from the glass into Illerman's coffee cup: "You just know me." How old are you, what kind of black coffee do you drink?"

"Twenty next month," Illerman said with some complacency.

Foco took a sip of milk, raised his eyebrows after hearing this, and asked, "What gift do you want?"

"Huh?" Illerman seemed caught off guard by the question, and was stunned for a few seconds before replying a little cautiously, "Don't you need to send me anything?"

"Tell me the date," Foco tapped the table lightly and rhythmically with one hand, "at least send you a letter. But the time may not be... Maybe a week or two later, it is difficult to estimate the time when sending a letter from the front. Can't be early."

"It doesn't matter if you arrive early," Illerman said hastily.

"Don't talk nonsense, how about that?"

"At worst, I'll take it apart on my birthday," Illerman said complacently.

Foko couldn't help smiling, too.He looked down at the tabletop, stretched out his hand to smooth the wrinkles on the tablecloth, and looked up at Illeman, then turned around and took out something from the windbreaker pocket on the back of the chair as if thinking of something: "Here, come on." This time I promised to show you."

He held the ends of a ribbon between his long, steady fingers and handed it across the table to Illeman.A black iron cross inlaid with silver was hung high on the black, white and red ribbon. The brand-new edge gleamed under the light, and it was hung on the ribbon with a flat iron ring.Illerman took it carefully and put it in the palm of his hand. He wiped the swastika in the center of the medal with his thumb a few times, looked at it for a while, and said, "This is the newly obtained Knight's Cross you said in your letter?"

"It's not that you haven't seen the Knight's Order." Foco said with a smile.

"Put it on and let me have a look!" Illman abruptly pushed back the medal in his hand to Foko eagerly.

Foco's eyes widened: "Why?"

"I want to see how you wear your knighthood." Illerman said confidently.

Foco blinked and didn't answer, but just took the medal from Illerman's hand, holding the two ends of the ribbon with both hands, and tied it from under the collar of the shirt to the back of the neck.Illerman stared intently at the Knight's Iron Cross until Foco finished straightening his collar, then moved his eyes up and met his eyes.Against the background of the Iron Cross, Foko's handsome face looked even more heroic, his light brown hair shone with a layer of golden light under the lamp, and there was a smile in his eyes.

"Congratulations." Illerman exclaimed, "It's amazing."

Fuke raised the corner of his mouth: "I am the star of North Africa."

"If only I could be as great a pilot as you are."

Foco raised his hand and flicked the ankh on his neck: "Sooner or later you will have one too, believe it or not?"

Illerman seemed to find this prospect unimaginable, staring at the cross and frowning.

Foco, however, didn't seem to notice the look of the person in front of him. He raised his glass and took a sip of milk, then asked excitedly, "How does the Messerschmidt drive?"

Illerman followed suit and picked up the coffee cup: "It's not bad, it has a lot more tricks than the training machine."

Fuke showed a playful look: "Now they are still teaching tricks? We didn't have it back then."

"Huh?" Illerman asked puzzled.

"It's not a common skill in combat." Foco said, "I practice all my tricks by myself." He looked down at the subtle textures on the tablecloth thoughtfully, tapped the tabletop with his right hand, and then Added: "If you want me to say that sooner or later, pattern flying will be a compulsory course for fighter pilots; but now, technically, we have not advanced much compared to the era of the Red Baron. As a new form of combat, air combat is still in existence. The initial stage. Even the most regular formation we used in training was just figured out by the Condor Legion."

After finishing speaking, he shrugged his shoulders again and jokingly raised the corners of his mouth: "And the things taught in the training school are basically useless on the front line. I haven't seen an enemy who has honestly come to be beaten alone! It really is the pilot school. And schools too—schools all over the world are the same bullshit."

Illerman smiled helplessly, and said, "Hayo, you are the number one trump card in the entire North African battlefield, and you still have a temper like a middle school student."

"You don't know how happy I was when I got my high school graduation certificate ahead of schedule!" Foko seemed not to have heard the irony in Illerman's words, and continued cheerfully, "I'm the youngest in my class. One, I finished all the subjects in March, and I was not there when I graduated."

Illerman looked dumbfounded, took a sip of coffee and said, "My instructor is a Nazi flyer."