[World War II] Thousands of Miles in the Sky

Two-thirds the height of a banknote.

Yileman was staring at the banknotes in his hand in a daze, when suddenly he seemed to notice the figure beside him, and suddenly raised his head.

"Don't hold on to the money and fumble around, it's not dirty." Foco stood beside his seat and said lightly.

"What did you leave behind?" Ellerman subconsciously looked at the umbrella Foco was holding as a cane before asking.

"I almost forgot to tell you." Folk raised his hand and tugged at the Knight's Cross on his neck, as if he was being strangled, "Remember Duke Von Farrell?"

"Of course." Illerman replied without hesitation, "Such an elegant and noble person, no one will forget it once they see him."

"Dead," Folk said succinctly, "just a few days after you last saw him. While testing the new Friedrich Messerschmitt fighter of the 53rd Wing, the engine failed. It fell into the sea near Vlissingen, and the bones have never been found."

As soon as he finished speaking, he raised his hand and waved it in front of Illerman: "This time I'm really leaving." After speaking, he showed a childish smile, turned and left without looking back.

fifteen

June [-], [-].

The warm golden light shone on the endless desert, and the scorching air in the afternoon filled the camp, scorching the surface of the tents so hot.Ymir Bosweiler, who was sitting in the tent, didn't seem to care about the raging heat wave outside, and took a sip of the freshly brewed hot tea comfortably.He put his right hand holding the teacup on the table beside him, glanced at Eduard Neuberger who was holding the teacup in both hands as if he was guarding some rare treasure, and smiled to himself.

Neuberger looked at the teacup in his hand triumphantly, without raising his head, he said, "How is it, good tea?"

"Not bad, not bad." Bosweiler nodded.Before he could speak again, the curtain at the entrance of the tent was lifted suddenly:

"Sir, did you see Hayo?" Schroer leaned in halfway and shouted.

Neuberger raised his head sullenly, glared at the young pilot, and scolded, "I don't even look at who's here!"

Schroer turned his face away, as if he had just noticed Bosweiler sitting in the shadows, and immediately lifted the curtain and walked in, standing at attention and raising his arms: "Heil Hitler, General Bosweiler!"

"Heil Hitler." Bosweiler smiled back with half-raised right hand.Neuberger frowned tightly, wondering if it was because of the hot wind brought in by Schroer just now.

"What's Foco doing again?" Neuberger asked with suppressed anger.

"Nothing." Schroer immediately replied, "It's because nothing happened to the entire squadron until now, so I think he must be hiding and not knowing what the hell is going on, so I look for him everywhere."

Bosweiler laughed softly after hearing Schroer's serious answer.But Nuberger got angry on the spot and yelled at Schroer sharply: "It's okay, don't talk nonsense in front of the general, hurry up and do what you need to do!"

"Eduart, don't say that." Bosweiler waved his hand, "Before I became the captain of the 26th regiment, I was also from the 27th regiment 'North Africa'. Everyone is from their own."

Schroer glanced at Neuberger, saw that the other party looked like he was about to explode, and said quickly: "It's rare for the general to take time out to inspect the front line in his busy schedule, so you and the commander can chat first, and I won't bother you." Then he turned around and lifted the curtain to escape.

Nuberger seemed to be still angry, and he quickly walked forward to close the curtain, but he heard Schroer's shout not far from outside:

"Carl! Did you see Hayo?...Damn it, he is sneaking around with a few eggs in this hot summer, and he must be going to spread omelets on my wing again! Why doesn't this bastard go? With his own plane!"

Nubiger took a deep breath, and just as he turned around, another shout from the same person floated in: "I don't care if you reach the summer solstice! It's so hot that eggs can be spread on the plane, of course it's summer!"

Bosweiler obviously also heard the shouts just now, holding the teacup with one hand, but instead of bringing it to his mouth, he patronized and laughed.

Nuberger's face turned red and white, and he walked to the table stiffly, punched the table, and then sat down sullenly.Bosweiler said with a smile: "The 27th team is still as dynamic as ever."

Nubiger suddenly let out a long sigh, as if the dissatisfaction just now disappeared in an instant, he stretched out his hand to trace the edge of the teacup on the table, and said: "Although young people nowadays are not worried at all, their fighting spirit is not half as good as ours at the beginning. , on the contrary, it might be even better.”

"Don't make it sound like you're old." Bosweiler took a sip of his tea, "Foko, I think, is a rare flying talent, but he has the demeanor of the national synchronized flying champion Hohash. You are so lucky that Johannes transferred him out of the 52nd team, otherwise wouldn't you be missing a pillar in the current team?"

"I think Mr. Hasselhoff is eager to give up his trouble of walking." Neuberger smiled wryly, reaching for the teacup and holding it in his hand. Gert' came out the man. He got out of a big trouble and I had to take over, which turned out to be lucky."

Bosweiler smiled knowingly, and said: "Whoever is facing you is also facing you. Was the Spanish Civil War fought in vain? It's a pity that Modes is gone."

"Isn't it?" Nubiger just looked at the teacup in his hand, "Fortunately, with you taking over his duties as general, he can leave with peace of mind. Many people in the Legion have lost contact, and they don't know what's going on now. "

Bosweiler picked up the kettle on the table and added some hot water to his cup.

"Ymir." Neuberger said suddenly, "Do you still remember the Englishman? The one who drew you Mickey Mouse on the plane?"

"You mean Mr. Pittcaine?" asked Bosweller.

"How is he?"

"Working as an instructor at the Second Pilot Preparatory Academy in Neustadt. Many people have quit the front. Like Mr. Friedrich Winkler, I remember leading the Hitler Junior Flying Squad on the Rhine," said Bosweiler. ,"how?"

"It's all right," Nubiger replied. "I thought he would go back to England as soon as the war with England started."

Bosweiler seemed to find it very funny, grinned silently, and said, "How can this happen? If Austria and the Empire merged in [-], wouldn't you want to go to Romania?"

"How is that possible?" Neuberger replied without thinking, "I am German."

"That's it." Bosweiler took another sip of tea, "Dudas, too. He was just born in England with a Scottish father. Just like me, when did I consider myself half-French?"

Neuberger didn't say anything, but finally raised his teacup and took a sip of the cold tea.

"Aren't you funny," Bosweiler said, "Modes was my subordinate in the 88rd Wing of the 53th Flight Group; when I left Spain and returned to Germany, he succeeded me. Later I When I saw Modes again, he was the commander of the 27rd Regiment 'Spades', and I was the adjutant of the [-]th Regiment. Instead, I asked him to explain to me the principles of leading a team. He taught me not to Less things, such as not suppressing each group too tightly, but allowing them to have space to play freely. Otherwise, the battlefield is changing rapidly, how can each group wait for the captain to deal with it one by one? That is a missed opportunity. "

"I didn't cling to the third group," Nubiger sighed, "but I didn't dare to let go. Fortunately, it's all thanks to the leader of the third group, Doman, who keeps an eye on Foko every day, otherwise It’s going to turn upside down.”

Bosweiler was silent for a moment before continuing: "I'm not telling you this because of Foko. The higher-ups plan to appoint you as the captain in a few days, so that you will no longer have a few teams under you, but There are more than a dozen. If you have to do everything yourself, I am afraid you will be too busy."

"Wars are such a thing, what's the rush?" Neuberger said.

"Don't tell anyone that I leaked the news to you in advance." Bosweiler brushed the dust off the trouser legs of his uniform, "If it reaches Goering's ears, it's okay."

"Of course not." Neuberger replied, "Don't worry."

He looked at the amber-colored tea in the white porcelain cup, thought for a while, and then said: "Actually, although Foco is unreliable in doing things, he is still very attentive to practice. When he first came, I basically It took him several months to act on his own, and he has been pulling his comrades to accompany him to train on the machine every day from morning to night, so that he can practice the unique skill of deflecting shooting. Although he is so handsome, he is thinner than his peers. Every time I When I saw him training his leg strength at night, I felt that even I myself might not have such a drive when I was young. So although my patience was almost exhausted, I was afraid that I was mistaken and took a piece of rotten wood as something to be built. talent, but let him go. Sure enough, I was not disappointed."

"Style flying does require high leg strength," Bosweiler's tone was full of admiration, "otherwise the rapid weightlessness will make the eyes black. When I first started, in the scissors tactics commonly used by the 88th Regiment I have also suffered this kind of loss. But to be able to go to the front line and specialize in basic strength training, ordinary young people are not so calm. The North African battlefield can now have such an invincible trump card, and your insight is indispensable."

He wanted to say something more, but an indescribable noise suddenly came from a corner of the tent.The ceiling also slowly lowered, leaning to one side.Bosweiler was still looking up at the strange scene, while Neuberger had already slapped the table and rushed out.

"Foko!"

The brown body is written in Italian in black, and the front wheels are pressed