[World War II] Thousands of Miles in the Sky

On the collapsed corner of the tent, the person sitting in the driver's seat was lying on the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking violently.

"Foko! Come down!" Nuberger roared angrily and walked forward quickly, reaching out to pull the driver's door.The person in the driver's seat raised his head suddenly, then leaned over and opened the door on the other side nimbly, and slipped out through the passenger seat while Nuberger pulled the door.

"Stop! Come back!" Nubiger chased after Foko who was running wildly and laughing without hesitation, "See if I don't teach you a lesson today!"

When Bosweiler got out of the tent that collapsed on one side, he saw Schroer, who was laughing while hugging his belly, looking at the direction of Foko and Neuberger going away, and put his hands in his trouser pockets, stopped Watch Doman.

"It's rare to see Edouard so energetic." Bosweiler said holding a teacup.

"We've been used to this kind of situation for a long time." Doman glanced at the direction the two were chasing away, and a faint smile floated on the corner of his mouth, "One day when Foco is around, one day the 27th Regiment will fly away. The dog jumps, there is no peace."

"It's good for young people to be energetic." Bossweiler nodded, "Edward, even in the Condor Legion, I have never seen him so active."

"Captain Nubiger is from the Condor Legion?" Schroer stopped laughing suddenly, and asked in surprise, "Can't you tell?"

Doman, who was standing beside him, frowned and bumped him with his elbow.

"Do you think your Captain Neuberger doesn't look like I am at the same age?" Bosweiler smiled, and the thick beard on his lips stretched out, "In all, he is one year older than me. We are Spain Old comrades from the Civil War."

He said, thought for a moment, turned and walked back to the tent: "It's hot outside, come in and say."

sixteen

Schroer looked at the furnishings in the tent with great interest, while Doman beside him didn't look around like him. He took the teacup from Bosweiler and waited patiently for the latter to speak.

"When Edouard was in the Condor Legion, his background was quite different from ours." Bosweiler took a sip of his tea, "For one thing, he is from Austria."

"The captain is an Austrian?!" Schroer was surprised.

Doman rolled his eyes, just lowered his head and took a sip of tea, without saying anything.

"Can't you hear it?" Bosweiler laughed, "He moved to Germany with his younger sister when he was nine years old and was raised by his grandmother, but he doesn't have an accent."

"I can't see it at all." Schroer nodded solemnly, "If he is an Austrian, everyone in Prussia can be an Austrian."

"Fortunately, our Condor Legion is not a Prussian Legion." Bosweiler joked, "otherwise, who would want to fight with the Austrians?"

He put down the teacup, looked at Doman, who was circling with his fingertips on the rim of the cup, who was silent, and continued:

"On the contrary, we are all volunteers from all over the world, unlike the way the World Wars tended to be organized by region. The composition of each flight group is varied: from Weimar Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and even Migrants from Liechtenstein, Argentina, the English Channel. The only thing we have in common, besides our love of flying, is that we are all German."

Schroer listened intently, holding the teacup in midair, neither intending to bring it to his mouth nor put it down on the table.

"I come from the banks of the Rhine, and my ancestors are Calvinists who immigrated from France; speaking of it, this is the same as Foucault." Bosweiler raised his hand and stroked his beard, "The difference is that I am on the German-French border Growing up, my mother was a real French from France."

He looked down at the teacup on the table thoughtfully: "I have never considered myself half French. I was born in Germany and grew up speaking German. Nothing is more important to me than Germany. Since the Treaty of Versailles, every German should be sworn to death with the French. We volunteered to fight in the Spanish Civil War, not in support of Francisco Fran It’s just that Germany needs Spain as an ally if it wants to re-emerge under the arrogance of France. At the beginning of the Battle of Britain, without the support of Spain, it was impossible for the Luftwaffe to bomb England.”

"Edward's thoughts are roughly the same as mine," Bosweiler said after a moment of pondering, "He was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and his hometown was assigned to Romania when the Austro-Hungarian Empire disintegrated. I am from the German-French border, Since the end of the World War, we have lived under the watchful eye of France every day. Everyone in our Condor Legion knows that without a strong German Empire, there is no peace in life for any German, no matter where he comes from or how No matter what dialect a German is from, as long as he has German blood in his body and the fatherland of Germany in his heart, he is unconditionally our compatriots and comrades-in-arms. We not only fight for our respective hometowns, but also For our common fatherland. To see the day of German reunification, each of us will pay any price."

Doman lowered his eyes, quietly staring at the Spanish Civil War medal pinned to Bosweiler's uniform, and nodded slowly without speaking.

"The difference between Edouard and us at the time is that he was neither a pilot of the Nazi Flying Society or Lufthansa before the war, nor was he a soldier," Bosweiler continued, "but a newly graduated aeronautical engineer."

"So fierce..." Schroer opened his eyes wide, and then caught Doman's menacing gaze, and swallowed back his exclamation forcefully.

Bosweiler smiled and said: "It's very powerful. Don't look at Edouard who doesn't talk much, he is actually a very smart person. He never talked much in the Condor Legion, probably because he talked about ordinary people like us. I don’t understand either! During the Weimar period, the economy was depressed, and it was not easy for intellectuals to find a way out; it wasn’t until Hitler came to power, thanks to the rearmament, that our economy began to pick up. If he hadn’t seized the opportunity of volunteering to go to Spain to support the civil war, After the Air Force was formally established, it is even more difficult for people who have graduated from college to become pilots!"

The more Schroer listened, the more he frowned. At this moment, he hurriedly asked: "But general, when you volunteered to join the Condor Legion, did you already know that you can transfer to the formal Air Force establishment afterwards?"

"How is that possible." Bosweiler shook his head, "There is nothing so [-]% in the world. When we went to Spain to fight, we only expected that the war would eventually be beneficial to Germany. If the situation changed, it would be a waste of time and energy, and even Life? But even so, even if the opportunity is not good, you must seize the opportunity to attack, and you must not be passive. Good opportunities are created by humans without exception."

Seeing that Schroer was still in a fog, Bosweiler couldn't help laughing and said:

"This is no different from the principle of air combat! You are young, maybe you have never seen Edouard take action in person? Don't look at his always cautious appearance. When he really goes to the battlefield to fight, he never strikes. Accurate and ruthless!"

Before Bosweiler finished speaking, the entrance of the tent was suddenly lifted.

Neuberger walked in quickly with a sullen face, and asked Schroer, "What's going on? It's been so long since I didn't know how to fix the tent, so I just sat here talking nonsense?"

"I..." Schroer argued, "It's obviously Hayo who did a good thing, why should I clean up the mess for him?"

"You're not going," Doman said slowly, "Are you still waiting for the general to go?"

Schroer sighed, and stood up resignedly: "Every time he gets into trouble, it's my bad luck. I really don't know what I owe him in my previous life. Sir, where's Hayo?"

Neuberger raised his arm and pointed casually: "I punished him to help the ground troops."

"Bet fifty finneys, he must be just chatting and bragging with the people on the ground now." Schroer said angrily.

"It's okay, okay, don't think that no one cares about you when the general is here, what's it like to be out of shape every day!" Before Nubiger could speak, Doman snapped.

Schroer knew he was wrong, shrugged and ran out with his head down.

"It's not interesting, old friend." Bosweiler said suddenly.

"Huh?" Neuberger turned around in surprise, while Bosweiler held up the teacup, tilted it slightly, and showed him the tea inside.

"It's rare for me to come back to the 27th Regiment. Don't you just want to get rid of me with tea?" Bosweiler raised the corners of his mouth, and the beard on his lips also curved in a subtle arc.

"You old drunkard." Neuberger sighed heavily, "Forget it, I think I have to confess the good wine I have hidden here today."

"That's enough for friends." Bosweiler took out a pipe from the skirt with satisfaction, and then began to pick out tobacco and matches, obviously ready to enjoy it.

Doman took the transparent wine bottle handed over by Neuberger, looked carefully at the label on it, and said, "It's Russian vodka."

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," Bosweiler said hastily, "today we defeat Sovietism by drinking the enemy's wine and keeping the enemy from drinking."

Even Doman couldn't help laughing at this time, but Neuberger said with a straight face: "Ymir, if you lead the team in this way, the entire German Air Force will be taught to be out of shape by you."

"It's no big deal," Bosweiler waved his hand. "I'm not a general today, and you're not a squadron leader. We're just old comrades who have been through life and death together. We'll talk about leading the team tomorrow."