The Eyes of the Artillery

"Damn it, the British are firing at us! Fly higher, fly higher!"

As black bursts of flak exploded around them, Logan suddenly transformed into a nagging housewife.

Stefanberger, the pilot, focused intently on flying the plane. This time, he didn't blindly follow his technically clueless superior, nor did he pay attention to the unfamiliar phrase "damn it." He shouted, "Hold on tight, we're going through!"

This line sounded familiar to Logan, like something a protagonist in a cop movie would say before showing off their skills. The rookie didn't dare think too much. He gripped the handrails tightly, clenched his teeth, and endured the strong wind rushing at him as the plane accelerated. When they flew through the thick smoke, he was choked into a fit of coughing.

"Damn it... cough... this glass... damn it!"

"Just hang on a little longer!" Stefanberger gritted his teeth, looking like he was in the final sprint of a marathon or a long-suffering constipation patient finally reaching relief.

For a few seconds, Logan felt like he was suffocating. When he finally caught his breath, he noticed the plane had slowed down, and the explosions were fading into the distance.

Looking around, he saw the black flak bursts far behind them. They had flown past the Allied artillery positions.

"I don't get it. Why would the British deploy so many anti-aircraft guns here? Have they already retreated to the Dunkirk perimeter?"

Stefanberger glanced at him. "Actually, it's only four or five anti-aircraft batteries. Want to know why there's such strong anti-air fire here? Look ahead!"

In the distance, the blue horizon had drawn much closer. The winding coastline stood out in stark contrast to the deep black of the land. Near the center was a noticeable gap, dotted with tiny white and pale yellow specks like sesame seeds. Several prominent columns of smoke rose from that area.

"Dunkirk!" Logan quickly grabbed his binoculars.

Stefanberger calmly said, "Exactly. I think the British deployed anti-aircraft guns here to fend off the Luftwaffe's bombing raids. Alright, let's contact the SS. Tell them to begin the first test firing, with each gun firing at 5-second intervals."

Logan turned on the radio. Amid the static, he heard a slightly hurried male voice: "Big Bird One, calling Big Bird One!"

"Are we Big Bird One?" Logan looked to his co-pilot for help, but Stefanberger shook his head. No one had thought to assign a call sign before takeoff.

Logan spoke into the microphone, "Is this Dietrich's unit? This is Hans Logan. I don't know the call sign."

The voice hesitated for a few seconds. "Yes, Lieutenant. Big Bird One is your call sign. We're ready."

"Good! First test firing, each gun at 5-second intervals!" Logan shouted.

A few seconds later, the voice replied, "We've fired. Keep an eye out!"

Logan quickly raised his binoculars. For the first time, he realized how clear the battlefield looked from a few hundred meters in the air. The port's water was as calm as a sheet of blue glass, divided into inner and outer sections by two long breakwaters. The narrow channel was the only link between them. The ships that had sunk earlier looked like oddly shaped reefs, but they didn't seem to hinder the flow of vessels much. Inside the channel, twenty or thirty ships were either anchored or moving slowly. Some near the beach had already merged with the crowds wading ashore, while others farther out were ferrying people back and forth in small boats. The beach was packed with an uncountable number of people, reminiscent of a penguin colony. Farther out at sea, ships arriving from Britain were as numerous as hairs on a cow. This was the terrifying power of a maritime nation!

It seemed the paratrooper unit sent to sabotage Dover hadn't achieved significant results. Maybe... they hadn't even landed. Thinking this, Logan felt conflicted. Could hard work and incredible luck still not change the outcome at Dunkirk?

Scanning the area with his binoculars, Logan couldn't find the expected splashes or smoke from the artillery shells. He couldn't help but ask, "Lent, how long does it take for shells to travel from Wormhout to Dunkirk?"

The paratrooper lieutenant, who was well-versed in weaponry, quickly replied, "No more than 20 seconds."

"It seems like it's been longer than that! Did you hear anything?"

Stefanberger shouted, "At this altitude, it's hard to hear! Look carefully. The shells might have landed far from the port, maybe even a few kilometers off!"

Logan expanded his search. After a while, he finally found traces of the artillery fire in the open fields south of Dunkirk, near the highway: a few dissipating plumes of smoke, each several hundred meters apart. None of them posed a threat to Dunkirk's urban area.

"Close, but too far left. They didn't even hit the city!" Logan shouted into the microphone. "Adjust based on the rightmost impact point. Two kilometers farther, two kilometers to the right!"

"We can't go any farther!" the voice on the other end said. "We're already at maximum elevation!"

"Can't you use a stronger charge?" Logan asked, thinking he sounded knowledgeable. This was one of the few "technical terms" he knew about artillery.

"You could, but it's dangerous and puts a lot of strain on the barrel and breech," Stefanberger interjected. "It's best not to do that unless absolutely necessary."

"Alright!" Logan shouted into the microphone. "Try two kilometers to the right!"

A moment later, the voice said, "We've fired. Keep an eye out!"

From this point on, Logan began counting in his head. When he reached 17, he suddenly saw an explosion in Dunkirk's urban area. This time, he faintly heard the whistle of the shell flying overhead.

"1... 2... 3... 4... Nice! Almost all of them hit the city!" He grabbed the microphone and shouted, "Great job, boys! You've landed shells in Dunkirk! If you can make them fly a bit farther, you'll give those arrogant British Navy guys a few good slaps!"

This time, a different voice came through the microphone: "Alright, Big Bird One, we'll do our best! You guys stay safe."

Logan recognized Dietrich's voice and felt a faint warmth in his heart.

"Are we going to run into British fighters here?" he asked casually.

"In this weather... hard to say," Stefanberger said, maneuvering the Storch in a slow turn to avoid getting too close to Dunkirk's urban area.

Logan's heart skipped a beat. He quickly scanned the skies over the Channel with his binoculars. The cloud cover was indeed low, especially over the Channel, where a hazy fog made visibility poor for both observation and combat.

"Even if we do, would they bother with a small fry like us?" Logan tried to reassure himself.

But Stefanberger replied matter-of-factly, "Pilots wouldn't mind adding another kill mark to their cockpit, even if it's just an unarmed reconnaissance plane. Remember, showing mercy to the enemy is being irresponsible to your comrades."

"Uh... do we have parachutes?" Logan's heart began to race.

"Heh, Lieutenant, don't worry too much. We won't be here long. Even if we do encounter British fighters, we can use our low altitude and speed to shake them off. Relax!"

"Oh, is that so..." Logan was about to say more when a voice came through his headset:

"We've fired. Keep an eye out!"

Logan began counting in his head again. This time, at 18, he spotted a small white splash in the open sea. From the air, it looked delicate and almost silent as it bloomed.

"Great job, great job! Your shells hit the water! Just a few dozen meters from the British ships!" Logan was thrilled. A few seconds later, he saw a second splash, this time no more than 20 meters from the nearest British ship.

The third shell landed near the beach. While the shrapnel wasn't enough to cause massive casualties, it still stirred up the nearby Allied soldiers.

When the fourth shell exploded on the beach, Logan shouted, "Fantastic! Boys, that shot took out at least 20 British soldiers! The Führer will give you medals for this!"

"Alright, tell them to keep firing with the current parameters. We need to go," Stefanberger said calmly.

"Oh? Alright," Logan said, still feeling the excitement. But if he had seen the group of black dots approaching from across the Channel, he might not have been as calm as Stefanberger!