Steel Soviet Union

The strong wind howling outside the cockpit shook the rivets on the metal frame of the cockpit. While holding the joystick in his hand, he quietly turned his head and looked at the aircraft that had just whizzed past below the three o'clock position of his plane. The MiG-3. It was the first time since the launch of Operation Barbarossa that Rudel had seen such a powerful Soviet pilot. He couldn't help but groan.

"Zvezda V has never heard of such a guy, this guy just came out of there."

Before the soft moan could finish, a more urgent shout suddenly came from the airborne radio next to his ears.

"Rudel! Two Russian MiGs are heading towards you, nine o'clock direction, quickly maneuver to avoid them!"

A loud reminder came from the radio in his ear, prompting Rudel, who was holding the control stick tightly in his hand, to look to the opposite side of the window. The two MiGs carrying the roar of huge engines were like falling meteors from the sky. Swooping straight down from high in the sky.

"Damn it! Couldn't you have come a little later?"

As an experienced aerial hunter, this was not the first time that Rudel was intercepted by Soviet fighter aviation during a ground attack mission. He had very clear-headed coping methods to deal with any sudden attack. .

At the moment when the first Stuka was shot down, Rudel subconsciously raised his head and looked in the direction of the huge explosion on the horizon. Then he saw the densely packed Soviet Union rushing towards them like locusts. Fighter scene.

Rudel, who knew that his side was on an adventurous trip without any fighter escort, knew very well that continuing to carry a total of three 250-kilogram bombs under the wings and in the center of the belly was undoubtedly a heavy and useless burden.

Rudel, who made an instant decision in his mind, pressed the bomb release button in his hand almost without thinking. Three 250-kilogram aerial bombs immediately headed towards the approaching earth with a sharp whistling sound. Fall straight down.

As for whether these three bombs, whose impact points were not even estimated, would be dropped on his own people, this was not the issue that Rudel needed to be concerned about at this moment.

After losing all three 250-kilogram aerial bombs, the Stuka instantly freed up a flight weight of 750 kilograms. The originally heavy fuselage, as heavy as a pregnant turkey, immediately became much lighter, and it was able to change from the mounted state. The liberated Rudel now completely freed up the optimal air combat space, although the Stuka, which was designed for ground dive bombing, was essentially not suitable for air combat at all.

The two Soviet MiG-3s, which swooped down at high speed from high altitude like hunting vultures, thought that their attack was sure of success. They approached the two MiG-3s less than 500 meters away from Rudel's plane. , almost simultaneously pressed the fire button and began to unleash maximum attack firepower.

Rudel, who had already expected that the situation would be like this, seized the last moment and swung the joystick in his hand to the right. After getting rid of all three bombs, the Stuka suddenly moved the entire fuselage with unprecedented dexterity. Panning to the right, six bright tracer machine gun barrages almost grazed the belly of Rudel's car and suddenly passed by with a scream of death.

"Damn it, I was tricked by this German guy!"

In the blink of an eye, they realized that they had encountered an opponent's tactical deception and defensive maneuver. The two Soviet pilots cursed at the same time. The rapid dive of more than 500 kilometers per hour was fleeting at a distance of less than 500 meters.

The MiG-3, which had poor low-altitude maneuverability and imperfect nose pointing, was unable to adjust the barrage direction in this situation so that the barrage whip that had missed the correct attack direction could be re-hit on Rudel's aircraft.

To be precise, the two Soviet pilots who did not want to die in this situation subconsciously pressed the control sticks in their hands out of survival instinct, so as to pass by with dangerous maneuvers that almost touched the belly of Rudel's plane.

Otherwise, the two Soviet pilots who were trying to make a killing and put it into practice into firepower adjustment movements were likely to be killed on the spot. They crashed into Rudel's fuselage and died in the strong explosion and flames of death. The final outcome of being a ball of red fire and debris was a tragic ending that could be expected without any surprises.

Rudel, who bet with his own life that the two Soviet pilots did not dare to die with him, clearly won this time.

The belly area of ​​the fuselage, which had been barely scratched by two 62mm machine gun barrages, had penetrated the surface of the fuselage and was leaking air. Although such injuries were enough to attract the attention of ordinary high-speed maneuvering fighter pilots, they would not dare to make any major maneuvers. Overload, but for the Stuka, which flies slowly and has a relatively strong body structure, such minor skin injuries are obviously nothing to worry about.

Through the rear cabin window with a good view, I watched the two Soviet MiG-3s pass by with a strong roar after the failed attack. The self-defense machine gunner in the backseat was soaked with sweat and almost had his hair standing on end. He couldn't help but raise his right arm to wipe the sweat from his head. Ever since he was transferred to work with Rudel, such thrilling situations had almost never stopped.

"Oh my God, Rudel! What you are flying is not a reconnaissance plane or one of those light fighter planes. This is a Stuka that is as stupid as a pregnant seagull! Can you stop doing those difficult and overload maneuvers? Just now At that moment, I was so shaken by you that I felt sick!"

Turning a deaf ear to the complaints coming from behind him, Rudel Shuangmu, who was still holding the joystick in his hand, stared at the MiG-3 fighter directly in front of him and was chasing after him. He had already mounted the wing and fired forward. The thumb on the machine gun's firing button was obviously ready to do something incredible.

"Hey! Rudel! I'm talking to you, did you hear it! Oh, damn! Those two MiGs are turning, Rudel! They are turning! They want to continue another round of attacks on us! But you are Quickly think of a way to get rid of them, aren't you the Eagle of the Eastern Front?"

The shouts and screams from the self-defense machine gunner in the back seat had long been forgotten by Rudel, who was deaf to what was going on outside the window. When their eyes met, Rudel stared at and bit the tail of the MiG-3 and tightened his grip. The flight control stick in his hand, his right hand covered in leather gloves that was already sweating like a surge of sweat, pressed his thumb down after making sure it was correct.

"Don't think I'll just take your beatings, Russians!"