"That's it. Hold the can opener here, and press down firmly. See it. Try it yourself." Captain Mannerheim handed the can in his hand back to the young recruit.

"Thank you sir, I thought this thing was broken." The newly arrived second-class sailor is only seventeen years old. He is a bright and cheerful guy who has completed regular submarine crew training. If he performs well on this voyage If so, he can get the official submarine crew badge.

"Well, you still have a lot to learn, boy." Mannerheim squeezed his eyes at the recruit, and then lowered his head to continue reading the magazine in his hand.

"Which one did you choose? If I can't make up my mind, I can recommend one to you. This year's latest Volkswagen is cheap and has good performance. Anyway, you don't have much time to stay on the shore." Lieutenant Fiesler Holding a cigarette that is not lit, he is using poker to calculate the future for the medical officer.

"Ah, Six of Spades, you are such a lucky guy. Let's see the next one..."

"Captain, the command of the command has been translated." The corps shouted out his head behind the curtain in the telecommunications room.

"I'll come right away." Mannerheim dropped the magazine in his hand, got up from the corner sofa in the officer's lounge, and walked along the narrow aisle toward the telecommunications room.

"This is the first copy, this is the second copy, and the order of the two copies is the same. I have checked it repeatedly." The telecommunications soldier handed the telegraph paper to the captain. Mannerheim took the telegraph paper and stood in the hallway of the communication room, reading by the overhead light.

"Fessler" Mannerheim called his deputy captain.

"We are going to change the route and have a new mission." He took the two telegrams, bent over and drilled through the waterproof door beside him, and entered the command cabin next door.

"The captain entered the bridge." The officer on duty shouted loudly, and all the officers on duty turned to the captain's line to pay attention.

"Please continue." Mannerheim nodded to his subordinates and walked straight to the chart table.

"35...11..." He picked up the slide rule and began to calculate the parameters.

"What's the new mission?" Fesler got into the command module, holding the deflated cigarette in his hand, holding his soft-top combat cap in his hand.

"The command from the Naval Command, we should start executing it at the moment we get the command, because it took some time to decipher, we are already a little late. Now our position is somewhat north." Mannerheim used the ruler Measured down a route.

"The boat we tracked can only be abandoned. It's a pity that the guy has 4,700 tons." Fesler picked up the telegram and looked carefully.

"No way, the command of the command has the highest priority." Mannerheim drew a cross on the map.

"We are going to arrive at this location within twelve hours. It seems to be a big operation to converge with the naval task force. I have never seen so many new codes being used at the same time, with the latest radio identification code, and amended. Identify the lights at night." Mannerheim dropped the pencil in his hand and looked at the chart with his hips.

"Look at the confluence. We may be entering the Mediterranean Sea. This is the first time the German navy submarine force has entered this sea area. Have we brought the chart of that area?" Fesler elbowed on the chart table , Measuring the voyage with a compass.

"There should be a copy in the chart box, clipped in the pile that was newly sent after the last return."

"Ah, I found it. Is this one? All in French?"

"The French Mediterranean charts are better than our standards, they have to re-map every year, and our Italian friends..."

"Well, I believe the French in this respect." Fesler rolled the chart and stuffed it into the map shelf beside the chart table.

"We have half of the fuel left. There are eight torpedoes, and food and fresh water can last for two weeks. If possible, you should get some supplements at the meeting point."

"Is it only us who received the notification?" Fesler looked at the latest version of the ship identification manual against the number on the telegram.

"Look at the call code, this is for our entire boat group."

"Rubber duck boats? Sounds like a bunch of bathtub toys."

"I really like the name. You think, no matter how you push it into the water, it will always surface immediately after you let go."

When the radio waves emitted by the long-distance radio station of the German Naval Command swept across the North Sea and Scapa Bay, orders from the German Air Force Command began to be transmitted between the various airfields.

"That's the thirty-fourth."

"Thirty-three, thirty-three."

"Thirty-four. You idiot, look at my fingers, one two three four, thirty-four." Lieutenant Ainz Vonimo stretched out four fingers and shook his companion not far away.

"Don't you two **** chat on the communication channel. I'm answering the major's order." The squadron leader's roar came from the headset.

"Thirty-four." Nemo made a silent lip to the outside of the cabin and continued to wave those four fingers. The partner who was flying close to the Nemo plane was obviously unwilling to compromise. He also stretched out his hand in the cabin with the number three.

"All the first squadrons listened well, changed course, adjusted your compass. Course 155. We are going to cross the French defense line, always pay attention to the surrounding conditions, there will be French aircraft coming to lead us, they said they will not We shoot, but we can't take it lightly." The leader's 190 swayed the wing, then made a quick half-roll, and instantly changed the course of the plane.

These nine 190s belong to the Air Force’s First Special Teaching Brigade. As the new type of adaptive training unit, the brigade, in addition to training the seeds of each wing to teach pilots, is also responsible for exploring various types of aircraft in actual combat. Practical tactics, look for the advantages and disadvantages of this model, enrich the contents of the flight operation manual and other test tasks.

"Heading to 155, there is still two-thirds of the fuel in the secondary tank. Where is the final destination? Sir." Nemo pressed his throat transmitter and asked his squadron leader.

"I don't know, Lieutenant, probably close to Lyon, or somewhere further south. The major just ordered us to fly in this direction, and there will be a French aircraft to answer."

"We have flown across the border, and I am calculating our location."

"Fourth, pay attention to the course and stay in the formation."

"Watch the surroundings. Watch the heights."

"That stupid blue painter is thirty-four."

"Thirty-three, you red fool."

"Shut up for me immediately and I will report to Major Sporru the violations of your two idiots in detail"

The course is established. Pilots of the various teams began to talk on the radio in a jumble.

Lieutenant Nemo turned off the radio transmission switch. He pulled the map of France from the map bag on his leg, turned it over and reinserted it. The squadron is now flying over the French controlled area, the ground is peaceful and peaceful, and the farmland and villages are returning to life. You can even clearly see the traces of the vehicle shuttle back and forth on the highway.

Instead, it was a month ago. At this time, it should have been attacked by a mess on the ground, but now the nine German fighters are flying freely over France, and no one is to disturb their progress. Through the transparent celluloid film on the leg bag, Nemo marked the flight path on the map with a pencil.

"The target was found, front left, 270, at a distance of two thousand." The captain of the wing issued an alarm.

"Perhaps to come to meet our plane, pay attention to the alert." The squadron commander issued a guard order. Nemo waved at his partner not far away, then lifted the cannon firing safety catch on the handle.

Two French aircraft also discovered these German fighters. They quickly turned their noses and began to approach the German fleet quickly. The French pilot who led the team was very mature and stable. Obviously he did not want to make the Germans feel any misunderstandings. His flying attitude was very smooth and steady, without any demonstration or provocation.

The German side also breathed a sigh of relief. The performance of the French pilots immediately impressed them. The fighter formation returned to cruise flight, and the pilot released the oxygen mask and turned off the safety switch of the gun circuit.

"This is the French Air Force Dur Lafayette Flying Squadron. I am instructed to guide you and I am glad to see you. I am Squadron Major Major Noel and Lieutenant Thierry Lieutenant." The French pilot band sounded in the headset Called in accented German.

"Here is the 555th Squadron of the Luftwaffe, I am Captain Sharrell. I'm glad to see you, Major." The captain answered in fluent French.

"I never expected that one day I would lead a German fighter. Now my mood is very complicated. Three months ago, I was still fighting with you. You shot down many of my outstanding men, and we also scored a lot. Your warriors. At that time, the whole world was mad and everything became a mess."

"I can understand your mood. Major, I also lost a lot of friends in the war. We are all fighters, fighting for our country,"

"Thank God everything is about to pass now, we may establish a true friendship, sorry to tell you this, Captain, please follow us now, I will lead you to the predetermined base to land, your liaison officer is already at the airport Waiting for your arrival." The French fighter swayed its wings a few times, then flew to the front of the group and began to steer the group slowly.

The fleet slowly penetrated into the French control area, the signal strength of the Paris navigation station decreased somewhat, and German pilots turned the FM **** to change the frequency of the positioning station.

"Look, those Stukas" Nemo's partner Lieutenant Diosala stared at the bottom of the group in surprise.

"What? Oh, it's a rare sight." Nemo looked down at the side of the fuselage. I saw a low altitude of one kilometer from the ground, and a group of Stuka bombers painted in blue and white camouflage were lined up neatly. The shape moves in the same direction.

"Is that a naval aviation? There is a large group." Dior said on the radio.

"God, you look behind." Another pilot chimed in. The two trumps quickly turned to look, and they were immediately attracted by the spectacular sight.

Blue and white and off-white painted bombing secrets are densely arranged in a tight formation, like mottled rain clouds. One fleet is followed by another, and the mighty ranks extend to the edge of the horizon.

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