Corporal Abu Mustafa sat on a mottled yellow-brown sandstone brick, leaning against the thick castle, with an iron basin in front of him, and a bunch of small bonfires lit inside.

"Blessed by Allah, I heard that Major Albi is going to be transferred away. Is it true?" Private Hashem carried an aluminum lunch box with a thick branch and put it on the fire and roasted it. Soon a smell of grease drifted from the air.

"The cursed donkey should have gone away. I have not received a leave of absence for two months. The greedy donkey ran to the brothel in Oland every day, soaking until midnight before returning drunk. He always beat and scolded our soldiers. If I were the commander of the base, I would have hanged this bastard on the lamppost of the port." Corporal Mustafa touched the miscellaneous bag on the belt, took out a long pottery pipe, and carefully pinched out a ball of tobacco from the cloth bag and filled it into the pot.

"Corporal, I heard that the Germans were going to call him. What do you think?" Mr. Hassan picked out a small red branch from the brazier and respectfully lit a cigarette for Mustafa.

"This is all rumor. The Germans are across the sea from us. What have you seen Germans like? I saw them when I was young, wearing big leather boots and black pointed helmets, walking like ducks and kicking so high. Allah blesses us, we don't have to fight with them. I heard from Mr. Bridge in the morning that France and Germany are negotiating, and the war is over." The Algerians danced and gestured, proudly showing off their broad vision and deep experience to their young rookies. Mr. Mustapha has gone out to explore.

The Port of Milskbeer is two kilometers northwest of Auran Port. The two ports are actually close together, with only a small ridge between them. The Port of Milskbeer is surrounded by this mountain range. The bay is surrounded by mountains on three sides and has an altitude of more than 300 meters. It is simply a natural defense line. Since the Port of Auran Port is a civilian port. Merchant ships from various countries are busy with waterways, crowded and complex personnel, it is very inconvenient for naval ships to park in Auran, so France built a harbor in Milskbeer Bay and moored naval ships separately.

This is a naval anchor port, not a regular naval base, such as docks, ship channels, ship repair yards, ordnance processing, etc., there is no such base facilities here. There is only an old-fashioned coastal defense fortress standing suddenly on the tip of the cape at one end of the port.

A huge breakwater extends from one side of the fortress, blocking the waves of the Mediterranean from the port. The inner harbor is irrigated and is as horizontal as a mirror.

The fortress is in a very standard French style. At the tip of the cape is a semi-underground bunker position and a single-pointed bastion. A lighthouse is built on the bastion. Behind the bunker is the main fortress, composed of a standard North African double-layered quadrilateral and an obtuse-angled bastion. On one side of the coast, deep moats are dug and defensive walls are built. Mustafa and others are now sitting on the first floor of the huge main fortress.

"It is said that these two big guys will go back to France next week. When all these warships leave, we will be much more relaxed." Hashem took out a salt pot from the debris bag and handed it to Hassan. The latter skillfully opened the salt pot, twisted a pinch of salt and sprinkled it into the lunch box.

"Next Monday, the sailor on the Provence is asking me to find a way to get some good goods for him. Now there is nothing in France. I have made this number for him, and he will turn it up twice when he returns." Mustafa stretched out four fingers and shook it at his subordinates, then knocked the pipe on the military boots. He picked up a wooden strip and poked the carbon deposits in the pot, then blew it hard, carefully wrapped it in a cloth bag, put it back in the debris bag.

"You have made a lot of money this time, Corporal." Hassan asked with a smile.

"What are you making? I still have to pay back my debts." Mustafa curled his lips to his subordinates.

"Okay, it's hot, it's ready to eat." Hashem shouted happily, and he took out a big aluminum spoon from his arms and wiped it on his clothes.

"Oh, give me a big piece of cake, Hassan, take out the remaining bread." Mustafa quickly picked up the iron plate placed on the ground and came over. Just as the three Algerian soldiers were happily eating the meal, they didn't know that twenty kilometers away, a group of death was attacking them quickly against the sea.

How to say the Fairley Swordfish is a kind of...semi-modern aircraft. It has the technical characteristics of all contemporary models, such as metal fuselage and wings, high-horsepower engines, full set of instruments, airborne radios, airborne compass, and airborne oxygen supply systems. It also retains an open cabin, double main wings and fixed landing gear, and a speed that is so slow that it makes people say nothing of it. This is an old-fashioned aircraft made with advanced technology. It is incredible that this aircraft is actually the latest model, and has just served in the Royal Navy for two years.

As we all know, the Royal Navy's imagination is simply a breakthrough in the sky, but in fact, once the Royal Navy becomes conservative and rigid, it is invincible in the world. The swordfish style is the culmination of the Royal Navy's conservative thinking.

Conservatives in the navy believe that as a naval aircraft, it must be able to carry torpedoes and bombs. At the same time, because it needs to take off on a very short aircraft carrier runway, the aircraft must have great lift. Which airfoil has the greatest lift? Of course, it is a double-layer wing.

At the same time, the navy's aircraft must have a pilot and an observer. Because the pilot's eyes mostly take into account the dashboard, it is impossible to ensure reconnaissance and search. Looking at the target on the sea in the air is often just a small point, and once you miss it, it will be a thousand miles away. In addition, there is no reference for the sea flight. You must always remember the direction speed and time of the aircraft, calculate the exact route and location of the aircraft, so you can safely reach the target area and return. It is difficult for a pilot to take into account these problems alone, so a pilot must have a navigation.

In addition, if you want to report the sea reconnaissance and search results to the mothership or base in time, the aircraft must be equipped with a remote radio. This is not a wireless phone, and you can only send Morse codes. The pilot is already in a hurry and can't help sending the report. Then you need to bring another wireless operator. Since the operator is idle most of the time during the entire flight, you can also use the tail machine gunner as the tradition of not idling people in the navy.

So, three people were stuffed into the ugly biplane torpedo, and the cockpit was in a stepped shape. The pilot sat high on the first level of the head, and the other two were sitting in the arc-shaped cabin of the lower fuselage. The radio operator and the observer sat back to back, with only a wooden backrest between them.

The cabin in the rear seat is completely open, with the front facing the back panel of the pilot seat shielding the wind. The observer does not have a dedicated flight seat, but sits on a wooden board located in the cabin. This design is so that he can stand up in the cabin at any time, poke out his body and observe and search downward. During the reconnaissance and search mission, the observer even stands for most of the time during the entire voyage.

Observers can stand in the convertible cabin and wave their arms. Using voice calls and the Royal Navy's general gestures to direct pilots to change flight directions or to direct machine gunners to aim, this is no different in World War II torpedo aircraft, making the crew of Swordfish look more like a group of rowing sailors.

The observer of the 2nd Aircraft of the 818th Squadron of the Royal Navy Torpedo Bomber, Royal Navy Sergeant Raymond Hanson, is now standing in his cockpit seat, pounding hard on the panels of the side compartment.

"Okay, the watch needle has started to jump, it must have been blocked somewhere." Hansen breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the speedometer and altimeter that finally started to operate normally under the yellow light of the small light in the cabin.

"Don't be nervous. Sergeant, there is no need to worry at all. We just need to follow the formation." Sergeant Pilot Carter said with a smile in the phone.

"Please keep an eye on the long aircraft. Our height is too high." Hansen knocked on the wall of the pilot's compartment in anger. He turned his head and looked to the back. Under the bright moonlight, the Mediterranean sea below seemed to be covered with a silver curtain. The milky white painted by the swordfish torpedo machine was clearly visible under the bright moonlight, and even the numbers on the fuselage were clearly visible.

"The moonlight is so bright. The French can easily see us." Hansen said in the phone.

"Don't worry, it's difficult to distinguish clearly from below. Such moonlight is beneficial to us. We can clearly find the location of the target." The pilot replied loudly.

"Note that I have seen the harbor. The target is the one on the right. I can't believe that the French and the others don't have light controls." The pilot's surprise scream came from the headphones, and Hansen quickly rushed to the cabin and leaned forward and looked forward.

Under the moonlight, the white coastline and the gray mountains are clearly visible. The observer saw the huge city with lights at a glance, which should be the prosperous Port of Oran.

"With the long plane, the French were unprepared. I saw that the port of Mirsk Bill was lit. They actually lit the lights."

"They have no idea that we are here, have you seen it? Their lighthouse is navigating us. There are still three thousand meters, and the flares are ready." The pilot roared loudly, venting his excitement.

The enemy was unprepared. If the French had not discovered it within one kilometer, they would never have a chance. This battle would be as easy as shooting a target.

Hansen bent down, loosened the strapping belt on the cabin wall, lifted the five-kilogram hand-throwing bomb. He put the lights in the lighting and carefully checked the safety latch, then picked up the bomb and moved it to the side of the cabin.

Forty-eight swordfish torpedo planes approached the target at an extremely low altitude of 20 meters. Each pilot stared at the harbor with a light shining light, fearing that the next second would be tracer bombs rushing towards him.

The twelve swordfishes in the first row began to change their formation according to the plan. The twelve aircraft formed four three-plane formations, and then began to slowly climb up the height and sprint towards the breakwater. Five hundred meters, four hundred meters, three hundred meters, one hundred meters... The breakwater is clearly visible, and the pilots also saw the huge hulls and towering chimneys docked behind the breakwater.

"Drop bombs and drop bombs!"

The swordfish torpedo aircraft had reached a height of 300 meters. The formation suddenly pulled the nose and continued to climb upwards almost steeply. At the same time, the observers of each crew pulled out the safety from the flare when the plane passed the breakwater, and then threw the bomb out of the cabin.

After the bomb fell twenty meters, it burst into pieces with a muffled sound. Twelve flares hung under silk parachutes and slowly fell down. The core of the flares was like twelve small suns illuminating the berth of the Mirskbeer Port as daytime.

At this time, the French finally reacted, and the harsh alarm echoed over the port area. But it was too late. The twelve torpedo aircraft in the second echelon suddenly appeared in the port from the left side of the breakwater, and then rushed directly to the mountains behind the port, turning nearly one hundred degrees at a gentle mountain pass, and dived towards the breakwater from the east direction of the port.

Twelve torpedo planes lined up in two rows and dropped to a height of ten meters. They fired torpedoes against the water toward the French warships parked next to the breakwater, and then pulled up almost against the mast of the warship, climbing up without hesitation while evacuating toward the outer sea.

The third wave followed, and the second wave was on the same route. Twelve torpedoes almost followed the path of the front mine. Then the last wave of torpedoes broke into the gap in the breakwater and fired a row of torpedoes towards the French destroyer fleet parked deep in the port. After the launch, the fleet turned its head and crossed the mountains northwest of the harbor and disappeared from the French's sight.

The last wave of attacks was the formation of flares, who circled back from the mountain pass. They dropped the last batch of torpedoes at the burning French battleship and then headed towards the outer sea.

The entire battle was like flowing water, full of joy. From the explosion of the first flare to the evacuation of the last swordfish torpedo aircraft, it only took five minutes. During these five minutes, the Royal British Navy's swordfish torpedo aircraft group was like a helper of gods, completing the attack accurately and perfectly. From the beginning to the end, the French Navy was unable to fire a single shot and an ammunition.

"Allah is here. It's the German plane! The Germans are here to bomb!" Mustafa held his Leber rifle and stood blankly on the city wall of the fortress, staring at the huge battleship that was constantly gushing with flames in the harbor. At this moment, a bright white light flashed by. Then a huge ball of fire rose from the breakwater. With the harsh explosion, Mustafa was blown down from the city wall by a violent storm.

"The torpedo aircraft sent a report and the attack was successful. The results of the battle were huge. The French fleet was all in the port. At least two battleships and two destroyers were sunk. Three cruisers and four destroyers were injured. The French did not fight back, and our people were not injured." The communication officer climbed onto the bridge with a telegram. He happily handed the telegram to Somerville, who was sitting in the commander's seat, closed his eyes and resting.

"Is that so? Very good." Somerville nodded and took the telegram calmly. Captain Scott found on the side that the lieutenant general's knee was shaking violently.

"We are still one last step away from success. We will only be able to truly complete the mission after all the planes return and land." Somerville shook his shoulders and stood up.

"I see everyone's performance. Everyone has fulfilled their duties and fulfilled their respective responsibilities perfectly. The professionalism and discipline shown by the officers and soldiers of the entire fleet impressed me. This is the first time in human history that use aircraft carrier-based aircraft to launch a strike against the fleet in the enemy's harbor. This battle will be recorded in the history of the Imperial War. When I return to Britain, I will ask the Prime Minister for commendation for all the meritorious personnel." Somerville put down the telegram and said with a smile to Captain Scott.

"Commander, the destroyer Antelope just sent a report. The fleet found a shadow of the ship in the northwest and was approaching us." A staff officer reported loudly with the telephone receiver inside the ship.

"What? Immediately identify the type of ship and prepare for combat." Somerville ran out of the bridge, and he held the high-power telescope on the observation deck and looked northwest.

At this time, the UK had not developed a sea search radar, and the exploration of surface ships still relies on vision and reconnaissance aircraft, otherwise the Glory would not have been shot.

"Let the destroyer come out to investigate and confirm the other party's identity."

"Are we going to turn to avoid immediately?" Scott asked.

"Don't panic, there are no fleets of other countries nearby. The Germans cannot pass Gibraltar. The French have been beaten and sank in the port. The Italians will not run so far. Perhaps it is the squadron of Gibraltar or the Mediterranean fleet in Cunningham." Somerville stood calmly on the lookout platform, holding a telescope and looking at the sea and sky. Under the bright moonlight, a little ship shadow appeared faintly on the horizontal line.

As time goes by, the ship shadows become larger and larger, and the outlines can be gradually distinguished. The British have discovered that the target is not a ship, and several slightly smaller ship shadows were found on both sides of the target, which is obviously a fleet.

"There is no established fleet in this Mediterranean, so it must be Cunningham's people. Haven't the radio contacted? Let the destroyer send light recognition signals to the other party." The destroyer on the periphery began to accelerate and faced the target. The signal lights on the bridge flickered and sent identification signals to the other party.

The other party obviously also discovered the British fleet. It adjusted its course. The other party did not respond to the light inquiries or received a radio call sign. It just silently rushed towards the British fleet's route. Somerville realized that something was wrong at this time.

The signal soldier who had been staring at the destroyer's lights exclaimed loudly. "God, the signal from the Antelope is sent, that is a battleship! It is Richelieu!"

Just as Somerville turned her head in panic, the shadow of the ship in the distance emitted a dazzling flash, and the French battleship fired her first volley after serving. (To be continued, please search for Astronomy, the novel is better, updated and faster!
Chapter completed!