Cannon Fire Arc-Chapter 875 - 14 The Longest Day_2

"No need." Admiral Eck shouted to stop him, "It's better to make a decision and act early, it's tomorrow, we should take this risk. Tomorrow, August 3rd, is D-Day. Let's strike the Prosens hard."

————

At one of the many ports of the United Kingdom, the ships of the 1701st Transport Squadron were anchored in the harbor.

The soldiers on board had been drifting for almost two weeks, and it had been raining for the past few days.

Army Captain Thomas was lying in his hammock, gently swaying with the waves.

His friend, Lieutenant Jack, came to his side and complained loudly, "The place by the toilet is literally hell. The toilets are full, the trash cans are full, the kerosene barrels are full, any container is full of vomit, now they're using helmets to hold vomit."

"You really should smell it, taking a dump is simply torture. Torture!"

Thomas: "Then just do it overboard, a lot of people are doing that, Jefferson from Company F even fell into the sea and drowned."

"I can't swim," Jack said.

Thomas sat up, "What? Damn it, don't you know we're about to join a landing operation?"

"I know, but damn it, this is probably the largest landing operation of the entire war, do you think I can say no? If it were you, wouldn't you go?"

Thomas: "I'm different, many of my subordinates died at the hands of the Prosens. In Mamluk, in Tunisia, in Sicily — and the damn Kingdom of Sardinia, as long as I'm alive, I'm not done with the Prosens. The most important thing is, I can swim."

Jack: "Damn it."

At this moment, a steam whistle sounded outside the cabin.

What was originally a noisy cabin suddenly became quiet.

Everyone looked towards the hatch.

Another steam whistle.

Thomas: "Do they randomly sound the steam whistle when the ship is anchored?"

As soon as he finished speaking, someone ran into the cabin: "We've weighed anchor! We're setting off!"

Everyone was stunned, and then someone shouted, "Damn it! I haven't finished writing my letter to my mother! Damn, I hope there's still time to hand it over before we leave the port!"

More people, however, were cheering: "We're setting off!"

"This damn day is over!"

"We're off to fight the Prosens!"

Everyone was cheering, even though half of them had never seen a Prosen in their lifetime, nor did they have any deep-seated grudge, yet they were still cheering.

Soon, the cheers merged into a very off-key song of weighing anchor — it was a navy song, and there were only army men in the cabin. The air and ground forces of the Federation weren't too harmonious either, but at this moment, nobody cared about that.

————

Midnight, August 3rd, Norfolk Air Force Base, United Kingdom.

Three hundred C47 transports were lined up on the runway and apron, their engines' roar like rolling thunder.

The first C47 took off, towing a glider carrying the commandos to the assault bridge behind it.

In the sky, the formation was assembling, a huge group taking off from three hundred air force bases was gathering.

The weather had cleared, with only a few clouds.

On the roof of a house beside the base, a young boy was looking up at the sky.

His mother opened the attic window and leaned out, shouting, "Harry! Be careful not to fall like that!"

The little boy: "I brought a broom!"

"Only boys in fairy tales can fly on brooms! Come back down here!"

"Mom, there are so many planes in the sky!"

The woman looked up at the sky: "Yes, the buzzing is annoying."

"They're going to fight the Prosens, they'll avenge Dad!" the little boy shouted, "Let me see them off!"

The woman fell silent, her eyes gradually filling with tears as she looked at the sky.

She didn't insist on the boy coming back inside.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

————

An hour and a half later, above the Norman Duchy.

Major Mark held the control stick, looking out at the pitch-black land.

"Damn it, I can't see a thing, where's the Resistance Organization's guiding fire?"

The co-pilot shook his head, "I don't see it either, the ground is pitch black—"

As soon as he finished speaking, an anti-aircraft shell exploded in front of the plane, shrapnel hitting the cockpit's exterior.

Major Mark: "Damn!"

Soon after, beams of searchlights lit up from the ground, heavy anti-aircraft fire rose into the sky, shells constantly exploding in the air.

Major Mark: "At least now we know we're not flying back to the Federation!"

Before he could finish, the lead plane in front was hit, trailing flames as it slowly fell to the ground, paratroopers flying out one by one, none of their parachutes opening because they hadn't attached the ripcords.

Major Mark: "We're the lead plane now."

He turned on the radio: "This is the lead plane, follow us forward, did anyone see the ground guiding markers?"

"The ground's full of damn explosive flashes, even if there were guiding markers, we couldn't see them." A pilot from an unknown plane answered over the radio.

At this moment, the paratroop officer in Mark's plane stuck his head into the cockpit: "Have we reached the drop zone?"

Mark: "You see the signal light, the red light means we haven't reached. Don't rush, when we get there, I'll switch the signal light!"

Just as he finished speaking, the plane shook.

Mark: "What just happened? Check the plane's condition!"

"No need to check, our engine caught fire." The co-pilot said, "I suggest switching the light to let them jump."

Major Mark pressed the button, turning the red light in the cabin into a green light.

The paratrooper sitting by the door shouted, "The plane's on fire, I'm jumping!"

He jumped directly.

The paratroop officer shouted in shock, "You didn't attach the hook! Damn it! Quickly hook it, as soon as you do, jump, quickly!"

Mark: "The good news is, the engine fire is out, we don't have to worry about the wings burning off, the bad news is, we're descending, and we'll soon reach a height where you can't jump safely—"