The three Mercedes-Schmidt made a gentle arc in the air, turned their noses and flew back towards the air station.

There was still a panic at the runway at the base, but there were a few sharp-eyed French people who could see the iron cross mark under the wings when the German plane just flew overhead.

"Ceasefire! Major, let them all cease fire, those three are Mercedes-Schmidt. "An Air Force lieutenant spotted Major Bertrand in the midst of the chaotic flow of people.

"What Mercedes-Schmidt?" Major Bertrand was running toward the bomb shelter with a young female nurse in his arms, when he heard the shouts of his men and stopped.

"It's 109, it's a German fighter!" Lieutenant Raoult, the leader of the flying squad with a bushy beard, pointed to the sky and shouted.

"Are you sure?" Bertrand was also somewhat suspicious, as he was an executive officer and was not very good at aircraft identification.

"I'm sure that thing has an iron cross painted under its wings." The team leader wiped the sweat from his face, but forgot that his fingers were stained with oil from the fire pump, and his face, which was already too rough, was even more difficult to see.

"Hell! It was too late, they flew back. "Bertrand is really in a hurry now, the base is beaten into such a miserable scene and can blame the enemy for sneak attack, but then in the panic and also defeated friendly troops, this is really a bit unreasonable, I don't know if I may be sent to a military court because of this.

"Hit the flares and disarm the combat readiness!" Raoul reminded.

"That's right! Flare hit! Bertrand spun around and pointed to the underground shelter a hundred meters away.

"You go over there and find Captain Fred and tell him to convey my order immediately, all gun emplacements immediately cease fire, and that the sky is friendly forces." The major shouted at the female nurse, and then, regardless of whether she understood or not, he pushed the girl on the back.

"You guys come with me." The major waved to the pilots, then strode towards an open-top parked at the top of the runway.

"It's Lieutenant Colonel Gaston's command car, you go to the back seat and look for it, you go and look at the trunk." Bertrand jumped into the cab and rummaged around his seat.

It was a Renault 1930 four-wheeled convertible sedan, and the colonial government purchased about 100 of them from mainland France for the military and government departments to use as public vehicles.

After the military gets this kind of four-wheeled car, it will generally make some necessary modifications, and the car under the major's ass is now one of the most common modifications. A nine-watt communication radio is installed on the right side of the back seat of the car, and the communication distance can reach more than six kilometers in good weather, especially in plain areas like this.

Usually the colony's mobile units used it as a front-line command and communication vehicle, which had become standard equipment for battalion-level motorized units in the French Indochina colony. In particular, in recent years, all garrison regiments have been stepping up their efforts to expand their armed forces, and this type of modified vehicles has become the object of competition among various newly built units.

At the Sisophon Air Station, the vehicle is used for in-flight voice communication with pilots and directs planes to take off and land nearby, playing a similar role as a temporary tower. So in the air station, this trolley has been used by Lieutenant Colonel Gaston, the deputy commander of the air station in charge of flight operations, and no one can borrow it at will without his permission.

"Found it, flare! Sir! "One of the pilots pulled out a cardboard box.

"Give you the flare gun." Bertrand unhooked the flare gun from the rearview mirror and handed it to the other party with the holster attached.

"How many shots?"

"Green, two green, look for it."

"Hurry up, these guys are already firing!"

"Be careful, don't worry, don't worry!"

"Don't you see what I'm looking for? Who hit me in the head. Next to this small command car, a bunch of rough men quarreled.

"Found it! I found it! "An Air Force lieutenant who looks like the killer Leon has a silver flare held aloft with a silver shell, and his face is like a child who has stolen candy.

"Get it!" Without saying a word, the man with the flare snatched the flare, expertly shoved it into the barrel, and closed the chamber of the gun.

A cloud of smoke rose and two green flares swayed into the sky like fireworks. Then two more shots, fearing that they would not be spotted in the sun, the gang simply shot all the green flares into the sky.

It may seem like a long time, but it all happened in half a minute.

At this moment, in the air of the air station, eight green signal flares are hanging and slowly falling with white cigarette tails, even a fool should find out.

The green flare was the air station's agreed emergency ceasefire signal, which was supposed to be a siren during the day, but it had been blown to pieces along with the conning tower.

In fact, the signal did work, and several anti-aircraft machine guns stopped firing one after another after firing a few shots, and at this moment, even if the soldiers in the battle position were sluggish, should have sensed that something was wrong.

"It seems that the French have finally reacted." Spojou looked at the string of green flares in the air and muttered to himself, the ground fire had stopped firing, and it was obvious that the French were aware of their own incident.

"White Three, White Four, follow me!" Shi Boru pushed the rod hard, kicked the rudder, and the plane made a ferocious barrel roll, and then the nose of the plane pressed, and began to dive rapidly.

"Raoult! You say they are German planes! "Looking at the shadow of the rapidly descending aircraft like a falcon and the sharp roar of the engine coming from the sky, Major Bertrand, who was sitting in the command car at the top of the runway, could no longer remain calm, this action did not seem very friendly.

"It's BF109, I'll bet you with my monthly salary." Raoul stood up in the passenger seat and grabbed the front windshield frame.

"They're going to strafe!" A pilot pushes the car door and tries to jump down.

"Don't worry, it's not like an offensive move, they rushed too hard." The comrade on the side grabbed the collar of the one in front.

While they were still arguing, the three 109s were already less than three hundred meters from the runway. Shi Boru flattened the fuselage violently, and the plane fell to a height of fifty meters at this time, and the huge iron cross symbol on the wings seemed to be within reach when viewed from the ground.

Like her two subordinates, Sboru wore her own unique livery, a chic ivory white, the engine fairing was all pink, a blood-red rose was painted on the side of the cockpit, the Iron Cross emblem was painted with her captain's logo on the front, the white No. 1 logo with red trim on the rear, and the rudder at the tail was painted with a full thirty-one crash logos.

Three brightly painted fighters aligned with the runway, dropped in altitude again, and whizzed almost against the head of Major Bertrand, and the Germans lined up in a standard three-plane diagonal formation, the distance between the planes was as if measured with a ruler, and the insider's eye knew that the cockpit was definitely not an ordinary pilot.

"All ace pilots of the Germans, I bet on next month's salary." Raoul shouted.

"Keep your salary, the blind can see that these Germans are flying awesomely." Major Bertrand started the car, and several pilots standing next to the car quickly jumped onto the treadmills.

"Look, they've dropped something." A sharp-eyed pilot shouted pointing to the runway.

In the direction of his finger, a small tin can painted gray-green could be seen tumbling in the middle of the runway, with a small white parachute dragging behind his buttocks. This is the standard airdrop communication tank of the German army, which is used by German reconnaissance planes and liaison planes to communicate with ground troops when radio is not available, and the German army also often uses this method to transmit items to the troops, such as written orders from superiors and the latest tactical maps, or medals and medals.

The French major hurriedly drove to the canister, and one of the pilots jumped out of the car and ran over, and then ran back with the canister the size of a gas mask canister.

The three planes had already completed their ultra-low altitude routine, climbing at full throttle from one end of the runway, and it looked like they wanted to do it again.

"Give me the jar, don't squeeze it, I'm the highest-ranking officer here, give me that jar." Bertrand shouted.

"Colonel Martin isn't dead yet."

"Old Martin has a hole in his lung, I have seen it, it is miserable, may God bless him."

"Really? Poor old fellow, obviously about to retire. A few middle-aged people who were out of tune began to talk again.

"It's the radio frequency, it's the communication frequency, it's the hell communication frequency, who's going to operate this station." A piece of paper in Bertranyan's hand, apparently torn from a notebook, scribbled with a string of numbers in red pencil.

"I'll play with this." The stubble-faced, stubble-looking pilot who looked like the killer Leon snatched the piece of paper.

"Raymond, when did you learn to operate the radio?" One of the pilots slapped him the back.

"What did you guys learn in aviation school? How do you wash the feet of the principal's wife? Lieutenant Raymond sneered and turned on the power of the station.

"Isn't that what you're best at? You dude. The friend ruffled Raymond's hair.

"Shhhh Be quiet! Shut up, you fools! Take your dirty hands away, it's a new custom uniform, yes, it looks a little dusty, so what, it's still new. Major Bertrand slapped his way from the front seat to the back seat.

"It's all quiet, connected." Raymond pressed the headphones with one hand and adjusted the frequency with the other.

"This is Shimablion Air Station, Bluebeard? Yes, yes, it's Bluebeard. The pilot called in a thick accent of German.

"Okay, okay, I'll get my chief to talk to you right away." With a ghostly look on his face, Raymond handed the headphones in his hand to Bertrand.

"You won't believe it, it's a woman talking inside?" Raymond whispered to his companions.

"It must be insane, I've heard of this kind of thing, it sounds like a woman, and this poor fellow should be given a vacation."

"The Germans let women fly fighter jets? Madonna. ”

"Don't talk nonsense, maybe it's the wrong frequency." A group of bored uncles found a new topic and started a new round of discussion.

PS: Caught up, thank you for your understanding. (To be continued.) )