Arc of Fire

Chapter 615: Chapter 58 This is not an ordinary Pe-3, it’s different from the Pe-2!

Amelia had just climbed into the plane and put on her headphones when she heard the airfield dispatcher calling out, “Amelia, Amelia, don’t take off yet.”

"I’m still in the middle of the pre-flight check. But why mention that in particular?”

"The Air Force commander believes that to ensure the mission’s success, we should wait for the Sound Array Master to hear the enemy reconnaissance plane’s engine noise before taking off, to make sure they take the bait.”

Amelia replied, “Got it,” and continued to check the instrument status. After completing all the steps, she ticked the final box on the acceptance form in her hand and handed the form to the ground crew waiting outside.

Then, with nothing else to do, she watched Rocossov chatting with the other pilots.

From her angle, she could only see Rocossov’s back; he seemed to be receiving the pilots’ compliments.

Amelia clicked her tongue and adjusted the blonde hair that had escaped her aviator cap.

"He can’t even be bothered to come greet me, the one serving as bait.”

The ground crew chief, filling out the maintenance forms nearby, looked up in surprise, “What? Do you need anything?”

"Nothing,” said Amelia.

The combat squadron responsible for the ambush was the first to take off; they were the fighter group that had coordinated together many times before. They had covered General Rocossov’s red Pe-3 without engaging in combat during previous missions and were now fueled by a burning desire for action. Today’s ambush was right up their alley.

The field airfield was on the East Bank, next to the biggest battlefield hospital that might be housing tens of thousands of wounded soldiers awaiting evacuation. Although pilots rarely had the chance to enter the hospital, they often managed to build good relations with the exhausted nurses, so they indirectly heard plenty of heroic stories taking place on the opposite bank.

Everyone was filled with raging anger, just waiting to vent their frustrations on the damned Prosen bastards.

Soon, all of Squadron Two tasked with the ambush completed takeoff, now waiting for the enemy reconnaissance plane to arrive before the red Pe-3 would take off to lure the enemy.

Of course, it wasn’t guaranteed that the enemy would fall for it, and if they didn’t, Amelia’s red Pe-3 could cover Rocossov’s actual aircraft to complete the reconnaissance and locate all of the enemy artillery positions.

Amelia kept her gaze on the back of the Front Army Commander.

The ground crew chief noticed her gaze and turned to look. His eyes immediately lit up, realizing he’d have something to talk about while drinking behind the Military Chaplain’s back tonight.

Amelia, with her witch’s keen perception, noticed this and was about to say something when she heard the tower’s voice through her headphones, “The Sound Array Master has heard the enemy reconnaissance plane, and the flight path is the same as yesterday’s. Prepare for takeoff.”

At that moment, the sound of anti-aircraft guns came from the distance, intended to give the enemy high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft a sense of atmosphere.

Amelia shouted to the ground crew chief, “Start the engines!”

"Roger that!” The chief immediately gestured for the crew to come and spin the propeller.

Soon both engines of the Pe-3 were running at full power.

With a little effort from the ground crew, the aircraft was pushed out of the hangar and began to taxi on its own.

Amelia had already sensed the Prosen reconnaissance plane; she slightly throttled back on the Pe-3’s taxiing speed to allow the enemy to get a clear view and give them some time to react.

However, a few minutes later, the aircraft still slid to the starting point of the runway.

The tower radioed, “Wind direction… wind speed… clear for takeoff.”

Amelia pushed the throttle all the way forward, the aircraft shuddered for a moment and began to accelerate. Halfway down the runway, the wheels left the ground.

With a pull on the control stick, Amelia’s aircraft soared into the sky.

Glancing back, she saw Rocossov waving at her from under the hangar.

Well, the remaining question was when the enemy would arrive, Amelia thought.

Prosen high-altitude reconnaissance plane, tactical number 454.

"Red Pe-3 spotted, repeat, red Pe-3 spotted,” reported the Observer.

The radio operator immediately began calling out, “Coyote Coyote, rabbit spotted, rabbit spotted.”

"Coyote understands.”

Observer: “Red Pe-3 is flying along the Valdai Hills River consistent with the previous recon route. It should cut directly towards the area controlled by our forces at some point. We can proceed with the interception as planned.”

Radio operator: “Coyote Coyote, the rabbit is moving along the path; the rabbit is moving along the path.”

"Coyote understands.”

Amelia glanced toward the direction of the sun. Although she couldn’t see the second fighter squadron hiding there, she could feel they were in flight.

Perhaps the enemy would first encounter the second squadron against the backlight, turning the ambush into a proper fight.

The pilots of Squadron Two probably wouldn’t object to such “good fortune.”

Most Ante Air Force pilots only had a flying experience of 200 hours, and many new pilots went into combat flying with just sixty hours.

It was said that new Prosen pilots had to train for at least 300 hours before coming to the frontline.

But everyone in Squadron Two was seasoned, barring the two new recruits. The rest were veteran pilots who had been fighting since the previous year, and they could definitely hold their own against the elite Prosen pilots.

Amelia looked towards the sun again, and suddenly, she felt a sense of crisis.

At times like this, she would absolutely evade. This instinctive evasive action had saved her life countless times.

As she banked into a left turn, a 109 with a wolf’s head painted on the nose came charging, intercepting right across Amelia’s original flight path.

At the moment the enemy plane intersected Amelia’s plane, the pilot looked over—yes, Amelia felt the gaze.

She glared back, only to find the enemy pilot looking surprised.

Was it because she was a woman in the cockpit?

But Ante should have had many female pilots fight against the Ploson Air Force by now, even producing aces.

Amelia herself should have been a renowned “Witch” on the Prosen side.

However, there wasn’t time to think about that during aerial combat; full concentration was required, as any slight mistake could be fatal.

Amelia, trusting her sixth sense, quickly grasped the situation in the sky and chose to keep maneuvering by diving into the imagined negative G direction of the enemy aircraft.

Sure enough, the enemy wingman descended, and the barrage of fire almost grazed Amelia’s wings.

Amelia opened up the engine’s afterburners to full, unleashing the Pe-3’s maximum acceleration and speed in a shallow dive—having lost significant speed in the recent maneuvers, she couldn’t joust with an enemy that held an altitude advantage.

As she gained speed, Amelia scanned her surroundings—although she could sense the enemy, that couldn’t replace visual observation.

The two enemy planes from the first wave were gaining altitude. Where were the others? It was impossible that the enemy had sent only two planes to intercept!

Soon, Amelia spotted several planes entangled in a fight above her; clearly, the covering second squadron had engaged the rest of the enemies.

Then she just needed to take down these two planes.

Amelia glanced at the speedometer and gently pulled the stick, transitioning from a dive to a shallow climb. This allowed her speed to continue building, and her altitude to slowly increase.

The twin-engine Pe-3 had a production advantage over the single-engine 109, though it was heavier.

Facing off against two 109s, the key was to conserve her own energy and deplete the enemy’s.

The two enemy planes that had missed their attack didn’t give up and turned back, trying to catch up with the Pe-3.

At this point, if Amelia wanted to stay alive, she just had to continue level flight.

But she decided to offer the enemy a slight opening.

She veered slightly, allowing the enemy plane’s closing rate to increase somewhat. It didn’t take long for the enemy to get into a good position for an attack.

"Come on, dive down and attack.”

One of the two 109s dove, using a common tactic in formation fighting; one maintained altitude and speed while the other attacked.

If Amelia dodged and lost energy, the other could strike while she was vulnerable.

Normally, such a tactic was foolproof.

But Amelia had been through this scenario many times.

She knew that the enemy would be complacent at this moment—and that was her opportunity.

The attacking enemy plane dove, and only at the very last moment Amelia gently banked the stick. The plane tilted just slightly in the air, and the 109’s barrage passed beneath the Pe-3.

The enemy plane passed by at a dangerously close range, and Amelia sharply pulled the stick, forcibly lifting the nose of her aircraft. Having flown the Pe-3 for so long, she understood the plane’s pointing ability inside and out and had deliberately been adjusting her speed just for this moment to ensure maximum pointing capability.

In that instant, Amelia fired.

The firing window was incredibly narrow, for the diving enemy plane was moving fast; Amelia might have had only a fraction of a second to fire after getting her nose around.

But Amelia caught that window.

The 109’s tail caught fire, trailing dense smoke as it hurtled towards the ground.

Amelia’s attention shifted to the other enemy plane.

Her recent maneuvers had significantly reduced her speed, and the enemy wouldn’t miss this chance.

They dove.

Amelia, now certain that there were no more enemies nearby, confidently made a large evasive maneuver.

As expected, the enemy abandoned the attack as soon as Amelia maneuvered, missing the chance to catch her in a fleeting window for a counterattack.

The enemy started to regain altitude. In an instant, Amelia decided to abandon the attempt to follow by pulling up and instead made a shallow dive to regain speed.

Aerial combat was sometimes a test of patience.

Whoever lost their composure first was often the loser.

At that moment, a MiG-3 came down from higher altitude, a burst of gunfire hitting the climbing 109.

Over the radio came the voice of the MiG pilot, “Looks like the second squadron has finished off the enemy; we’ve come to pick up the scraps. You don’t mind, do you, Miss Witch?”

"I don’t mind!” Amelia responded, “Good hunting.”

Wang Zhong faintly heard a female voice saying “Good hunting” over the radio and guessed that Amelia’s situation must have been resolved.

At this moment, his aircraft was flying along the West Bank of the Valdai Hills River.

The artillery positions had already been marked on his map.

"These Prosen folks, putting their artillery in the same positions as before. Aren’t they afraid of us taking blind shots?” he muttered.

The surprised pilot in the front seat asked, “General, you can really spot artillery positions?”

"Yeah, I’m pretty observant of the ground.” Since the pilot wasn’t a “Witch,” Wang Zhong could only give such an evasive answer.

Luckily, the pilot wasn’t too suspicious and said excitedly, “Now we can show the Prosens what for! Will we shell them tonight?”

"Yes, we will shell them tonight.”

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