Chapter 397 Ivan Catches Cicadas, Hans Follows Behind

The howling wind outside the cockpit made the rivets on the metal frame of the cockpit tremble. While holding the joystick tightly in his hand, he turned his head quietly and looked at the MiG-3 that just whizzed past his plane at three o'clock. Rudel, who had seen such a powerful Soviet pilot for the first time since the launch of Operation Barbarossa, couldn't help but hum.

"Red Star V has never heard of such a guy. Where did this guy come from?"

The soft humming sound had not yet completely fallen, and a more urgent shout suddenly came from the airborne radio beside his ear.

"Rudel! Two Russian MiGs are coming towards you, at nine o'clock, quickly maneuver to avoid them!"

The loud reminder from the radio beside his ear prompted Rudel, who was holding the joystick tightly in his hand, to look to the opposite side of the window. Two MiGs with huge engine roars were swooping down from the sky like falling meteors from the sky.

"Damn it! Can't you come a little later?"

As an experienced air hunter, this was not the first time that Rudel encountered the interception of Soviet fighter aviation while performing ground attack missions. In his mind, he had very clear coping methods to deal with any sudden emergencies.

At the moment when the first Stuka was shot down, Rudel subconsciously raised his head and looked in the direction of the huge explosion in the sky, and then saw the scene of densely packed Soviet fighters swooping down like locusts.

Knowing that his side was adventurous and had no fighter escort at all, Rudel knew very well that continuing to carry a total of three 250-kilogram bombs under the wings and in the center of the belly would undoubtedly be a heavy and useless burden.

Rudel made a decision in his mind and pressed the bomb release button in his hand without thinking, and the three 250-kilogram aerial bombs immediately fell straight to the ground with a sharp whistle.

As for whether these three bombs, whose landing points were not even estimated, would fall on his own people, this was not a problem that Rudel needed to worry about at the moment.

After dropping all three 250-kilogram aerial bombs, the Stuka instantly freed up 750 kilograms of flight weight. The heavy fuselage, which was originally as heavy as a pregnant turkey, immediately became much lighter. Rudel, who was freed from the mounting state, now completely freed up the best air combat space, although the Stuka, which was designed for ground dive bombing, was essentially not suitable for air combat.

The two Soviet MiG-3s, which dived down from the sky at high speed like hunting vultures, thought that this attack was a sure thing. When they were less than 500 meters away from Rudel's plane, the two MiG-3s almost pressed the firing button at the same time to release the maximum attack firepower.

Rudel, who had expected the situation to be like this, swung the joystick to the right at the last moment. After getting rid of all three bombs, the Stuka suddenly swung the entire fuselage to the right with unprecedented dexterity. Six brilliant tracer machine gun bullets almost brushed the belly of Rudel's plane and suddenly passed by with a death scream.

"Damn it, I was tricked by this German!"

The two Soviet pilots who realized that they had encountered the opponent's tactical deception and defensive maneuvering cursed at the same time. The rapid dive of more than 500 kilometers per hour was fleeting at a distance of less than 500 meters.

The MiG-3, which had poor low-altitude maneuverability and imperfect nose pointing, could not adjust the bullet barrage in this situation, so as to hit Rudel's plane again with the long whip of the bullet barrage that missed the correct attack direction.

To be precise, the two Soviet pilots who did not want to die here subconsciously pressed down the joystick in their hands completely out of their survival instinct, so as to pass by Rudel's plane with a dangerous maneuver that almost touched the belly of the plane.

Otherwise, the two Soviet pilots who were greedy for a moment and put it into practice into a fire adjustment action would probably die on the spot, crashing into Rudel's plane and turning into a red fireball and fragments in the strong explosion and death flames. The final end is a completely predictable miserable ending.

Rudel, who gambled with his own life that the two Soviet pilots would not dare to die with him, obviously won this time.

The belly of the aircraft, which was barely grazed by two 62mm machine gun bullets, had been penetrated and the skin on the surface of the aircraft was leaking. Although such injuries were enough to attract the attention of ordinary high-speed maneuverable fighter pilots and they dared not make large maneuvering overloads, for the Stuka with a slow flying speed and a relatively solid body structure, such minor injuries were obviously not worth mentioning.

Through the rear cabin window with a good view, watching the two Soviet MiG-3s that failed to attack pass by with a strong whistle, the rear seat self-defense machine gunner, whose whole body was wet with sweat and almost had his hair standing on end, raised his right arm to wipe the sweat from his head. Since he was transferred to cooperate with Rudel in the same plane, such thrilling and exciting situations have almost never stopped.

"Oh my God, Rudel! You're not flying a reconnaissance plane or one of those light fighters. This is a Stuka that's as stupid as a pregnant seagull! Can you please stop doing those difficult high-G maneuvers? You just made me feel sick and want to vomit!"

Rudel, who turned a deaf ear to the complaints coming from behind him, still tightly grasped the joystick in his hand, staring at the MiG-3 fighter in front of him, and his thumb on the firing button of the wing-mounted machine gun was obviously preparing to do something incredible.

"Hey! Rudel! I'm talking to you, did you hear me! Oh, damn it! Those two MiGs are turning, Rudel! They are turning! They want to continue to attack us! You should quickly think of a way to make a maneuver to get rid of them, aren't you the Eagle of the East!?"

The shouting of the self-defense machine gunner in the back seat had long been thrown out of the sky by Rudel, who was deaf to the outside world. Rudel, who was staring at the MiG-3 and biting its tail at the intersection of his eyes, clenched the flight joystick in his hand, and his right hand, which was covered in leather gloves and had been sweating like a tide, pressed the thumb immediately after confirming that it was correct.

"Don't think I'm just going to take your beatings, Russians!"