I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France Chapter 832 832: Changing the Objective

At eight in the morning, the rain had eased sowhat, but the sky remained dreary and overcast, with thick clouds looming over the entire expanse as if trying to lock everything inside, starving them of escape.

About 30 German Army Fokker Dr.I triplanes appeared over the Lefrancois area, their red fuselages resembling flas, or like a cloud of red rolling towards us.

It was the famous 11th Jasta of the German Army, commanded by the illustrious Lieutenant Richthofen.

Initially, Lieutenant Richthofen was the only one who painted his plane red, thinking it would help ground troops identify friendlies and prevent friendly fire.

"My biggest concern is my own n," Richthofen said confidently, "I never worry about the enemy spotting . They're just my prey. Attacking is like a moth flying into the fla."

His subordinates soon followed suit.

After Richthofen shot down 31 enemy planes, other German pilots also began painting their aircraft red, considering it a lucky color.

(The image above shows Richthofen, who set a record as the highest-scoring ace in WWI, shooting down a total of 80 enemy planes.)

Richthofen glanced at the altiter, the needle indicating 5100 ters.

This was near the Fokker's maximum operating altitude.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't the maximum altitude. During tests, the triplane reached 6100 ters.

But the triplane's strength lay in its large wingspan, providing excellent turning and climbing capabilities, which beca a liability in the thin high-altitude air.

Thus, sensible pilots flew at around 5000 ters, diving into combat at about 3000 ters.

Otherwise, the triplane held no advantage over the Cal aircraft.

Fortunately, the enemy didn't know this. Otherwise, they just needed to maintain altitude to remain invincible.

No targets, no threats—nothing at all. The surroundings were a blank white space.

Were it not for the rain and wind in his face, Richthofen would have suspected his plane was stationary.

After considering for a while, Richthofen raised his right hand and signaled to his sides before leading the descent.

The altiter needle slowly decreased.

4000 ters, 3000 ters, 2000 ters…

Finally, Richthofen saw the use River.

As he had guessed, the formation was over the use River.

Hesitating briefly, Richthofen motioned forward, piloting his fighter across the use River.

He could feel the surprised gazes of his subordinates.

They had been cautiously sufficient, even though they defeated the British Air Force, it was still the "British Air Force," and many of the planes were destroyed on the ground.

No one knew the strength of the Shire Air Squadron, even though the French Army and British Army used the sa type of aircraft.

Now.

Crossing the use River signaled that it was finally ti to challenge the Shire's squadron for air superiority.

The formation climbed back up to 5000 ters under Richthofen's command.

His target was the Bicangxi airfield.

If Shire was unprepared, a single battle could decide the outco, just like with the British.

Suddenly, a vague silhouette of a Cal fighter intruded into Richthofen's view.

He expertly flipped his aircraft upside down to observe the situation below.

He saw them clearly—four Cals, appearing and disappearing in the rain and mist, at about 4000 ters, seemingly a patrol squad.

Richthofen quickly restored his flight posture and used hand signals to convey the target details to his subordinates on either side.

The subordinates nodded, detaching the first flight squad of 12 planes to dive towards the targets.

Richthofen remained at a high vantage to watch the battle with the remaining aircraft.

He didn't want a single enemy plane to escape, which would warn the Bicangxi airfield to prepare for a confrontation.

However, the next mont he realized he was wrong.

Just as the first flight squad engaged the targets, Richthofen suddenly sensed faint streaks of light flickering above his head.

The light was so light and blurry you could hardly see its existence. There was only a vague sense, akin to a sixth sense.

This was evidently Richthofen's unique ability as his subordinates were unaware.

"Damn it!" Richthofen cursed internally. "We've been duped. Those four Cals were bait; the enemy's main force is hiding in the higher clouds, waiting for us to split up and fight!"

Richthofen didn't have ti to issue orders, quickly flipped his plane to climb towards the enemy direction, maneuvering unpredictably left and right.

This would catch the enemy off guard, and with both planes moving towards each other, the shooting window would be brief. Even in an advantageous position, the enemy would struggle to react in ti to strike the target.

Sure enough, bullets whizzed past, creating a trail around. But not once did they strike Richthofen's aircraft. Soon, a black shadow roared past, nearly colliding with him.

His subordinates weren't as lucky.

Two triplanes imdiately had their wings sheared off, disintegrating in the sky. Another three were hit by unknown sources, losing balance and plumting earthward.

In that instant, Richthofen realized the mission had failed.

He changed his objective: get as many of his n back alive as possible.

His plane flipped in an aerial sorsault, diving aggressively back down.

To his surprise, Richthofen saw he was facing another aircraft model: it looked remarkably like the Cal but had a more streamlined fuselage and larger wings. The engine roar was different too.

"No!" Richthofen cried out: "This is Shire's new aircraft. We're done for!"

Experts like Richthofen could instantly deduce the capabilities of new aircraft from subtle differences.

The larger wingspan indicated greater agility and tighter turning, akin to the triplanes.

The engine roar was more robust, suggesting a more powerful engine had been swapped in, which ant greater power and increased speed.

Its performance would comprehensively crush the Fokker Dr.I, Richthofen judged, much like how the Cal once held absolute air superiority.

Indeed, one by one, red triplanes were shot down before him, unable to retaliate.

Richthofen swallowed hard and swiftly altered his mission again: "Every man for himself. Surviving is victory!"

Just then, a shadow dipped out of the clouds behind him, latching onto his tail.

Richthofen nervously dived at full speed, too horrified to dodge bullets, fearing any maneuvers would slow him down beyond recovery.

The altiter needle plumted like it was broken: 2000 ters, 1000 ters, 500 ters...

Richthofen violently yanked his plane upwards, the belly nearly scraping the ground before finally leveling out.

"Boom," an explosion echoed from behind.

The enemy plane, faster and harder to pull up, crashed inevitably.