Whoopsie and Updates

So, you know how sometimes you figure out you’re going to do something in a few months, set all the conditions, and then think “Of course I’ll remember that!”?

Come to find out, when there’s a pandemic, cancer scare, and various other issues, you don’t remember to do that things because you’re busy doing something else.

At least, that’s my explanation for why I inexplicably forgot to take Barren SEAD “wide” after taking it off Kindle Unlimited exclusive.  Realized that as I was seeing to another matter.  Namely updating Pandora’s Memories after I realized a continuity error that was occurring in Against the Tide Imperial.  As my rule is novels > short stories, I’m modifying Pandora‘s while also fixing some formatting errors.  This is one of the advantages of being indie–you can quickly fix things like this.

In any case, Barren SEAD is now available at many more retailers than Amazon in ebook form.  Clean link is  https://books2read.com/Barren-SEAD if you know anyone who is interested in Vietnam air warfare.

 

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Warship Wednesday–Decking the Hulls (Carrier Doctrine #2)

As you guys may have noticed, I am completely willing to lean on the works of others.  With that in mind, for today’s discussion, we’ll talk about a topic which as absorbed much ink:  decks.  Specifically, armored vs. unarmored iterations thereof.

So, without further ado, I’ll turn it over to the video host Drachinifel and his very helpful 5 minute video on the design process / doctrine differences between armored and unarmored flight decks.

*waits for people to actually watch the video*

[UPDATE] Or see a much longer video with two British naval historians.

As I mentioned in the last iteration of carrier doctrine, the above design decisions made for a very different air group capacity.  However, that being said, I 100% agree with the Royal Navy’s considerations  given how they expected the war to unfold.  Yes, the trade off is a small air group, but the Royal Navy wasn’t expecting to spearhead an assault on the European continent from the sea versus nibbling at the periphery / conducting convoy protection.  As Drachinifel points out, when you expect to have literally dozens of enemy squadrons in range, there comes a point where your vessel better be able to take a lick.

Illustrious’ experience during World War II is an excellent example of this.  For those unfamiliar with the story, Illustrious made a wonderful nuisance of herself with the Italians, to include making a house call to Taranto.   Indeed, the Illustrious so upset the Axis apple cart in the Med that the Germans decided to have Fliegerkorps X throw her a Stuka party off Malta in January 1941. As you can see from J.A. Hamilton’s painting done for  the Imperial War Museum, the Germans threw a lot of ordnance at Illustrious.  They tossed even more at her after she managed to limp into Malta Harbor.  Despite multiple bomb hits, however, the carrier’s powerplant was not critically damaged.  Thus she managed to sail to the “neutral” United States for repairs.  Now, there is some discussion of just how much damage the beating did to her hull and longevity or whether armored flight deck even did its job.  I find a lot of this to be really nifty sophistry, as the bottom line is she survived.

(Note:  “Neutral” is in quotations above for what I would think are pretty obvious reasons.  When you’re repairing one belligerent’s warships basically free of charge, one is no longer neutral.  Sure it all worked out in the end, but seriously?)

Now compare and contrast this with the fate of the AkagiKaga, Hiryu, and Soryu at Midway.  While, yes, Japanese ordnance handling and damage control were partially to blame, once again the bottom line is that each of the carriers was undone solely by American 500 and 1000-lb. bombs.  Or put another way, the Japanese CAP more than did its job against the American torpedo bombers, only to have as little as one bomb see off a fleet carrier.  Is that a slight simplification regarding the Kido Butai‘s demise?  Oh yes.  But I’d also argue that Princeton (sunk at Leyte Gulf by a single bomb hit), Franklin (mission killed off Japan by two bombs from a single aircraft), Yorktown (briefly knocked dead in the water by a pair of bomb hits at Midway), and Enterprise (nearly a mission kill at Santa Cruz through bomb damage) all illustrate instances an armored flight deck might have saved lives and kept a carrier in the fight from limited strikes.

(Note:  I am specifically not addressing kamikazes.  This was so outside the realm of things designers could expect that dinging people for choices doesn’t make much sense.  Not even the Japanese expected they’d be sending teenagers on one way strikes by 1945.)

The above is a polite way of saying that anyone who gets, shall we say, jingoistic about there only being one “correct” way of carrier design prewar can probably be safely discounted.  Both the USN and RN had good reasons for doing what they did and, in a way, both are lucky that they were able to fight their flattops in the theater that was intended from 1939-1942.  Fliegerkorps X vs. a USN flattop circa early-1942 is the stuff of nightmare fuel.  Somerville vs. Nagumo during the Indian Ocean Raid should similarly be the kind of thing that requires changing one’s bedding.

By 1943, the advances in damage control, radar, FDC, and fighter aircraft kind of made the initial design questions seem quaint.  In the Mediterranean and off Norway, Allied carriers operated well within the Luftwaffe‘s threat envelope without damage.  In the Pacific, the Japanese would find out by several times that TF 38/58 could overwhelm a local fighter force and still maintain a killer CAP bolstered by excellent AA.  When the British Pacific Fleet arrived in force during late 1944, both purchased American aircraft and their own developments allowed them to also provide a credible defense / offense mix.  In short, as often happens in wartime, the unforeseen had made most debate on “proper” carrier design superfluous.

Zeroes vs. Spitfires

Come friends, I’d like to provide a resource regarding one of aviation buffs favorite questions:  “Which was better, the Zero or the Spitfire?”

Note: Well yes, I know that’s actually an Oscar catching the business from one Adam Haynes above.  Something about I might have wrote the book.  However, half the time Allied pilots couldn’t tell the difference anyway, and I didn’t feel like chasing down another image…or asking Anita C. Young to do one for me.

While I could go on for a couple 1000 words on this one, I’d much rather spend those keystrokes solving a certain carrier battle in the Indian Ocean.  So, instead, I present to you a web resource that provides much more information.

Of course, there’s also the small problem that the Spitfire and Zero both fought the entirety of the conflict for their respective nations.  As noted in the source above, the Mark V and most Zeroes were evenly matched through 1943.  Even more so than the Germans, however, the Japanese were playing from behind in the aeronautical research and developmental department.  Therefore, while the 1945-version of the Zero was, at best, a moderate improvement, the Mk XIV Spitfire was basically a full generation beyond the 1939 version.  Indeed, as Eric Brown, quite possibly the world’s foremost pilot of all time put it, “[t]he Spitfire XIV was the greatest British fighter of World War II.”

Even ignoring the pilot disparity that existed by 1945, the British fighter was faster, more rugged, and had heavier firepower than its Japanese counterpart.  In short, all other things being equal, the Spitfire would dictate the terms of the engagement from sighting to the Japanese pilot getting a free cremation courtesy of the Royal Air Force.

 

Warship Wednesday–Death of a Prince

It is my intent to do a 2019 Year In Review blog post at some point before the end of the month.

Until then, feel free to read some in-depth analysis of the Prince of Wales‘ loss.  Much like reading an autopsy report will tell you quite a bit about how the human body fails, this account makes it easy to understand how the PoW basically became a wreck after a single, unlucky torpedo hit.

It’s Time to Get A Little Surly!

To Slip the Surly Bonds has gone live on Amazon.

Cover Art

This was a long time coming, but all the hard work has paid off.  There’s an exclusive Taylor Anderson short story in here, a whole bunch of award-winning authors, a story from your humble narrator involving P-38s on Guadalcanal…yeah, it’s worth the price of admission.

In addition, if your friends like Alternate History, I’m throwing Acts of War up on sale beginning on Saturday (14 SEP) in the US and Sunday (15 SEP) in the UK.

 

 

EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!

Sometimes old videos make a person look at things in different ways:

 

 

While I haven’t gotten there yet, this video does make me think differently about jet combat in the Usurper’s War universe.  Without giving away spoilers, there will be a pseudo-Cold War in the aftermath of the in universe World War II.  Technology and how it works will play a key part in what characters live and die.

 

The Strategic Bombing Campaign Part V: The North American Barndoors

This is a continuation of Strategic Bombing Part IV

Barndoors (a.k.a., Airframes)

As bad as the pilot differential was, Adolf Galland might have still been able to cobble together a defense even with tired airframes and exhausted pilots.  That is, Galland might have been able to do it if Germany’s numerous strategic miscues hadn’t come home to roost with a vengeance. coming home to roost with a vengeance.  This manifested first in   First, as can be imagined by the discussion about 10,000 biplanes, the Nazi leadership had been completely unable to fathom just how utterly pissed off the American people were in 1941 when Japan decided “Sunday Morning Banzai” was the best way to tag Uncle Sam into the conflict.  Perhaps because he’d seen Nazi Germany’s Byzantine, back-stabbing, barnyard fornication of an excuse for war production, Adolf Hitler had no idea what a shrewdly prepared industrial machine looked like.  If he had, the Fuhrer may not have considered President Roosevelt’s goal of 10,000 airplanes a month laugh-worthy propaganda.

Unfortunately for Adolf Galland in particular and Germany in general, President Roosevelt had been anything but joking when he’d demanded that number of his advisors.  While U.S. War Production in World War II would require a book (or two) in and of itself, let’s just say there are advantages to being able to literally turn on the lights and run things 24-7-365.  Things like straight up turning a car manufacturer into an airframe manufacturer that could churn out some of the most complicated machines of the period.  (This would be like Chrysler churning out B-1s now.)  Nor was Ford the only automotive concern that suddenly got into the airplane business, as General Motors also began turning out aircraft (albeit mostly naval airframes).  Backed by the United States’ populace’s willingness to sacrifice as well as America’s decision to replace drafted male workers with women, this intense focus on producing aircraft finally began to pay dividends in late 1943.

The above is not to suggest the above process was seamless.  The U.S. never quite sustained the “10,000 aircraft a month” goal with regards to combat airframes.  However, a simple statistic will tell the tale of just how utterly screwed the Germans were.  In 1943, the Germans produced a grand total of 10,898 fighters.  They would produce another 26,326 in 1944, with the majority of these being in the back half of the year once Albert Speer got some people’s minds right.  In contrast, the United States alone produced 23,988 and 38,873 fighters, then added an additional 29,355 and 35,003 bombers respectively.  Yes, not all those aircraft went to Europe (*cue video montage of Japanese pilot being tossed through the metaphorical frame with two black eyes and a bleeding nose* ).  However, there’s also that little matter of over 100,000 British and Soviet aircraft that aren’t in this discussion either yet were, like a bully’s associates, also keeping the pressure on the Jagdwaffe.  Overall, America was cooking on all industrial cylinders.

Almost as important as its ability to produce entire aircraft was America’s ability to produce ancillary equipment (drop tanks, oxygen tanks, machine guns, etc.) in huge numbers.  8th Air Force squadrons had plenty of spare parts up to and including entire end items.  Groups that returned with damaged aircraft usually had replacements on hand within 24-48 hours, with the original aircraft being sent to the depot for repair.  Tired airframes were either replaced by planes of the same type or, increasingly, newer models (e.g., P-47Ds with P-47D-25s).   Said newer models increasingly had improvements (e.g., illuminated gunsights, water injection, better propellers, power-boosted controls, etc.) that gave them marked advantages.

Given all these factors, it should be unsurprising that American squadrons, unlike their German counterparts, actually matched their paper strength.  As for the numbers of these squadrons, the 8th Air Force alone began fielding 2-3 times the squadrons of Jagdwaffe Gruppen stationed in the West.  Said German fighters also were forced to contend with, as mentioned above, the RAF and, beginning in May 1944, the 9th Air Force.

The second part of the airframe equation, and where this section gets its name from, was that German leadership could not conceive of the speed or breadth of Allied technical advances.  Allegedly, when told that the Americans were about to field a fighter that just might have the range to penetrate all the way to Berlin, famed aircraft designer Willi Messerschmitt allegedly replied, “That’s utter nonsense.  Such an aircraft would have to be big as a barn door.”  The legend goes on to say that Messerschmitt and Adolf Galland were at a test facility just west of Berlin in spring 1944.  Upon having a flight of P-51 Mustangs show up over a test field and proceed to shoot up the place, both men took shelter in a slit trench.  After a particular close strafing run,  Adolf Galland allegedly turned to Willi and sarcastically remarked, “Those are some particular fine barn doors over our heads.”

Whether or not this happened, the fact remains that the P-51 Mustang, while not the end all be all of piston fighters that it’s often portrayed as, was a prime example of Allied ingenuity.  Continuing on a theme, the Mustang is a book (or 20) in and of itself.  As this is a blog, I’ll just hit the highlights.  The P-51 started off as a British contract that became an American attack aircraft.  Destined for the dustbin of mediocrity, some North American Aircraft engineer basically said, “Hey, let’s put a Merlin engine in that thing.”  A ridiculously short amount of testing later, the Army Air Force realized if it put a pair of massive drop tanks on the airframe, the resultant fighter had extremely long range.  As in, enough range to escort B-17s to Berlin, fight German interceptors to a standstill, then return to England.

The Luftwaffe was suddenly in deep trouble.  Although both of its main fighters had little difficulty with the P-38 at altitude and could simply wait for the P-47 to run out of gas, the Mustang was an altogether different monster.  It was faster than most models of the Fw 190 and Me-109 at high altitude.  When one factored in the difference in industrial quality by this stage in the war (this discussion of engine manifold pressure tolerances is instructive) as well as the number of hours on German airframes, the differences became even more marked.  Its battery of 4 (later six) .50-caliber machine guns was lethal enough to see off both of its likely opponents.  While the Mustang‘s in-line engine was vulnerable to battle damage due to its glycol coolant, its airframe was strong enough to absorb a great deal of battle damage.

Rushing the P-51B into production, then to the 8th Air Force, the USAAF prepared itself to visit great violence upon the Luftwaffe in its lair.  The first encounters with P-51s in early 1944 were just a harbinger of things to come for the German fighter arm.

Notes: Featured image is from Piotr Forkasiewicz.  Please go check his amazing work out.  Sourcing is from the numerous books found in my historiographical paper.

The Strategic Bombing Campaign Part IV: Biplanes, Barndoors, and Badasses

It’s been awhile.  Sorry about that, there was a little matter of a dissertation, a book, and an anthology.  For those who are new to the blog, I regularly talk about air warfare as a category, starting with 1914 and moving up through World War II so far.  Last time I talked about daylight bombing, the US Army Air Force had just had its head stove in over Schweinfurt, Adolf Galland was enjoying an apocryphal stogie and actress, and things were looking bleak for the concept of daylight bombing raids in January 1944.

Spoiler alert, the Americans turned things around.  Within six months, the Jagdwaffe would be trapped in a corner getting the living crap pummelled out of it, the Allies would launch an invasion of Continental Europe that saw the Germans able to put less than ten (some sources say only two) sorties over the six beaches, and Wehrmacht soldiers would make up bitter jokes about the Luftwaffe’s camouflage (“If it’s green, it’s British.  If it’s silver, it’s American.  If it’s invisible, it’s one of ours.”)  How did this happen?  Well, that’s pretty simple…it’s a story of Biplanes, Barndoors, and Badasses.  Except, in order to avoid giving people concussions, I’m going to do this as a three-part series of posts.

Biplanes (a.k.a., Aircrews)

Now, I know what you’re thinking:  “Wait, didn’t you start the World War II series off by making fun of the British for still flying biplanes?  How the hell are we almost 4.5 years into World War II and suddenly this is a plus?”  Okay, fine, maybe you’re not thinking that because it’s been like forever since I made that post, but it’d be a good question.  The answer is that biplanes, specifically over 10,000 Stearman 75s, were the primary trainers for United States’ armed forces.  Know what you can do with over 10,000 biplanes? Start the process that would lead to just shy of 200,000 pilots being trained between January 1941 to August 1945.  While not all of these would fly for the 8th and 9th Air Force, enough of them did that by January 1944 the USAAF’s pilot strength in the UK had actually almost doubled compared to January 1943.

Even worse for Galland specifically and Germany in general was that these pilots were not random rubes that had been dragged off the street and thrown in a cockpit after a few hours (but enough about Japan’s training).  America’s training program was rigorous, with pilots going through multiple stages of navigation, blind flying training, aerial gunnery and, especially with fighter pilots, tactics training.  By January 1944, the first generation of American fighter had already started transitioning back to the States to impart their hard won knowledge to the next generation of fledglings expected to do battle with the Axis.  These trainees, in turn, were taken under the wing of experienced hands like Gabby Gabreski, Robert S. Johnson, Don Blakeslee, and various other aces who had taken their licks in 1943 and were ready to return the favor to the Jagdwaffe once the notoriously bad European winter weather cleared.  With over 300 hours of flight training before his initial combat mission, an American ETO pilot was highly-trained, highly-motivated, and very proficient in the general operations of his aircraft.

By contrast, the Jagdwaffe, despite its victories, was like a sharpened blade being ground down by constant abuse.  By virtue of the constant pressure being applied on the Eastern Front, Mediterranean, and RAF tactical forces in Northwestern Europe, the Germans were never really able to rotate any aces back to provide instruction.  Even worse, fuel shortages curtailed the German flight program to almost half the number of hours it had been prior to 1943, which was in turn half of the new American pilots’ 300 hours.  New Jagdflieger were expected to receive their blind navigation training mostly with their gaining units, a process largely akin to teaching someone to drive a car during the Daytona 500.  While being shot at by random crowd members.

Unsurprisingly, this ended poorly in the first half of 1944.  Losses due to “operational” (i.e., non-combat) crashes began to steadily climb as the calendar flipped from January to February.  Already at depleted numbers thanks to the sheer odds involved in charging heavy bombers spewing thousands of rounds of ball ammo, squadrons began to struggle to keep their formations at 100% due to Hans the Neophyte pranging his Fw 190 or Me-109 during basic operations.  The fighters themselves, due to the wear and tear of extended use, were also starting to perform like tired race horses.  Although new models were being introduced, they were still mostly modifications of the same airframes rather than new designs.  The inability to field fighters of the next generation, coupled with poor pilot quality, would come back to haunt the Jagdwaffe, as American technological advancement was not standing still.

Notes: Featured image is courtesy of an airplane group from the EU.  Sourcing is from the numerous books found in my historiographical paper.

The next in this series is can be found here.

The Butcher and the Hamburg Delusion (Strategic Bombing Campaign III)

So when last we mentioned the British, they were busy creating the world’s first man made firestorm over Hamburg. Now, if I left it at that, you’d have the impression the British had broken the code, enjoyed success, and basically wondered why the Americans were being stubborn. Well, in the name of Monica, Nuremberg, and Window, I’ll explain why Hamburg was pretty much a one off that did more harm than good. Sure, Operation Gomorrah killed a lot of Germans and hindered U-boat production for a bit, but did not appreciably shorten the war in and of itself. Even worse, like a gambler who makes a big score at a table then does not immediately leave, Sir Arthur Harris did not realize the uniqueness of the situation.  Subsequently, Bomber Command burned through a lot of its crewmen between August 1943 and March 1944.

First, one needs to do a little reading on firestorms. Understand that these phenomena are largely dependent on ignition sources, fuel, and atmospheric conditions. In other words, it’s not coincidence that both Peshtigo and the Great Chicago Fire occurred on the same night, nor that the Great Kanto Earthquake was followed by a firestorm. Get the right band of weather, have a whole bunch of fires start at once, and add a good steady breeze? Well, there will be large helpings of “long pork” and psychologically scarred citizenry regardless of whether it was “all natural” or involved “artificially enhanced airborne deliveries.”

Second, Hamburg was a case of the RAF catching the Germans “on the wrong foot” in their scientific chess match. The German system for night fighter defense, as discussed previously, relied heavily on ground-based radars. To grossly simplify things, the majority of these radars operated on Frequency X. The British figured out, through a mixture of study and coincidence, that if you cut reflective materials to a certain length for a given frequency, they would produce a false echo. Throw hundreds of these packets out the bomb bay, it tended to make ground radars useless due to excessive “snow” on the screen. No ground radars, and all but your most capable night fighter pilots would be left trying to catch fleeting targets in pitch blackness.

The date on this discovery is given as 1941 and 1942 by differing sources, with the honors being about even. The British, in typical nondescript code word fashion, called the foil “Window.” (The modern variant is called chaff.) If you’re thinking, “Uh, what the hell were they doing for a year plus?!”, remember that the Luftwaffe was still paying regular visits to British locales at night. Indeed,not only were they bombing cities, they were also pulling tricks like following Lancasters back to their bases, shooting up a couple bombers in the pattern, then dropping a couple bombs on their way out for good measure. Fighter Command was understandably not keen on getting their own radars blinded when the Germans reverse engineered Window, gave it some badass Teutonic nickname, and proceeded to wreak havoc across Southern England.

By July 1943, however, everyone could agree the Germans were pretty tapped out on the offensive operations front. Something about “More Russians than we ever imagined” and “Whoa, the British seem to be as good at flying night fighters as we are!” (Oh Hans, you have no idea. Wait, sorry, getting ahead of myself.) Moreover, the British realized their radars were a different frequency and would be largely unaffected by Window. So, with a nervous wince and crossed fingers, Fighter Command blessed off on opening a “Window” for Sir Arthur Harris “Pyres and Pyros” service (“Now delivering to all of Germany…)

The third factor for Hamburg was both technological and geographical. Sometimes what your realtor tells you about location, location, and location is true. In this case, being a port city with an easily identifiable harbor and distinct coastline just as your opponent is perfecting night radar means your location sucks. In a “Honey, are the neighbors opening an unregulated graphite reactor underneath their crack house?”-way.

Exacerbating this was the issue of Bomber Command’s Pathfinder Force, after some major growing pains, starting to come into its own. Bomber Command, in its usual way, only belatedly decided to give the blokes who marked the targets the best aircraft possible in the Mosquito and Lancaster.  The former was so fast it was difficult to catch in the marking area.  The latter could carry more marking materials and loiter in the area longer.  The marking materials themselves includes improved flares and pyrotechnics with greater visibility and duration. Finally, the Pathfinders figured out that having a “Master Bomber” remain over a target and direct traffic greatly aided navigation for later bombers in the stream.  As previously discussed, this all came together over Hamburg…then never really did so again for the rest of the war.

“Well why did they never pull this off again, James?”

One, the weather never cooperated.  While, yes, Dresden was a thing, it was far from the shock effect and carnage delivered at Hamburg.  Once one gets past Dresden, it’s arguable whether there was another significant fire storm in Germany for the rest of the war.  Second, even when the conditions were right, the Germans took extensive passive measures to reduce the aftereffects of British bombs.  No, there was no real economic way to reinforce and reconstruct German cities so that the bombs did less damage.  However, there were numerous ways to prevent said damage from feeding the fire beast.  Perversely, conducting minimal repairs to housing and other non-essential buildings created impromptu firebreaks that prevented the rapid spread of flame necessary to generate a true firestorm.

Finally, the Germans greatly strengthened their night defenses post-Hamburg.  Production and conversion of the Ju-88 night fighter variants increased to cope with the higher performing Lancaster.  The Germans also introduced the He-219 Uhu, a dedicated night fighter that possessed heavy armament and decent speed.  Additional flak defenses, searchlights, and means of coordinating fighter attacks on the bomber streams all contributed to preventing Bomber Command from bringing together the necessary components to bomb the Reich out of the war.

That’s not to say Bomber Harris tried.  Indeed, Harris tried mightily.  Like a powerful brawler who believes he has his opponent lined up for a final flurry, Harris repeatedly flung Bomber Command at Berlin from November 1943-March 1944.  Despite landing several steady blows, Bomber Command itself was increasingly bloodied by the German defenses.  Even as the German night fighter force was ground down by simple attrition, Bomber Command’s losses approached 6 percent, or a full 3 percent higher than either the RAF or USAAF considered sustainable.

The crowning folly of Harris’ persistence was the Nuremberg Raid on the night of 30/31 March 1944.  Due to poor meteorological analysis, a rigid command structure, a long flight, and recent changes to German tactics, things started out bad then got worse for Bomber Command.  With the bright moonlight and highly visible contrails providing a “Here they are!” arrow to the RAF bomber stream, the Nachtjagdflieger gathered like sharks chasing a pod of bleeding dolphins.  When all was said and done, over 100 of 700 RAF bombers dispatched were lost.  Without the use of RAF intruders (Fighter Command Mosquitos and Beaufighters operating over German bases) to harry the Luftwaffe’s night fighter force, things likely would have been far worse.

With more crew casualties than the Battle of Britain in a single night, the RAF was simply incapable of sustaining these loss rates in either the short or long term.  Fortunately for Bomber Command’s crews, even Sir Arthur Harris had bosses.  With Operation Overlord looming, Bomber Command was ordered to concentrate on transportation targets in France and the Low Countries.  Rather than landing the subsequent knock out blow he had so desperately sought, Harris found his own forces stunned and bleeding in its respective corner pondering what had gone wrong.  Fortunately, events in the daylight strategic campaign would serve to mitigate the German defenses by the time the RAF resumed its strategic offensive.

 

(Featured image is “Nuremburg Nightmare” from Piotr Forkasiewicz.  Please go check his amazing work out.)