Stuka Ace: Poland Mission 3

Forward Operating Field — Near Grudziądz, September 2, 1939

By the time the sun broke through the September mist, Leutnant Andreas Voss had already sweated through his flight suit. His squadron — battered, half-deaf from yesterday’s sorties, and reeking of fuel and gun oil — had received orders to relocate east, closer to the front.

The panzers were rolling fast, and the Stukas had to keep pace. And then the logistics train had to keep pace with them. Inevitably, the fuel supplies, bomb trucks, spare parts, and the myriad of other support equipment, including their field kitchen, were scattered in a line behind them somewhere, mixed up with the other tendrils of the advancing army.

Their new “airfield” was a patch of farmland near Grudziądz — hastily flattened, marked with white linen strips, and just dry enough to land on without swallowing a landing gear whole. A few canvas tents, a single radio truck, a fuel bowser already leaking. That was it.

Voss' eyes were on the field hospital tent already going up across the way. The sight of stretchers being offloaded from trucks sent a chill through him.

---

They had maybe an hour on the ground after moving up. Mechanics scrambled to refuel the birds while pilots pissed in bushes, inhaled cold sausages from ration tins, and tried to rest their eyes for even five minutes. The air reeked of smoke, oil, and metal.

Oblt. Adler stood over a map stretched across the hood of a staff car, his cap off, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and grime. He barked a few instructions to the crew crew chiefs, then waved the pilots over. He tapped the map sharply with a grease-blackened finger.

“Polish units are falling back toward the Vistula crossings. We're to hit one near Świecie this afternoon. Another bridge - this time we destroy it to trap the Poles on this side where Guderian can finish them off. Expect flak.”

He gave his pilots a quick glance as he passed over the aerial photos.

            "Go for the center span. No delays. No second passes.” 

Afterwards, Voss leaned against Berta’s wing under the camo net and chewed his lip. He wasn’t tired — not yet — but his bones had started to feel it. Like the adrenaline could only carry him so far before the crash came. He was used to flying but not with this intensity, and he wouldn't be the weak point of the Staffel.  Knowing the G forces he needed to pull soon, he skipped lunch and had cold coffee while he studied the aerial photos again.  Next to him a single 500kg bomb was being loaded— nothing fancy this time, this was a brute-force demolition task.

JU87 B-1 of StG2 camouflaged at an airstrip in Poland, Sep 39

Mission 3.  Afternoon Strike — Near Świecie, 2 September 1939

The Stukas lifted off after midday into clear skies. The initial nerves of their first day of combat behind them, Voss and his wing mates slipped quickly and easily into a textbook formation.* The skies remained empty of friend and foe alike, almost like another training exercise. A band of cloud build up at low altitude, and their Kette went over them to obscure them from ground observers and hopefully throw any expected FLAK off.**

Then, through a gap in the clouds, Voss saw their target. A big, dual lane bridge of steel construction and multiple pylons***. It would take quite a beating before it dropped, and Voss wanted to be the one to do it.

Following his Kette Leader to the target, winged over in sequence and started screaming down onto the bridge, centre span in his reticle. He had one shot to get this right.

Some FLAK reach up toward them - it was light but accurate and he felt some of the effects jostling him around, making his dive a little erratic. Refocusing, he corrected and sank into his dive, sirens screaming as the Poles beneath him scattered in terror. 

400feet, he ignored a Polish truck frozen on the bridge below, possibly trying to flee across, 350 feet, 300...

"Pull Up Voss!" Adler ordered over the radio

Voss toggled the bomb release and felt the sudden weightlessness as the 500kg payload left the belly of the plane.

Pull up. Pull up. He jabbed his control stick as deeply into his belly as he could. He could hear Milo grunting behind up and the Gees built.

Then — crump!
The blast behind him lit the horizon.

Milo whooped into the intercom. “Direct hit! You split the bloody thing in half!”

Voss's face split in half too, as he smiled fiercely. The trip home was uneventful, almost routine, after that.

Sochaczew Bridge during the German invasion of Poland, 1939. 

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Adler was angry. He paced in front of them, map rolled under one arm, flying goggles pushed up into a matted tangle of blond hair. His voice carried without needing to shout.

“Świecie was a success. Bridge destroyed. Confirmed by reconnaissance. Guderian’s spearhead crossed the river two hours later — unopposed. That’s on us.”

A small pause, his eyes scanning the group. They were young, even for this war. Some still had that first-mission shine in their eyes. Others — like Voss — were shedding it fast.

He continued.

“Leutnant Voss.”

Andreas straightened, boots clicking.

“You hit the center span. Exactly as ordered. I saw the blast from altitude. You made the bridge impassable — textbook work.”

A few of the others clapped him on the shoulder, Milo gave him a grin that could split concrete.

“But—” Adler stepped closer, voice low but unmistakably firm. “You were a second late on your pull. I know the flak was tight. I know the temptation to ride it in. But you pull late, and the man behind you might never get a clear run. Or worse — he runs out of sky before he can deliver his own strike. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Herr Oberleutnant,” Voss said quietly.

Adler nodded once, satisfied. No berating, no humiliation — just a statement of fact, and a truth earned in blood before Spain and reinforced now in Poland.

He turned back to the group.

“You're flying well. All of you. But remember — the bridge doesn't matter if we don't make it back. None of this matters if you don't fly smart and disciplined. That was the difference between dead men and survivors in Spain, and it'll be the same here.”

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*Perfect Formation event - additional action card

** Worsening Weather event

*** Bridge -1#HIT

**** FLAK value 0 but #AAFire was a 6, giving  a -1 to release.

I had a good hand of action cards this time, including an extra one from the PERFECT FORMATION on approach. One of those was a +3 for Pull up, so I felt daring and went for the lowest Pullup to maximise the chances of taking out the target with the single 500kg bomb. I also through some extra Stamina into the Release. The results speak for themselves but I didnt have much left for any Targets of Opportunity.

Getting a bit of a false sense of security without any any enemy fighters around. Yet...

Victory Points

    Target destroyed (Bridge) + 4 VPs

    Cumulative VP total: 12

Prestige Points): 1

PS Next instalment will be delayed due to work travel- sorry!