While the air battle continued to rage brutally overhead, now reinforced by additional British squadrons that had arrived far sooner than expected, the Norwegians were still holding their lines, at least for the moment.
"Focus on the second sector!" Raeder shouted, pointing sharply at his second officer. The man immediately grabbed the onboard telephone, barking new coordinates, while Raeder kept his binoculars fixed on the coastline and the harbour.
Moments later, the massive Tirpitz trembled beneath their feet. Another thunderous broadside erupted from her 38-centimeter batteries. Eight colossal barrels unleashed their fury at once.
The 800-kilogram shells roared through the air like falling meteors, disappearing into the smoke before descending upon the Norwegian defensive positions. A heartbeat later, the horizon lit up in violent blossoms of fire and debris.
Raeder slowly lowered his binoculars. The distant explosions still flickered in the reflection of the glass.
"How is the situation for the landing troops?" he asked, crossing his arms behind his back.
"They are pushing the Norwegians back, sir. But casualties are higher than estimated, especially because of them." The adjutant pointed toward the sky.
Above the fjord, British fighters were cutting through the clouds, engaging both Luftwaffe escorts and transport aircraft.
"The British foresaw our move," Raeder murmured. "Something we considered possible… yet hoped unlikely."
He turned toward the navigation officer.
"We shorten the distance to the harbour and the elevated battlefield. Our newer ships, with their heavier anti-air batteries, will reinforce the Luftwaffe's defense."
The fleet began to advance, cutting deeper into the contested waters.
"And we protect the incoming support…" Raeder added quietly, almost lost beneath the thunder of another Tirpitz salvo.
Above the skies of Stavanger
The transport plane's engines shuddered violently as flak bursts rocked the surrounding air.
Herrmann leaned forward slightly, his gaze moving across the faces of his men. Most of them he had met barely half a year ago, when he finally decided to seek out the man he had long been told to visit.
Opposite him sat Oberst Meindl, eyes closed, arms crossed, as if resting. Yet there was nothing relaxed about him.
As if sensing the stare, Meindl opened his eyes and met Herrmann's.
"What is it, boy?" he asked calmly.
"Nothing," Herrmann replied at once. There was no nervousness in his voice. If anything, it carried a restrained excitement.
Meindl studied him for another moment, then allowed himself a faint smile.
"Confidence is good. But do not become arrogant just because you joined this… comradeship."
He tapped the insignia on Herrmann's shoulder.
A skeletal ghoul, almost ghostlike in its design.
Herrmann nodded, about to respond, when a piercing siren cut through the cabin.
"Our signal!" Meindl barked, rising in one swift motion as he tightened the straps of his parachute.
One by one, the men stood and formed an orderly line. The rear ramp of the transport aircraft opened abruptly, revealing the vast sky and the burning battlefield below.
Cold wind flooded the cabin.
Meindl laughed once, short and sharp, then hurled himself into the void without hesitation.
The others followed.
Herrmann stepped forward and jumped, diving into open air. For a brief moment, there was only wind and chaos.
Then a fighter roared past him, so close its shockwave twisted his descent and sent him spinning off balance.
Herrmann clenched his jaw, forced his body steady, and pulled the cord.
The parachute burst open above him.
Below him, Norway burned.
Dark clouds erupted all around, rising from the remaining Norwegian flak guns.
With a sharp tilt to the right, he managed to evade an explosion, but his parachute began to shake violently.
Horror seized him as he looked up. Countless small and large holes riddled the canopy, each one widening with every passing second.
He clenched his jaw and leaned forward, forcing himself into a steeper descent, increasing his speed. He had to reach the ground before the torn parachute ripped apart completely.
"Damn it…" he hissed through clenched teeth, the wind cuttign sharply at his cheeks.
To his left, another Fallschirmjäger spun helplessly, his parachute completely torn apart.
Herrmann forced himself not to look again.
The ground was rising rapidly now.
Machine gun fire crackled from somewhere near the docks.
Fifty meters.
A final explosion thundered behind him, the pressure wave slamming into his back. The parachute gave one last violent shudder. Fabric ripped.
Twenty meters.
He braced.
The remaining tarp collapsed entirely just as his boots struck the roof of a warehouse. He rolled, somehow managing to stop at the very edge.
"Hah… hahaha."He laughed breathlessly. He had somehow survived, something even he himself could barely comprehend.
The sight of two other Ghosts crashing down onto the docks below, freeing themselves from their own parachutes, snapped Herrmann back to reality.
Without hesitation, he slid over the edge, catching the rim with both hands. He hung there for a heartbeat before letting himself drop. He hit the hard concrete with a trained roll. The impact sent a sharp jolt through his body. His shoulder flared with pain from the double landing, but nothing felt broken.
More figures were gathering behind the warehouse. Wehrmacht soldiers regrouped, checking weapons, shouting coordinates.
The squad slowly reunited.
"Come on, men. We are to take the hillside," Meindl ordered, raising his submachine gun. Before turning, he gave Herrmann a firm, measuring look.
Across the harbour and along the beach, similar groups had formed. They were already pushing forward, advancing toward the entrenched hillside overlooking Stavanger's docks. Explosion after explosion shook the slopes as the warships offshore continued their relentless bombardment, suppressing most of the Norwegian fire.
Herrmann dropped to one knee and fired toward a muzzle flash halfway up the hill. A Norwegian soldier collapsed seconds later. Whether the shot was truly his, he did not know, but the effect was immediate. The men around him surged forward with renewed determination.
"Forward!" someone shouted.
With a heavy leap, Herrmann jumped into a hastily constructed trench. He landed hard, spun, and fired at a startled Norwegian soldier only meters away. The man fell before he could even raise his rifle.
To Herrmann's left and right, more Ghosts poured into the defensive lines, clearing positions methodically. Grenades burst in confined spaces. Smoke filled the trenches. Shouts and gunfire blended into a chaotic rhythm.
The fighting continued fiercely, but within an hour the Norwegian positions were largely secured. Resistance became scattered and uncoordinated.
Far offshore
Flagship Tirpitz
A Vice Admiral approached Raeder, holding an encrypted dispatch.
"Message from headquarters," he began. "Bergen, Kristiansand, Sandefjord have been secured."
Raeder nodded slowly at the report. Yet he could not bring himself to smile. The operation was far from over.
"The newly arrived troops still disembarking are to secure the harbour," he ordered calmly. "The rest will advance as planned, with all haste, toward the airport."
Outside, another salvo thundered from the battleship's guns, echoing across the Norwegian coast.
"This will be the last salvo. All ships are to cease fire!" Raeder shouted across the bridge.
Officers immediately relayed the order. Signal lamps flickered. Flags shifted. One by one, the great guns fell silent.
For the first time in hours, the constant rumble faded.
Raeder remained standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"We will have to conserve our ammunition…" he murmured quietly, almost to himself.
While Raeder stood in silent contemplation, the Ghost troops were already leading thousands of Wehrmacht soldiers toward the airport of Stavanger, a position that would soon prove vital for the next phase of Paul's grand scheme...
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