The Russian Air Force had suffered devastating losses in the previous battles; its main combat aircraft and pilots had been all but wiped out. Although the Yak-1 fighters produced by Russia itself were fairly capable, after a large number of factories had been bombed and destroyed, Russian aircraft plants had slowed to producing only a few planes per month. This made it difficult for the Russian Air Force to rebuild any substantial combat strength, let alone threaten Germany's massive bomber formations. However, the Russian Air Force's air-search Radar was still operating.
When the German Air Force formation was only two hundred kilometers from Chelyabinsk, it was detected by the air-search Radar deployed there.
"God! We've spotted the German aircraft group. The planes are packed together like a forest—there's no telling how many there are!" When the radar operators saw the dense cluster of blips on the radar screen, their scalps went numb.
"Damn it, the formation the Germans have sent out this time is far too large. Judging by this formation, there are at least a thousand aircraft!" An officer wore an equally tense expression.
"Report to higher command immediately!" ordered the officer in charge of the radar station.
When the news reached Marshal Shaposhnikov, he immediately laughed. He had known that Andreyev's foolish refusal of the German terms would mean the Germans would never let the matter rest. And now, just as expected, the Germans had finally made their move. They had even dispatched a huge aircraft formation so quickly to carry out retaliation.
"Comrade Marshal, should our air force take off to meet the enemy?" a Russian Air Force general asked.
"Idiot! How many aircraft do we have left? Even if we take off to meet them, what could we possibly accomplish? The Germans would probably tear us