By evening, the results of the daytime bombing had been compiled into a report and delivered to Vienna Palace.
Naturally, battlefield conditions made it impossible to accurately tally enemy losses, so this report was bound to differ somewhat from reality.
The margin of error was a minor issue. What mattered was that the air raid had succeeded. Looking at the battle report in his hand, Franz seriously suspected that the upper ranks of the British military were all Holy Roman spies.
Their air defense was a complete joke. This was no longer a matter of having loopholes—it was more like they had deliberately thrown their gates wide open and invited the Holy Roman Air Force inside.
London was slightly better. Though they had failed to detect the raid in advance, their anti-aircraft firepower was still there. If the fog had not been so thick, they might really have achieved considerable results.
Everywhere else was downright awkward. The Holy Roman Air Force had bombed the Port of Liverpool, passing countless towns along the way, yet not a single anti-aircraft gun was seen.
Of course, it was also possible that the local garrisons were simply too timid, afraid of angering the enemy and bringing disaster upon themselves, so they had pretended not to see anything.
Not opening fire was one thing, but they could at least have sent their colleagues an urgent telegram to warn them and let everyone make preparations.
Nothing else could be guaranteed, but at the very least, the Royal Navy could have put to sea in advance. As long as they did not mass into a large fleet, there was no need to fear the threat overhead.
There was no problem with drawing aircraft from all over the country into battle. Britain was only that large to begin