Chapter 206: This Is Charles’ Style

Chapter 206: This Is Charles' Style

Mortar fire pinned down the German trenches. The short range of the mortars allowed close coordination with infantry and tanks, which advanced slowly toward the enemy trenches under the cover of artillery fire.

The tanks were the "Mark I" model, whose 17mm front armor was a bit thin, but this was easily remedied. Before deployment, an additional layer of sandbags was strapped to the armor, offering extra protection. Even the barbed wire posed little obstacle, as the Mark I's wide tracks could easily crush or carry it away.

However, Brownie noted, "The wire could get caught in the tracks and bogie wheels, which would require immediate maintenance after the breakthrough, or else we won't make it even ten more kilometers."

Colonel Estini agreed. "We should take some time to clear the barbed wire first. It'll save us more time in the battles ahead."

Thus, the engineers moved in to remove the barbed wire before the assault.

Suddenly, the artillery ceased.

The German soldiers cautiously raised their heads, only to find the French tanks looming right in front of them. Towering like giants, the dark barrels of machine guns glinted coldly in the rain, evoking fear.

In panic, the German soldiers attempted to organize a defense, but the machine guns on the tanks were already spewing deadly fire, pinning them down before they could respond. Moments later, a shower of grenades rained down into the trenches, further intensifying the assault.

The French attack was relentless, layered and synchronized—mortar fire, tanks, and grenades working seamlessly together, leaving the Germans no chance to fight back.

It wasn't just tactical precision that the Germans lacked; they were also under-equipped. To counter mortars, ideally, they would need their own mortars. But the Germans had none. To counter grenades, they would need to hurl their own back as a deterrent. But their grenade supplies were still limited and rudimentary, preventing any effective response.

The Germans, therefore, found themselves completely overwhelmed, unable to mount any significant defense against the advancing French forces.

…

Under the cover of his subordinates, General Basel managed to escape from the bloody carnage. He had expected the French to expand their breakthrough and assault the entire line. But instead, the battlefield quickly fell silent again. Basel glanced back, confused.

No enemy, no tanks, no grenades.

If not for the corpses strewn across the ground, Basel might have doubted that there had even been a battle.

What had happened?

The attack had come and gone in mere twenty minutes, a swift operation that seemed almost incidental, as if the French had simply passed through, leaving devastation in their wake.

Colonel Alfred, breathless from running, returned and asked, bewildered, "They… they didn't occupy the line?"

"They're moving to reinforce the trapped French forces," Basel answered slowly. "These are Charles' troops."

Shock registered on Alfred's face.

He had always thought Charles was a legend, a mythical figure glorified by the French. But what he had witnessed today left no room for doubt.

Because it seemed only Charles' forces could have achieved this.

…

In the German General Staff Headquarters in Berlin, Falkenhain was leisurely admiring the snow falling outside. Since taking command of the German forces, he believed this operation would mark his first major victory—a success as inevitable as the snow blanketing the ground.

With this victory, Falkenhain planned to convince Hindenburg and Ludendorff, the influential Eastern Front advocates, to support his strategy. They believed the Western Front could not yield swift results and wanted to redirect resources to secure a decisive victory in the East before refocusing on France.

"Fools!" Falkenhain muttered at the snowy view. "The Western Front has no troops to spare; in fact, it requires reinforcements. Without holding the West, there would be no Germany, and the Eastern Front would be lost as well!"

At that moment, Colonel Moritz, stationed by the radio, abruptly looked up, his voice tinged with alarm—even a hint of panic. "General, Charles' forces have entered the encirclement!"

Falkenhain spun around in shock, locking eyes with Moritz. The others in the command center froze at the news, their hands briefly stilled.

Falkenhain rushed to his desk, eyes fixed on the map as he barked, "Where exactly? With what numbers?"

Colonel Moritz hurried over, clutching the telegram, his voice preceding him. "Near Rhodes, with approximately two thousand troops."

Falkenhain looked up in disbelief. "Two thousand? Two thousand troops broke through a defensive line held by over ten thousand soldiers?"

A force of ten thousand should have easily repelled a force ten times smaller. Yet, here was Charles, breaking through with only two thousand men.

Moritz reviewed the telegram again and nodded. "Yes, General. And it only took them seventeen minutes. Charles' 'Mark I' tanks were involved."

Falkenhain grunted. This was exactly Charles' style. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Turning his attention back to the map, he located Rhodes and traced a line to the nearby town of Tramm, then issued a new order, tapping the map as he spoke: "Divert reinforcements to these two locations immediately. Charles will likely attempt a breakout from here."

"But, General," Moritz interjected, "the French are concentrating their forces to push through Cape Town, aiming for a two-pronged breakout…"

"No!" Falkenhain interrupted, resolute. "Charles will not break out from the front."

He traced the Cape Town region with his finger and explained, "If Charles leads his troops to Lorca to reinforce those trapped units, then attempts a breakout through Cape Town, the route would stretch over thirty kilometers."

Moritz nodded in realization. "The Mark I tanks require a track change every thirty kilometers. It's impossible for them to fight their way out and then take hours to swap tracks. They'll have to take the shortest route!"

"Exactly," Falkenhain said, tapping Lorca firmly. "Unless he intends to abandon his tanks here."

"Even if he were willing to abandon his tanks, it wouldn't be feasible. Without them, his troops couldn't breach the reverse defenses around Cape Town," Moritz added.

Falkenhain smiled. "Charles is overconfident, charging into our encirclement with only two thousand men, thinking he can turn the tide. This time, I'll trap him here as well."

"But, General!" Moritz hesitated, his expression troubled. "We don't have any spare troops left to send."

Without a second thought, Falkenhain issued the order, "Contact the Fourth Reserve Army and have them dispatch reinforcements to the flanks!"

"Yes, General!" Moritz acknowledged, quickly relaying the command.

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