Chapter 414: It's Actually Artillery!
The guerrilla group attacking the Germans was the "Belgian National Front," a force of over five hundred, mostly made up of injured soldiers and stragglers from the Belgian army who had stayed behind in their country. Their combat skills far surpassed those of ordinary guerrillas.
Their assault was coordinated and methodical. Ten 37mm guns were strategically positioned with four on either side, trapping the German tanks in a pincer formation. When the tanks on both ends were destroyed, they blocked the road, leaving the remaining German tanks immobilized, unable to move forward or back.
From their advantageous positions, the guerrillas bombarded the German forces with grenades and bullets.
The German soldiers were thrown into disarray. Initially, they tried to regroup, but when two gasoline-laden vehicles exploded, they broke ranks and fled in chaos.
Erwin and General Nicholas managed to escape the ambush under the cover of their guards.
Without hesitation, General Nicholas ordered his forces to regroup.
"The enemy isn't that numerous," he said, gripping his pistol and watching warily in the direction of the gunfire. "We can still take control if we reclaim the high ground."
At the very least, he thought, they needed to destroy the bridge. If not, Charles's forces could push through and advance all the way to Brussels—Belgium's capital and a crucial symbol of Belgian sovereignty.
Erwin remained silent. General Nicholas's reasoning was sound; regrouping the scattered troops and adding in the infantry from behind them could give them a force of one or two thousand, enough to mount a counter-attack against the guerrillas.
But had Charles not anticipated this?
As he pondered this, Erwin heard a familiar and chilling sound overhead—the drone of engines. He immediately understood what was coming.
"No, General," Erwin said urgently. "It's impossible. If we don't want to be captured, we need to change our route immediately."
Even as he spoke, bombers broke through the clouds and swooped down, raining bombs on the German troops along the road.
…
Unlike many of his wealthy peers who lived in the 15th or 16th arrondissements, James preferred to reside in the city center, finding it more convenient for business and travel—and faster for obtaining information.
That morning, James was feeling unwell and stayed in his 2nd arrondissement villa.
Around ten o'clock, feeling slightly better, he asked his butler to bring breakfast up to his bedroom.
The butler set the breakfast on a small table by the window and, as was James's habit, placed the newspaper beside it. "There's an express edition today, sir."
"Oh?" James replied, unsurprised but with a hint of sarcasm. "Charles showcasing his valor at the parade?"
"No, sir," the butler corrected. "Charles didn't attend the parade, nor did his troops. They're launching an offensive against the Germans at Cambrai."
James froze, losing his appetite immediately. He grabbed the newspaper, which read: "At nine this morning, as the parade began, Charles's forces launched an attack on the German defensive line!"
James scoffed, "Without artillery? Does he think he can break through the German line with tanks alone? He's practically asking for death."
James had assumed that Charles would wait until his new artillery was mass-produced before launching an offensive. After all, his factories were working around the clock to manufacture them.
Charles had made a mistake, James thought, wanting to show off his strength to the people of France on Bastille Day.
The Germans would give him a hard lesson.
However, the butler hesitantly spoke up, "Sir, I've heard that Charles's troops have already broken through the German line. The newspaper's information is delayed."
"Already broken through?" James looked at his butler, then shook his head firmly. "No, that's impossible. It's just a rumor. People simply can't imagine Charles failing, so—"
The telephone interrupted him. James stood and picked up the receiver, hearing Pauline's voice. She said only one word: "Sir."
"A bad news call?" James's heart sank, a feeling of foreboding gnawing at him.
"Yes, sir." Pauline's voice was grave. "Perhaps you've heard—Charles has broken through the German line."
James sighed softly, acknowledging the reality of it, though a part of him felt relieved. "That's not entirely bad news; it doesn't concern us directly."
Pauline paused briefly before adding, "He broke through using the Saint-Chamond."
"What? The Saint-Chamond?" James's expression instantly darkened as he exclaimed, "You're joking, right? It's impossible!"
"Every word I'm telling you is true," Pauline replied, her tone resigned. "It was the Saint-Chamond. Charles removed the machine guns and modified it slightly, using it as artillery to attack the German 105mm howitzer positions."
James was dumbstruck, unable to react for a moment.
For weeks, he had been racking his brain, wondering why Charles had purchased the Saint-Chamond, yet he'd never managed to piece it together. Now, Pauline had clarified it in a single sentence.
"He used it as artillery. He turned the Saint-Chamond into artillery!" A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. If the butler hadn't moved to support him, James might have collapsed on the spot.
"How could I not have thought of that?" James muttered, sinking onto his bed, hands over his face. "It wasn't a tank—it was artillery. My God, I created it, only to hand it over to Charles! That scoundrel, he's known all along…"
James buried his face in his hands, feeling a heavy sense of defeat.
Once he had composed himself, the butler handed the phone back to him. "Sir, Pauline still has more to say."
James took the receiver again, his voice weak. Pauline's voice was low and somber as she delivered the news: "Sir, Grevy and Armand have been arrested."
James responded with a disinterested "Hmm." To him, this was merely a minor setback.
"You know what to do," he instructed. "Leave no trace. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
…
Later that afternoon, Major Dura received shocking news: Charles's grandfather, Francis, had been found dead in his bedroom, reportedly of a heart attack.
"This can't be a heart attack, Major," Gabriel said urgently. "We just arrested Grevy, and everyone knows Francis was closely associated with him…"
"Oh, really?" Major Dura replied coldly, cutting Gabriel off. "If there was a murderer, who do you think would be responsible?"
Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
Everyone knew it was James. Francis had been the intermediary between James and the right-wing faction; with him dead, the trail would go cold.
But that was only speculation. Without hard evidence, there was nothing they could do.
In fact…
Gabriel glanced at Major Dura, a trace of suspicion in his eyes.
Surely, Major Dura must have foreseen this outcome, yet he hadn't stationed anyone to protect Francis.
Did that mean Dura had intentionally left an opening for James to eliminate Francis?
Gabriel swallowed hard, feeling a chill run down his spine.
This world was fraught with danger, and the battlefield wasn't the only place where life was at risk.
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