Chapter 413: The Belgian Resistance
The town of Valois lay in southwestern Belgium, just five kilometers from the French-Belgian border.
Belgium was mostly flat, with mountains only in the south. Valois happened to sit right at the line where mountains met plains.
A winding road stretched out at the foot of these hills, bordered by a river on one side and a hundred-meter-high forest on the other.
A bridge spanned a deep gorge between two hills, linking sections of the road leading to the next town.
By the roadside, elms reached out with lush green branches. A gentle breeze blew, causing a few golden leaves to drift down and settle on the road, adding a touch of tranquility to the summer atmosphere.
Knowing the importance of the bridge, the Germans had set up a guard post there, stationing a platoon to secure the area. The guards were currently shouting at a tractor stranded on the bridge.
"Hey, get it moving, or we'll shove it off!"
The tractor driver was sweating nervously, fumbling under the hood as he replied, "It's broken down, sir. Any chance one of you knows how to fix tractors?"
The German lieutenant barked, "We know how to kill. If you don't get it running in five minutes, I'll gladly 'help' you out!"
The soldiers chuckled, and a few lit cigarettes as they watched the scene unfold.
A short soldier emerged from a nearby telephone booth and reported to the lieutenant, "Sir, I can fix tractors!"
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. I'd nearly forgotten about you."
The soldier, named Khalil, had grown up on a farm, where he'd worked with tractors all his life before enlisting just a few months earlier.
The lieutenant nodded toward the tractor. "Go take a look. If it can't be fixed, let us know. We need to keep the road clear."
"Understood, sir." Khalil saluted, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and jogged toward the tractor.
Khalil politely asked the driver, "Have you had this problem before?"
"No, sir," the driver replied. "Never happened before."
"Have you checked the spark plugs?" Khalil suggested, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and moving toward the engine. "Or maybe the ignition coil—"
He stopped, stunned. In the driver's hand, instead of a tool, was a handgun, hidden from the view of the other soldiers.
"Do exactly as I say, young man," the driver whispered, "or you'll be dead before I am. Understood?"
Khalil didn't doubt the driver for a second. The man's eyes held a cold intensity, and sweat beaded on his forehead—he looked ready to die if necessary.
"Understood," Khalil replied nervously, wondering why the driver would go to such lengths.
The answer came almost immediately, as the sound of tank engines rumbled from the other end of the road.
This was a planned ambush, Khalil realized, but he had no way to stop it.
Hearing the tanks approach, the lieutenant grew tense. Dropping his cigarette, he glanced toward the tractor and shouted, "Khalil!"
"It'll take about ten minutes, sir," Khalil called back. "Almost done!"
The lieutenant grimaced, knowing that pushing the tractor off the bridge now would be pointless; waiting seemed the better option.
The tanks clanked their way up the road to the guard post, kicking up dust and gasoline fumes as they stopped in front of the checkpoint.
An officer poked his head out of one tank and yelled angrily, "What's going on? Are you just going to let this happen?"
"Tractor malfunction, sir!" the lieutenant responded hurriedly. "It'll be fixed in ten minutes, I swear!"
One by one, the tanks halted, forming a line that snaked along the mountainside.
Nicholas's car was caught in the queue, unable to move forward or backward. A radio operator approached to report, "General, the tractor up ahead has broken down and will take ten minutes to repair."
Nicholas scowled, nodding tersely.
Erwin leaned out of the car, peering up ahead and then around them, his face suddenly tense. He gave an urgent order, "Push through!"
"What?" The radio operator looked confused.
Nicholas blinked in surprise but quickly understood—it was a trap. He repeated Erwin's command loudly, "Push through! Clear that tractor off the bridge!"
"Yes, sir!" The radio operator dashed forward to relay the message.
But it was already too late.
From the woods on the right—several meters higher than the road—a barrage of grenades suddenly rained down, trailing smoke from their fuses.
Gunfire and explosions erupted in unison.
The attackers were armed with light machine guns—the St. Étienne Model 1907—chosen for portability and reliable, sustained fire. Bullets tore into the guards and soldiers before they could react, and screams echoed as they fell in pools of blood.
A familiar cannon sound cut through the chaos—37mm guns. Erwin had engraved that sound in his memory, and it immediately triggered his nerves.
The 1st Tank Division was finished. The "Upper Silesia" tanks couldn't withstand a 37mm round at close range, regardless of the angle.
Erwin grabbed Nicholas and pulled him to the inner side of the vehicle.
Nicholas had been about to jump toward the river, thinking it would offer safer cover. But he soon realized Erwin was right—the inner side of the vehicle created a blind spot from the attackers' fire, even shielding them from grenades.
The grenades exploded among the troops and tanks, turning the road into a chaotic scene of screams and destruction.
But the German troops didn't collapse under the pressure. Trained and disciplined, they fired back on command, while the tanks tried to aim their guns and machine guns at the attackers.
However, a frustrating realization dawned on them: the tanks couldn't target the higher ground. They were like sitting ducks, turned into useless hunks of metal. They couldn't even serve as adequate cover, as the 37mm guns could easily pierce their armor.
"It's Charles! It's Charles!" Erwin's eyes blazed with fury as he clenched his teeth.
At first, Nicholas didn't understand why Erwin was so sure. This was clearly an ambush by Belgian partisans…
But then he realized.
The fighters might be Belgian, but the equipment, tactics, and flawless execution bore Charles's signature.
Erwin was right—this was Charles's plan.
The use of the height advantage to nullify the tanks' firing range and force the Germans into a defensive position was a tactic designed specifically to exploit the "Upper Silesia" tanks' limited 20-degree firing angle.
Most tanks had a firing range of around 35 degrees; for example, the "Charles A1" ranged from -20 to +35 degrees. The "Upper Silesia" was limited to 20 degrees due to its front and rear-mounted machine gun towers.
With this knowledge and the right equipment, even a guerrilla force could dismantle a tank division.
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