Northern France — May 29, 1940
The landscape was changing. Belgium was behind them, along with its stone villages and narrow roads. Now the advance cut through open fields, hedgerows, dry dirt paths, and remnants of Great War trenches. But not all was empty.
South of Cambrai, the first reports came in.
"French tanks. Heavy. Heading northwest," announced Helmut from the radio. "Command believes they're Char B1s and Somuas. Much heavier armor than ours."
Falk frowned. The Panzer IV wasn't weak, but it hadn't been built to face rolling fortresses head-on.
"How many?"
"A dozen, maybe more. They're moving in sectors. Coordinated."
For the first time in the campaign, the Leibstandarte halted. In the distance, emerging over the hills, came the silhouettes of the French tanks. Massive. Slow. Formidable. They weren't retreating. They weren't hiding.
"Load AP rounds—just to slow them down," Falk ordered. "Aim for the tracks. We're not here to destroy them. Just to buy time."
The Panzers opened fire. The field echoed with the thunder of gunfire. But the shells bounced off the sloped armor of the Char B1 like pebbles against a wall. One Panzer III erupted in flames, struck full on by a 75 mm shell.
"Damn it, they're pushing us hard!" Lukas shouted, swerving to avoid direct fire.
"We need support!" Konrad barked into the radio. "Hostile armor confirmed. Requesting heavy anti-tank batteries. Urgent!"
Silence—brief. Then a voice replied.
From the rear, pulled by half-tracks, came two Flak 88s, deployed with stunning speed. The gun crews barely exchanged words. They knew their task.
"Falk, they need sixty seconds to clear the field of fire," Helmut relayed.
"Fall back. Give them sightlines. The sky's about to crack open," Falk ordered.
The Panzers withdrew to the flanks. The first Flak fired. A flash—then the shell punched through the front of a Char B1 like paper. Internal detonation. Twisted metal. Fire.
A second shot. Another French tank stopped dead. No longer fortresses—just targets.
In less than ten minutes, five enemy tanks were destroyed. The rest began to pull back. Not fleeing—regrouping. They were professionals. But even they knew when the battlefield no longer belonged to them.
Falk climbed down. The air reeked of scorched metal and torn earth.
"We couldn't have pulled that off on our own," said Konrad from the turret.
"No. But we held long enough to call the thunder," Falk replied.
That afternoon, they learned more than just about the enemy.
They learned that in France, the myth of invincibility had ended.But also, that with the right weapon—any wall could be broken.