BSI Chapter 28 Oriental Magic on the A River
Chapter 28 Oriental Magic on the A River
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He's gone.
Arthur looked up and said calmly, "It seems our General Guderian is a reasonable man. Or rather, a good, obedient soldier."
Major Ryder and Lieutenant Jeanne, who were standing behind him, both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now that the Germans have really stopped, what are we waiting for?"
Ryder glanced at the bridge piers where the engineers had already planted explosives and said urgently, "Take advantage of the thick fog, blow up the bridge, and we need to get out of here quickly. According to the latest broadcast, the outer perimeter of Dunkirk is shrinking. If we don't leave now, we really will have to spend the rest of our lives on the French coast."
"Sapper! Prepare to detonate!" Ryder raised his hand.
"Wait a minute."
Arthur tapped Ryder's shoulder lightly with his cane, stopping the order once again.
"Did I say I was going to blow up the bridge? I said before that I would keep the bridge; I still have a use for it."
"But sir..." Ryder's eyes widened, "Are we just going to leave the bridge unexploded for the Germans to enjoy? What if their orders are lifted? This bridge is their fast track!"
"Ryder, your vision is too limited."
Arthur turned around, his back to the escape route, and looked once again at the German positions on the opposite bank, hidden in the fog.
On the RTS map, as Guderian issued the order to "rest in place," the previously highly alert red zone on the south bank is rapidly changing color.
Armored units representing tanks began to shut down their engines and take cover. Infantry units began to disband from combat formation and gather around the field kitchen. And the most tempting gold coin icon, marking the "Frontline Supply Depot," still gleamed on the riverbank.
"We're not leaving."
Arthur made a surprising statement.
"What?!"
This time, even Sergeant McTavish was so shocked he almost bit off his pipe. "No... we're not leaving? Sir, are we going to build a house and settle down here?"
"No, Sergeant."
Arthur shook his head, his icy blue eyes unfathomable.
"I was just reminded of the words of an Eastern strategist: When the enemy thinks you are about to run away, that is the best time for you to attack."
He pointed to the opposite bank.
"Look at them. What are the Germans doing now? They're cooking, cleaning tank tracks, and hanging clothes out to dry. They're waiting for us to flee west."
"Their entire defensive focus is on preventing us from 'breaking out,' not on preventing us from 'counterattacking.'"
"A counterattack?" Jeanne paused, her mind a little slow to catch up with the Sterling family scion in front of her. "You mean...we're going to fight our way back? But the Germans are attacking now."
Why not?
Arthur spread his hands, as if crossing the River Ah to go on a picnic.
"We now have four heavy tanks and over a hundred veterans who have been through countless battles. On the other side, there's only a group of Germans who think they have the upper hand and are letting their guard down. They must think we'll continue to retreat westward until we're back on our homeland. It's like being blind to what's right under your nose."
"More importantly, they have what we desperately need."
Arthur drew a circle in the air, as if he were taking inventory of the Sterling family's warehouse.
"Panzer III. A high-powered onboard radio. A full tank of ammunition and high-octane gasoline; we're running out too fast. And of course, General Guderian's private liquor cabinet."
He paused here, patted the reassuringly thick side armor of the "Verdun" beside him, and spoke with a scumbag-like candor:
"Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of throwing away our few 'French ladies.' On this plain, their 75-millimeter-thick skin is our only lifeline."
"But let's be honest: they are the best shield, but also blind, deaf, and fat with particularly short legs."
Arthur pointed to the outdated hand-cranked telephone on the B1 tank.
"To move these mobile fortresses to Dunkirk, it's not enough for you, Major, to scout on foot alone. We need eyes, ears, and scouts who can run ahead and explore the way."
"Therefore, we need the Germans' 'fast horses'."
"We're not changing uniforms, we're going to expand our ranks."
"As for transportation... we have no shortage of trucks. Those twelve Bedford trucks may be able to run, but they're no different from paper coffins in the face of shrapnel."
Arthur pointed to the German troop carriers on the opposite bank, their sharp angles gleaming with a cold, metallic sheen, a hint of appreciation that only an expert would understand flashing in his eyes.
"What we need are the German half-tracks. The kind that can stop machine gun fire and run wild in the mud alongside tanks."
"Using Guderian's Panzer III tanks as hounds for our B1s, and his half-tracks to pull our infantry. I don't think that corporal in Berlin ever wrote about this kind of mixed-arms tactic in Mein Kampf."
"so……"
Arthur turned around and looked at his dumbfounded subordinates.
"We will not retreat tonight."
"We're going to put on a 'Night of Terror at the River' for Guderian right under his nose."
"We need to cross the river. To get what is rightfully ours."
"This is insane..." Major Ryder muttered to himself, "What if we're discovered while crossing the river? What if the stop order is suddenly lifted? What if..."
"There are no ifs, Major."
Arthur interrupted him, his tone turning cold and firm.
"I know it's risky. But have you thought about what we'd face if we headed west now?"
Arthur pointed to the west.
"We will face congested roads, fuel shortages, swarms of Stuka bombers, and the Kleist armored group that could close in at any moment."
"That's the graveyard of mediocrity."
"But what if we launch a surprise attack..."
Arthur pointed south.
"We can disrupt Guderian's plans. We'll make them think this is a counter-offensive launched by the main force of the Anglo-French allied forces. This will create chaos and make them even more hesitant to act rashly."
"In the chaos, we can grab the best equipment, fill up our fuel tanks, and even capture a few high-value prisoners."
"Then, before dawn, before they realize what's happening, we'll blow up the bridge and leave."
"This is called guerrilla warfare. This is called mobile warfare."
Arthur looked at Ryder with a hint of provocation in his eyes.
"So, Major? Dare to take a gamble? Will you walk to Dunkirk and line up to die, or will you drive a German tank and carve a bloody path like a conqueror?"
Ryder looked at Arthur.
He glanced at the soldiers around him again.
The Scottish and French soldiers, who had been exhausted, now had a changed look in their eyes. A greedy, eager look flickered within them.
For these people who had nothing left to lose, the seemingly absurd suggestion of "robbing Guderian" held a fatal attraction.
"Oh shit……"
Ryder spat fiercely, feeling as if all the rules and regulations he had learned in military school had been torn to shreds by the man in front of him.
"Okay. You're the boss."
Ryder replaced his MP40 with a full magazine.
"If I have to die, I'd rather die on the charge than on the run."
"very good."
Arthur nodded in satisfaction.
He glanced at his watch. It was 11:00 AM. Eight hours until dark.
"The entire army must remain concealed. Have the engineers check the explosives, but do not connect any wires."
"Jeanne, have your men fill up the tanks with fuel—use up all the remaining stock we have."
"Tonight, we're going to General Guderian's pajama party."
"Remember, we're not going to war."
Arthur gave a menacing smile.
"We're going there to buy goods."
"And now, what we need to do is conserve our energy and build up our strength."
Arthur glanced at the mechanical watch on his wrist, his tone resolute.
"Three in the morning. Remember this time. At that time, God will personally draw the curtains for us."
After saying that, he went into the cockpit of the Verdun as if nothing had happened, and even closed his eyes in that narrow space where he couldn't even stretch his legs, as if the outside world was not a battlefield full of danger, but a private club in London.
Major Ryder and Lieutenant Jeanne were left staring at each other in the muddy trench.
"Conserving energy? God's curtains?"
Jeanne looked up at the overcast sky above, where only a light drizzle was falling. Her brow furrowed, and her voice was full of doubt:
"Major, is he crazy? If we're going to launch a surprise attack, this thin fog isn't enough to conceal the massive size of the B1 tank. Do you know how loud the B1's engine is? It's like a tracked heavy tractor! As soon as it starts, the German sentries two hundred meters away can hear it clearly!"
"And once the wind blows the clouds away and the moon comes out, we'll be a bunch of moving targets on the riverbank."
Ryder also looked anxious. He turned up his collar to block the cold wind and kept checking his watch in the dim light.
"I don't know, Lieutenant. But Arthur insisted we wait until 3 a.m.
Ryder sighed and pointed to the sky: "According to him, there will be a downpour then. A massive downpour. The kind that can drown out the sound of the tracks."
"rainstorm?"
Jeanne let out a cold snort and kicked a puddle of water in the trench:
"This is Flanders! The weather here is more unpredictable than the tempers of Parisian girls. The air pressure is low, but it's hardly going to rain; at most, it'll just be this uncomfortable dampness. What makes him so sure? Can he control the clouds?"
Ryder shrugged, a bitter look on his face:
"Who knows? Maybe it's because the Sterling family has even bought shares in the clouds?"
"..."
The not-so-funny joke left the air silent for a few seconds.
Ryder sighed, leaning against the wet sandbag as if completely exhausted. He pulled a crumpled photo from his pocket, glanced at it, and then put it back in his pocket.
"Take a nap, Lieutenant. Even just resting your eyes will do. We're on this pirate ship now, there's no getting off. If it doesn't rain by three o'clock, we'll have to use our bodies to withstand the German machine guns."
Time slipped away second by second amidst the cold and torment.
The soldiers, clutching their rifles, shivered in the mud. No one could actually sleep; everyone stared at the damned, unchanging sky, silently calculating the time until the operation began.
02:45. The rain continues to fall listlessly.
02:50. The wind seems to have stopped.
Lieutenant Jeanne clenched her fists, preparing to wake up the major who was spouting nonsense and tell him to cancel this crazy plan.
However, just as the clock was about to strike 02:55...
Suddenly, a strong, suffocating smell of earth and ozone filled the air.
Then, without warning—
Snap! Snap!
A bolt of lightning, pale white as bone, instantly tore through the thick clouds, illuminating the entire north bank of the A River as if it were daytime.
Before everyone's retinas could recover from the bright light, a deep, thunderous roar, like a war drum, exploded in the low sky, making everyone's heart skip a beat.
slam-la-
This is no longer rain; it's as if God has blown open the dam of the Milky Way.
Large raindrops, like countless cold marbles falling from the sky, pounded against the helmets and armor plates of tanks, making a dense, popping sound like popping beans.
Just a few minutes later, the drizzle turned into a massive thunderstorm that blotted out the sky.
The rain poured down, instantly blurring visibility from several hundred meters to less than twenty meters. More importantly, the deafening thunder and the dense rain combined to form a natural white noise wall, perfectly masking all the noise from the machinery.
"My God..."
Ryder wiped the rain off his face, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he stared at the sudden downpour. He glanced at his watch; the hands had just crossed three o'clock.
"It's...it's really pouring rain? Precisely? How is that possible? Even the Royal Meteorological Service couldn't do that!"
Lieutenant Jeanne stood in the rain, letting the cold water soak her hair and uniform. She looked at the Verdun, which stood silently in the rain, as if it had expected all of this, and the last trace of doubt in her eyes disappeared.
This man... he not only knew Hitler's orders, but he even knew when God would throw a tantrum.
Did the Sterling family really make some kind of pact with God—or the devil?
Clang.
The heavy side hatch of the Verdun was pushed open.
Arthur leaned out and took a deep breath of the air, thick with the smell of moisture and electricity. Rainwater slid down his high nose, but he didn't even blink.
He glanced at Ryder and Jeanne, who were already dumbfounded, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.
"I told you there would be curtains."
Arthur's voice sounded remarkably calm amidst the thunder, both unsettling and reassuring.
"Now, the performance begins, everyone."
……
On the south bank of the A River, the front-line encampment of the German 19th Panzer Corps.
The time is June 2nd, 03:15.
At this moment, the sky seemed to be completely torn apart, and torrential rain poured down, reducing visibility to less than 20 meters.
The whole world was shrouded in the cacophony of rain, which acted as a natural silencer. Even the usually highly vigilant German sentries huddled in shelters, cursing the damned weather.
The rain poured down as if God had smashed a hole in the bottom of the bathtub.
This Flanders-specific downpour, carrying the chill of the North Atlantic, turned the whole world into a wet, muddy, and oily mess.
For the soldiers of the German 1st Panzer Division, who had just experienced two weeks of intense blitzkrieg, the rain and the Führer's "ceasefire order" were a godsend.
No army can remain vigilant for two weeks without sleep, especially when they believe victory is already in their grasp.
At the bridgehead on the south bank of the Ahe Bridge, a Sd.Kfz. 251 half-track vehicle is parked alone next to the roadblock.
Sentinel Otto clutched his MP40 submachine gun to his chest, huddled in the small, dry patch under the wheel fender. A half-soaked cigarette dangled from his lips, its red tip glowing intermittently in the darkness.
"Damn weather."
Otto muttered to himself, pulling his slightly moldy raincoat tighter around himself. He glanced at the brightly lit camp a few hundred meters away, where even the sounds of snoring could be heard, his eyes filled with envy.
There was hot soup, dry cots, and even Bordeaux wine looted from the French cellars.
As for the north bank?
Otto didn't even bother to turn his head. Apart from that insulting wooden sign that read "No Entry Without Permission," there wasn't a soul in sight in that direction. Those British guys had probably already left and were now wailing and pleading on the beaches of Dunkirk, waiting in line for their boats.
hum-
Just then, a very low, rumbling sound mixed with thunder reached Otto's ears.
The sound was strange.
It didn't sound like the high-pitched, precise, clockwork-like hum of a German Maybach gasoline engine, but rather a rougher, heavier, even panting roar. It was like a giant beast suffering from asthma rolling around in a mud pit.
"What is that...?"
Otto stood up in confusion, squinting at the bridge surface.
A pale white bolt of lightning tore through the night sky.
In that instant of intense light, Otto's pupils contracted violently.
Less than twenty meters away in the rain, a massive, suffocating steel monster was crashing through the darkness. Its iconic, belly-like armor was painted with the bright red and blue insignia of the French 1st Armored Division, and the 75mm howitzer mounted directly at the front of the vehicle was pointed right at his nose.
Char B1 bis.
That was prey that should have fled.
Now, it has returned.
Otto's mouth gaped open in terror! For a moment, his brain even forgot to give his finger the command to pull the trigger.
Goodnight, Otto.
Although he couldn't hear it, he seemed to sense that the person inside the steel monster said those words.
boom--!!!
The 75mm short-barreled howitzer at the front of the Verdun roared.
At this distance, there's no need to aim.
The high-explosive shell struck the half-track vehicle next to Oto directly. A massive fireball instantly rose into the air, tearing the poor sentry and half of the makeshift checkpoint to shreds.
The shockwave from the explosion, carrying metal fragments and burning gasoline, rained down on the German camp behind them like a shower of petals.
The silence was shattered.