lovenovelstory Chapter 94 As long as he's killing Germans, he's our brother.
Chapter 94 As long as he's killing Germans, he's our brother.
Chapter 94 As long as he's killing Germans, he's our brother.
The vanguard of the German 25th Panzer Regiment.
Colonel Karl Rothenburg had just recovered from the shock of the car in front being destroyed.
His brain was still trying to process the information in front of him: a 38(t) tank had exploded without warning right under his nose, the turret flying ten meters into the air, and in that instant, he saw the fleeting horizontal trajectory of the bullet.
Those were not anti-tank mines planted by the British.
That's direct firepower!
Rothenburg turned his head sharply and suddenly looked at the air defense hill that was only a few hundred meters away on his right.
The smoke hadn't yet cleared, but he could see it clearly. The muzzles of those 88mm anti-aircraft guns were emitting blue smoke, and they were pointing right in his direction.
"Damn it! Have these SS soldiers gone mad?!"
This was Rothenburg's first reaction.
At this distance, the SS skull and crossbones flag flying over the position was clearly visible. As a professional Prussian officer, he instinctively thought it was another blunder by those fanatical but militarily untrained SS "political soldiers"—probably mistaking the advancing armored regiment for retreating British troops, or perhaps a British convoy disguised as their own.
Anger instantly overwhelmed fear.
Rothenburg grabbed the microphone in front of him, pressed his finger hard on the call button, and switched to the public communications channel of the Abbeville defense zone.
Instead of using code words, he roared in German, "Abbeville anti-aircraft gun positions! Ceasefire! Ceasefire immediately!"
"Open your dog eyes and look! This is the 25th Panzer Regiment of the 7th Panzer Division!"
"I am Colonel Karl Rothenburg! That's the Iron Cross! Not the British Circle! You're firing on friendly forces! Repeat! Stop this foolish suicide immediately!"
The hissing sound of electricity echoed in the headphones.
Rothenburg stared intently at the high ground, waiting for a panicked apology from the other side, or at least a ceasefire.
But what he saw was the muzzle of the 88mm gun moving extremely small and steadily.
That was the movement he had seen in countless drills—correction parameters.
In that instant, a chill ran down my spine and straight to the top of my head.
That wasn't a misunderstanding. He was aiming.
The No. 1 88mm gun position on the southern highlands of Abbeville.
Arthur could clearly hear Rothenburg's furious roar through his headphones.
Even in this life-or-death situation, he maintained the arrogant tone characteristic of Prussian officers, speaking in a commanding manner.
Arthur ignored him. He didn't even touch the microphone button.
No explanation is needed for the dead.
"Next."
Arthur's voice was low and faded into the gunpowder-smelling air.
His hands, like the transmission arms of a precision machine tool, smoothly operated the orientation and elevation handwheels of the Zeiss ZF20E optical sight.
In the 4x magnification optical view, the wreckage of the lead vehicle, 38(t), was burning. The dark red oil and gas flames obscured part of the view, but this posed no obstacle to an experienced shooter.
Arthur's crosshair pierced through the swirling smoke, corrected to the right by 1.5 mils, and locked onto the chariot in the second position of the column.
That was a Panzer III command tank.
Unlike ordinary battle tanks, this vehicle replaced its original 37mm main gun with a dummy gun barrel disguised as a cannon to accommodate an additional FuG8 long-range radio. However, the conspicuous frame-like antenna on its hull top reveals its identity as the brain of this armored spearhead.
Colonel Karl Rothenburg was inside.
"Higgins, load."
Arthur didn't turn around. On his retinal RTS interface, the red locking frame had already firmly locked onto the tank's hull ring.
"Loading, sir!"
Two sweating Scottish loaders lift a brand-new PzGr.39 capped armor-piercing round.
The 10.2-kilogram projectile was violently rammed into the gun barrel.
Clang.
The semi-automatic wedge-shaped breechblock locked instantly upon impact with the edge of the shell. The loud metallic clang was the warning sound of death being loaded.
Arthur's right foot was on the firing pedal.
At this moment, the distance to the target is 780 meters.
At this distance, the theoretical penetration depth of the 88mm L/56 gun exceeds 110mm. In contrast, the frontal armor of the Panzer III Ausf. E only has 30mm of surface-hardened steel.
This doesn't even require calculating the angle of incidence. Even at the worst possible ricochet angle, the immense kinetic energy is enough to shatter the vehicle's structure.
Arthur stepped on the pedal.
boom-!
The earth trembled once more. The high-pressure gas ejected from the muzzle brake stirred up a shockwave of dust that spread across the ground.
Before Karl Rothenburg could even process what was happening, he felt as if his entire world had collapsed.
The shell hit Rothenburg's vehicle.
But the explosion that happened before did not occur.
At such close range, the terrifying kinetic energy of the 88mm capped armor-piercing projectile, reaching up to 200 million joules, produced a devastating physical phenomenon—overpenetration—on the Panzer III command tank's surface-hardened steel armor, which was only 30mm thick.
The 10.2-kilogram steel projectile penetrated the upper frontal armor of the tank as easily as piercing a wet sheet of paper.
Because the armor was too thin, the delayed fuse at the base of the shell didn't even experience enough impact resistance to trigger immediately. The shell, carrying its original kinetic energy, traced a straight, deadly trajectory within the narrow, enclosed vehicle compartment.
The driver and radio operator, who were on the ballistic path, didn't even have time to feel the pain.
Under the impact of a metallic object traveling at 820 meters per second, the human body instantly undergoes a terrifying hydrostatic explosion. Bones, muscles, and organs are directly pulverized, compressed, and ejected by the enormous kinetic energy within milliseconds.
Two living German armored soldiers vanished in an instant, leaving only two plumes of dark red blood mist spreading violently inside the vehicle.
The shell did not stop.
It carried human tissue and fragments of the instrument panel, pierced the engine compartment bulkhead and rear armor plate at the rear of the tank again, and flew out from the rear of the vehicle with a mournful whistling sound, finally exploding in the soil twenty meters behind.
Command tank number three suddenly shuddered.
The Maybach HL120TRM's engine was pierced, and the piston connecting rod was jammed. The powerless steel behemoth slid forward a few meters due to inertia before finally coming to a deathly stop in the middle of the road.
The reason it did not explode was that the main gun was removed from the command tank to install a large radio, and it was not carrying any flammable high-explosive shells.
But this is actually a more cruel form of torture.
The cabin was deathly silent, save for the crackling of the engine and the sound of liquid dripping.
Colonel Rothenburg was the only survivor in the car.
Because he was standing in the turret command position, he narrowly avoided the death axis at waist height. But the massive shockwave and the instantaneous change in air pressure ruptured his eardrums.
Blood streamed down his face. He stared blankly down at the cockpit below.
There were no drivers left there.
The only things present were the dark red biological tissue that coated the entire inner wall with high temperature and kinetic energy, and the nauseating warm steam that smelled of burnt steel and blood.
The earphones still played that despairing hissing sound.
Only then did the man's voice ring out again.
That was a belated response to his earlier outburst: "SS-999 Special Operations Battalion greets you, Colonel Rothenburg."
"This was not a mistake."
"That's exactly what we're going to do."
"Retreat—Everyone retreat—"
Rothenburg issued his last command before falling into a coma.
But this instruction was drowned out by the ensuing symphony of destruction.
At that moment, the other five 88mm guns on the hill, as well as the StuG III assault guns and Panzer IV tanks lying in ambush on the flanks, also opened fire.
13:30:30, South Bank of Abbeville, D928 Highway.
The overwhelming artillery fire caught the German army completely off guard.
Arthur gave the German armored regiment no chance to catch its breath.
Under his command, the six 88mm guns no longer fired in salvo, but instead switched to more lethal free-fire.
Six cannons, six independent killing units. Each cannon, firing at a rate of 15 rounds per minute, rained armor-piercing shells onto the road.
Gun position 1: Target locked on the very front of the road. Any tank attempting to bypass the wreckage and continue advancing will have its turret sheared off the moment it surfaces.
Gun positions 2 through 4: Target locked on the Panzer IV tank in the middle of the column. These support tanks, equipped with 75mm short-barreled guns, are the only targets capable of threatening the high ground.
Gun positions 5 to 6: Self-targeting the half-track vehicle cluster behind.
Meanwhile, in the bushes on both sides of the road, the six StuG III A-class assault guns that had been lying in wait finally revealed their fangs.
They lacked rotating turrets because they didn't need them; these vehicles were already aligned with the direction from which the German vehicles were approaching. Their low-slung profile allowed them to be perfectly concealed in shadow. The 75mm KwK37L/24 gun spewed high-explosive shells.
Although this ammunition has limited armor-piercing capability, it would be absolutely devastating for those Sd.Kfz.251 half-track vehicles and Opel Lightning trucks loaded with infantry.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of explosions created a fiery trail along the highway.
A 38(t) truck attempting to reverse was pierced through the rear engine compartment by an 88mm armor-piercing round. The engine was shattered, and fuel splattered onto the hot exhaust pipe, instantly igniting a fire. The three occupants inside screamed as they crawled out of the hatch, engulfed in flames, but quickly collapsed to the ground and were burned to a crisp.
A half-track vehicle full of grenadiers was hit directly in the open fighting compartment by a high-explosive shell from a StuG III assault gun.
There were no Hollywood-style superhero jumps, only broken limbs and twisted metal mixed together, accompanied by instantaneous vaporization.
"This is the Abbeville anti-aircraft artillery position."
Arthur grabbed the radio transmitter and switched to the public channel of the German 7th Panzer Division.
His voice cut through the chaotic radio noise, clear, calm, and vicious. Arthur showed no mercy to the future Desert Fox, delivering a powerful blow right to his face: "SS-999 Special Operations Battalion greets you, sirs of the 7th Armored Division."
"This was not a mistake."
"Repeatedly, this was not a mistake."
"We were just helping General Rommel clean up those Czech-made junks that were prone to malfunctions."
This message was transmitted via radio waves to the headsets of every German tank on the battlefield, and also to Rommel's command vehicle at the rear.
13:40 PM. North bank of Abbeyville, British 51st Highland Division defensive line.
Major General Victor Fortune stood behind sandbags in the trench, his binoculars almost crushed in his hand.
Through the lens, he witnessed the steel massacre that took place on the south bank of the bridge.
The neat and imposing armored columns, symbols of the Third Reich's industrial power, are now being dismantled.
The scene of the explosion is just as spectacular as the grandeur of the arrival.
An 88mm armor-piercing round struck the side ammunition rack of a Panzer IV tank. Without the slightest delay, the twenty-ton vehicle instantly expanded and ruptured. The overpressure generated by the internal explosion sheared off all the bolts on the turret base, sending the turret flying vertically five meters into the air before crashing heavily to the roadside with a dull thud.
Fortune marveled at the devastating visual effects.
It looks like the SS and the Wehrmacht... have started fighting?
But he wasn't the only spectator; the entire 51st Highland Division was watching.
Inside the cramped regimental command bunker, several staff officers were huddled in front of the observation slit.
"This doesn't make sense—"
A lieutenant colonel muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the 88mm guns roaring furiously on the south bank: "Straight trajectory, extremely high rate of fire. These are characteristics of 88mm anti-aircraft guns. But who are they attacking? The 7th Panzer Division? That's Rommel's elite force."
"Was this infighting within the German army? Or some kind of extreme case of friendly fire?"
No one could answer. This scene, which defied conventional military common sense, left these officers, who had received orthodox training at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, speechless. They could only watch as clusters of orange-red fireballs exploded among the German ranks, and as those once-invincible German tanks turned into burning scrap metal.
But in the trenches at the front lines.
Thousands of Scottish soldiers from the Gordon Highlanders and Blackguards were craning their necks out, ignoring their sergeants' warnings.
Their palms, gripping the Lee-Enfield rifles, were also drenched in cold sweat. Just minutes before, they had been discussing whether to take a few Germans with them before they died, or debating whether to save one last bullet for themselves.
But now, the death penalty has been suspended.
What lay before them was a free, brutal execution performance.
"Look at that one! It's over there!"
A private pointed to the opposite bank of the river and shouted.
In view, a 38(t) tank attempting to reverse and escape was simultaneously hit by two 88mm shells.
The first shot severed its right track, causing it to spin in place. The second shot went straight through the driver's cab.
Even across the Somme River, which is hundreds of meters wide, the soldiers could almost hear the shrill sound of metal being torn apart.
The tank instantly turned into a raging bonfire. Immediately afterward, an even more violent explosion occurred, and the soldiers could feel the intense tremors.
The trenches were deathly silent.
There was no cheering. There was no mockery.
There is only one kind of trembling that originates from biological instinct.
These Scottish infantrymen experienced firsthand the dominance of heavy anti-tank guns in modern warfare. Before those 88mm guns, both steel and flesh were nothing more than scrap waiting to be wiped out.
"God bless that madman who fired the cannon."
An elderly sergeant spat out his cigarette butt and said in a low voice, "No matter who he is, no matter what he wears, as long as he's killing Germans, he's our brother."
They all witnessed the steel massacre that took place on the south bank of the bridge.
The once-imposing and orderly German armored column was now a pile of burning scrap metal blocking the road. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring the midday sun.
Those pioneers of the "Blitzkrieg" that terrified the British army were now like a group of rats trapped in a cage, running around in all directions under the precise marks of the 88mm guns.
"My God—"
Major General Fortune's voice was hoarse. He had never seen such efficient and ruthless annihilation warfare.
"General! Look at the German artillery positions!"
The chief of staff pointed towards the high ground and shouted.
Fortune adjusts the focus.
This time, he saw things clearly.
On that hilltop where the SS skull and crossbones flag was hanging, the figures frantically loading, firing, and pulling the gun barrels were not wearing the blue-gray uniforms of the German army.
They wore khaki wool combat uniforms and flat Brodie helmets.
"That's...that's one of ours?"
Major General Fortune's brain experienced a severe malfunction. Cognitive dissonance caused him to feel dizzy.
People dressed in British uniforms, carrying SS flags, and using German artillery were slaughtering German tanks.
"Which unit is it—?"
Fortune remembered the top-secret telegram sent by Churchill.
"A special advance team is approaching you. Code name: King Arthur."
"They really came." Fortune's hands trembled uncontrollably. It was the physiological reaction of a death row inmate suddenly receiving a pardon a second before execution. "They've taken the German positions—they've blocked Rommel's tanks!"
"General! This is our chance!"
The brigade commander of the 154th Brigade rushed over, his face covered in soot, but his eyes shone brightly: "The German armored forces are paralyzed! We must counterattack immediately! Charge over! Join them!"
Major General Fortune put down his binoculars.
Reason told him that this was the only way out.
But just as he opened his mouth, preparing to issue the order for "all troops to attack,"...
A deeper fear gripped his heart.
As a World War I veteran who had experienced the Battle of the Somme, his eardrums picked up an extremely subtle but absolutely deadly sound.
That wasn't the roar of a tank cannon. Nor was it the whistle of an 88mm gun.
It was the low-frequency vibration of air being torn apart by a heavy object. Like an invisible train speeding above the clouds.
Whoosh—whoosh—
The sound amplified rapidly, turning into a piercing scream.
"Fire! Take cover!"
There will be another chapter tonight.