lovenovelstory Chapter 33 Initiating the Teamfight
Chapter 33 Initiating the Teamfight
North bank of the Ark River, Highway D916, 07:15 AM.
S-shaped bend ambush circle.
Major Stransky, like a patient tarantula, lay hidden behind the damp, cold bushes, covered with a camouflage web of dead leaves he had brought back from the Polish battlefield, his hand tightly clutching the expensive Zeiss binoculars.
Everything is ready.
The fog was very thick, and visibility was less than 50 meters.
This was extremely advantageous to him. The British convoy wouldn't see the gaping maw until the bumpers of the half-tracks crashed into the roadblocks. By then, his crossfire would be tight, and the 75mm cannons and MG34 machine guns would tear the unsuspecting force to shreds.
Strunzsky felt an overwhelming surge of excitement. This was more than just an ambush; it was his public execution of the thief who had stolen his name.
"Come on, you arrogant Englishmen..."
Strunzsky silently recited this to himself, and as he thought of it, a slight smile appeared on his lips:
"Take your arrogance and go to my grave. I'll show you that war isn't won by luck or looting."
Time passed second by second.
The sound of an engine grew louder and louder. It was the distinctive, heavy, and rough rumble of a Renault B1 tank, mixed with the sharp scraping sound of a half-track.
850 meters...820 meters...
Stransky's finger was already loosely on the trigger of the Luger pistol.
But just 800 meters away from the ambush zone—which is the optimal direct firing range of his tank gun—the previously rapid roar suddenly stopped without warning.
It was as if an invisible hand had pressed the pause button.
The British convoy, which had been speeding along, suddenly came to a complete stop on the road, as if someone had flipped a switch to pause it.
There wasn't even a sound of brakes, as if it had been planned to park there in advance.
"What happened? Did the car break down?"
Lieutenant Weber, who was lying next to him, asked in confusion, instinctively peeking his head out a little, "Or are they changing drivers?"
Strunzsky's brow furrowed sharply; he couldn't understand what trick the British commander was up to either.
Before he could figure it out, something even more unbelievable happened.
Through the slightly blurred view of the telescope due to the fog, the four Char B1 bis tanks, which were originally cumbersome and slow as turtles, actually began to adjust their direction on the spot.
With the sound of tracks churning the soil, the four tanks formed a perfectly straight line, like a black steel wall, completely blocking the road.
Then, the four 75mm SA35 howitzers located under the vehicle and originally pointing in the direction of travel were now slowly rotating as the vehicle was slightly adjusted.
They were like four giant fingers, piercing through the mist and pointing in unison...
He hid himself on the high slope!
"This is impossible..."
Strunzsky's pupils contracted sharply, and his heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he even wondered if he was still half asleep.
"The fog is so thick, and we're so far away... how could they possibly see us?!"
"That's absolutely impossible! Unless he can see through things!"
Just then, on that damned public radio channel (where radio silence allows listening but not transmitting), after a deliberately amplified static, came Arthur Sterling's languid, calm, and even somewhat concerned voice.
That was pure Berlin German, pronounced clearly and distinctly, as if whispered in his ear:
Good morning, Major Stransky.
Broadcast across all channels.
There is no encryption, no concealment.
"The morning fog is so thick, forcing the elite of the Greater German Regiment to lie in the damp grass feeding mosquitoes—is this how you Prussian nobles treat your guests?"
These words were like an invisible bombshell, exploding in Stransky's mind.
His scalp tingled instantly, and the chilling feeling of being seen through from head to toe made him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.
exposed!
It's been completely exposed!
The other side not only knew where he was, not only knew there was an ambush, but even knew who he was!
How is this possible? Is this magic? Or are there British scouts nearby?
But there's no time to think about that now. When a hunter is exposed to his prey's gun, the only option is to pull the trigger first.
"Fire! All hands on deck!!"
Strunzsky roared hysterically, "Forget about distance! Fire!!"
Trying to launch an attack before the other party does is instinctive.
But he was too slow.
Or rather, Arthur initiated the team fight.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The four 75mm SA35 howitzers roared almost simultaneously.
Because of the precise coordinate guidance of the RTS system, this is not the kind of blind firing where you can only hear a sound, but precise indirect aiming and firing.
Four high-explosive shells pierced the morning mist, whistling with death, and struck the German troops lying in ambush on the high ground with pinpoint accuracy.
Boom!!!
The violent explosion instantly tore through the fog.
An MG34 machine gun, which was just about to fire, along with its gunner, was blown by the blast wave to the treetops more than ten meters high, with broken barrels and human parts falling like raindrops.
Shrapnel flew everywhere, and dirt splattered in all directions.
"Damn it! Move to a different position! Move now! Don't stand still like idiots!"
Strunzsky was violently thrown to the ground by the blast wave that was right next to him. His major's uniform, which he had kept impeccably straight even in the field, was instantly covered with dirty black mud and bits of grass.
He rolled around in the mud, desperately trying to avoid the shrapnel and gravel flying like razors through the woods.
Boom! Boom!
Two more high-explosive shells exploded nearby. Shrapnel severed tree branches, and severed limbs and blood splattered down.
The perfect ambush he had meticulously planned, which he was so proud of and which should have become the graveyard of the British army, was blown to pieces in the first round of unreasonable, preemptive artillery fire.
If it were an ordinary Wehrmacht infantry division, or even those fanatical but inexperienced Waffen-SS recruits, they would probably have been blown up long ago if they encountered such a sudden, terrifyingly precise "anti-ambush" artillery barrage.
But they were the Großdeutschland Regiment.
This is the crown jewel of the German Army, the elite of the elite.
The moment Strunzsky lifted his head from the mud pit, he saw the chilling tactical instincts of his soldiers.
"Medic! Drag the wounded away!"
"Machine gun team! Three o'clock position! Re-establish!"
There was no screaming, no aimless running around.
The German sergeants, their faces covered in blood, roared amidst the smoke of the explosions, forcibly pushing their stunned comrades into the shell craters. Two groups of MG34 machine gunners, after their original positions were destroyed, miraculously dragged their heavy machine guns and ammunition boxes, crawling like lizards through the hail of bullets to their backup firing positions within seconds.
Some people were stopping the bleeding, some were observing, and some were checking the bolt.
This is what professional soldiers are like. Even when caught off guard, even when they are completely overpowered, their muscle memory still drives them to kill.
Strunzsky was so angry that he laughed instead.
Now that the conspiracy has been exposed, let's use a more open strategy!
Since an ambush is not feasible, let's fight a head-on encounter!
He refused to believe that the Großdeutschland Regiment, with its superior quality, would lose in a head-on confrontation to a group of British men who only knew how to launch sneak attacks!
"Counterattack! Let the tanks counterattack!"
Strunzsky roared:
"Forget about the ambush! Tear off the disguise! Smash their tin cans!"
"Panzer IV! Fire! That's a B1, not invincible!"
The three Panzer IV Ausf. C tanks, nestled in the woods on the high slope, finally dropped their camouflage. Although 800 meters was a bit far for that pipe-shaped, short-barreled 75mm gun, at that distance, it was at least enough to hit such a large target.
boom! boom! boom!
Three bursts of fire erupted from the shadows of the trees.
Three 75mm armor-piercing rounds whistled as they slammed into the row of B1 tanks parked in the middle of the road.
when--!
Ding--!
The crisp sound of the impact echoed through the valley.
Strangsky raised his binoculars with hope, hoping to see the French monsters ablaze and the Englishmen jumping out of their cars in panic.
However, reality gave him a harsh slap in the face.
There was no explosion.
It did not penetrate.
The shells struck the B1 tank's 60mm thick sloped armor, and then, like eggs hitting a rock, either shattered or were launched high into the air with sparks.
A shell hit the upper frontal armor of the Verdun, leaving a faint white mark, and then went nowhere.
The B1 tanks stood motionless, like four black mountain peaks.
"this one?"
In the command tower of the Verdun, Arthur gently shook his head.
This is the absolute despair brought about by the technological gap in equipment.
At this point in 1940, the B1 bis tank's defensive capabilities were the legendary "Wailing Wall." The German short-barreled 75mm KwK 37 L/24 gun was originally designed to support infantry in attacking bunkers, and its muzzle velocity was a paltry 385 m/s.
How can this kind of cannon be used to hit a 60mm inclined steel plate?
Are you kidding me?
"Sir! It can't be penetrated! It's completely impenetrable!"
The German radios were filled with the desperate cries of tank crews.
"Keep firing! Switch to high-explosive shells! Blow up their sighting equipment! Don't stop!" Strunzsky gritted his teeth; he didn't believe there was any tank in the world that couldn't be destroyed.
But Arthur had no intention of giving them a second chance to fire.
"Alright, that's enough fun."
Arthur put down his coffee cup, his gaze returning to focus. On the RTS interface, he selected the green icon representing his tank and then dragged out a green ballistics guide line.
This is an advanced feature of an RTS system.
Because the B1 tank's gun is fixed to the hull, it has only a very small lateral firing arc, making aiming extremely difficult. Usually, one can only rely on luck to fire.
But with the system's assistance, a perfect parabola connected the muzzle of the Verdun's gun with a Panzer IV tank reversing in the distant woods.
"Driver, adjust slightly to the left by 2 degrees."
"A little more to the right... Okay, stop!"
Arthur personally oversaw the work, perfectly aligning the green auxiliary line with the red enemy target.
"goodbye."
He gently pressed the fire button.
boom--!
The Verdun's hull jolted violently.
The 75mm SA35 howitzer, of course, didn't fire any armor-piercing shells—because Arthur didn't have any of those at the moment.
Inside the scorching hot barrel was a 75mm high-explosive shell, "purchased for free" from a German supply depot and meticulously loaded with high-energy explosives by the German military industry.
But that's enough!
It doesn't require a sharp bullet to drill a hole.
It only needs to be like a battering ram weighing several hundred kilograms, smashing hard into the target's face.
The high-explosive shell, laden with death, pierced through the morning mist, precisely traversing a distance of 800 meters, passing through gaps in the trees, and like a heavy punch, struck the upper frontal armor of the Panzer IV tank squarely.
At this moment, the laws of physics revealed their most brutal side.
The frontal armor of the Type 4C was only 30 mm thick and was vertical.
Faced with the violent impact and terrifying chemical energy released instantly by a 75mm high-explosive shell, this thin steel plate was as fragile as a damp biscuit.
Boom!!!
There's no need to penetrate at all.
The violent explosion instantly tore the steel plate apart, and the terrifying overpressure, like a hydraulic press, poured the shattered armor fragments along with the explosive flames directly into the driver's compartment of the Panzer IV tank.
In that instant, the Panzer IV tank did not catch fire, but rather seemed to be crushed from the inside by an invisible giant hand.
The turret was violently blasted into the air by the blast wave, spinning and crashing into a large tree. The vehicle's originally straight lines instantly twisted and deformed, and all the welds cracked at the same time.
"Hull Break (vehicle body collapse)."
Arthur stared coldly at the rising fireball and uttered this single word.
"My God..."
Lieutenant Webber stared at the tank in the distance, now a mangled pile of scrap metal, his face deathly pale and his whole body trembling. "One shot... it actually... shattered the tank?"
Seeing that the tanks were at a significant disadvantage in the firefight, Strunzsky's eyes became bloodshot.
That's the madness of a gambler who's lost everything.
He was unwilling to accept it! He was unwilling to lose to a British guy who only relied on his equipment advantage!
"If we can't win at range, then we'll fight up close!"
"Sappers! Where are the sappers?"
He roared into the walkie-talkie, his voice like that of a wounded beast, "That Englishman's stopped in the road! This is our chance! Get the infiltrator team up! Crawl over there! Stuff the explosives into their tracks!"
That was his last trump card.
The thirty elite engineers lying prone in the roadside ditch were the real killing blow of this ambush. They were less than a hundred meters from the tanks, and with the cover of the dense fog and smoke, they had every opportunity…
However, what Sstránsky didn't know was that the most tragic thing in the world was:
You want to play a stealth assassination, but your opponent has full map vision.
On Arthur's map, those thirty red dots, wriggling painfully in the mud, were so conspicuous it was almost outrageous.
"Look there, Ryder."
Arthur pointed to the map:
"A bunch of gophers are trying to steal our picnic basket."
He got through to McTavish's communications channel; he was now a machine gunner providing cover for the infantry.
"Sergeant McTavish, on my orders."
"At the 11 o'clock position on your left, about 50 meters from the front of your car, under that clump of slightly bulging withered grass. Do you see it?"
"Yes, sir."
"There are three Germans lying there. Give them a burst of bullets."
"clear!"
Da da da da!
The MG34 machine gun on the half-track spat fire. The pile of dry grass was instantly riddled with splinters, followed by a cloud of blood mist. The three German engineers who had just been about to peek out were riddled with bullets before they even understood what was happening.
"pretty."
Arthur continued calling out the points, his speech steady, as if he were conducting target practice:
"At the 2 o'clock position on the right, around the corner of the drainage ditch, someone is preparing to throw a smoke grenade. Throw a grenade over there."
"Attention, vehicles behind! There are two snipers at the edge of the woods on the left. They are under heavy fire."
This was a one-sided massacre.
It couldn't even be called a battle; it was a precise "pest control operation."
The elite engineers of the Großdeutschland Regiment discovered with despair that no matter how perfectly they disguised themselves or how subtle their movements, the British bullets always found their heads first.
They had just looked up when the bullets came.
They were just about to throw grenades when the machine gun opened fire.
All tactical maneuvers are transparent to the opponent.
Only five minutes had passed.
The red dots in the drainage ditch disappeared. In their place were more than thirty corpses lying in the mud, who died without ever understanding why they had been exposed.
The grass on both sides of the road returned to its deathly stillness, only now it carried a strong stench of blood.
The threat has been eliminated.
Arthur looked at the cleared red markers on the map and nodded in satisfaction.
He picked up the intercom again and switched the channel back to public address.
At this moment, Strunzsky was slumped behind the command vehicle, looking at the two still-burning Panzer IV wreckages in the distance, listening to the report on the radio that the entire engineer platoon had been wiped out, his face ashen.
His pride, his tactics, his honors were crushed to pieces in that moment.
The voice of that British devil came through the headphones again.
There was no anger, no excitement.
There is only one kind of condescending, repulsive arrogance:
"The performance is over, Baron."
"Thank you for your welcoming procession. As a return gift, consider the burning Panzer IV tank a tip from me."
"Next time, remember to bring a better can opener. This dull knife can't even cut my skin."
Roar—Boom!
On the highway, the four unscathed B1 tanks restarted their engines.
They marched in neat formation, like a group of proud knights, slowly passing right under Strunzsky's nose.
As they rounded the bend, Arthur even deliberately maneuvered the Verdun's turrets, aiming them slowly and in a highly insulting manner at the direction where Sstránsky was hiding—
The cannon barrel was lowered.
It was a silent greeting.