Chapter 432: Pawns

Now, Montgomery finally understood what it felt like to be bogged down in urban warfare. His troops had fought bitterly in Norwich for an entire afternoon, leaving 3,000 bodies on the outskirts of the city without even managing to break into the city center.

Only now did he realize the terrifying combat effectiveness the German army had displayed in the first battle for Norwich. The outer defensive lines that he had failed to break in an afternoon had been seized from the British by the Germans in just 1 hour and 23 minutes.

Suddenly, he felt an urge to curse, to scream obscenities at the intelligence officers responsible for assessing German combat strength! He wanted to round up all those bureaucrats, kick them around a bit, and then ask them what on earth they were thinking when they had condoned German rearmament!

Along with the urge to curse and the desire to hit someone, a trace of admiration also surfaced in his mind. He even felt a bit of respect for that man de Gaulle, who had already boarded a ship to America—respect for his courage in daring to launch so many counter-attacks against such a German army.

Of course, if one were to probe his heart more deeply, one might even find the emotion of envy. He envied those who commanded such a force. He yearned to be like Rundstedt, sitting in his command headquarters, directing such a powerful army to storm cities and fortresses, to be ever-victorious and invincible.

Soon, the two sides were once again locked in a fierce struggle during the night. The British army fought a grueling battle with the Germans for the entire night, and when the sun rose the next day, they had still gained nothing in Norwich.

Germany’s Army Group A, naturally, would not just sit and wait for death. The reinforcements that Rundstedt had gathered began to converge near Norwich. At 8:15 AM, the German forces on both flanks launched a counter-attack, encircling the British troops that had pushed into the city’s outskirts. By noon, over 7,000 British soldiers had surrendered, and the British attempt to take Norwich had ended in complete failure.

However, the British were not without their gains. Later that day, the German army, under immense pressure, abandoned Great Yarmouth. This city became the first to be recaptured by the British from German control. This action restored a little bit of confidence to the British government, and Prime Minister Churchill delivered a famous speech, “From Bungay to Great Yarmouth,” which would later become world-renowned.

“General, the Germans have counter-attacked at Norwich. Our entire line has collapsed and is now retreating back to Bungay. If the forces at Great Yarmouth don’t also pull back to the Lowestoft area, there could be trouble,” the aide-de-camp said uneasily, staring at the map.

Montgomery shook his head and sighed. “You’re wrong. It’s not that there could be trouble, there will be trouble. They can hold on there for now, but once the weather improves, the Germans can use their air force to cover their ground troops and surround Lowestoft. Once Lowestoft is besieged, can the forces at Great Yarmouth survive alone?”

“Then… General, we should have the forces at Great Yarmouth retreat to the Lowestoft area! At the very least, it would strengthen Lowestoft’s defenses…” the aide-de-camp quickly advised. “Otherwise, we will lose Lowestoft.”

“If we do that, then we will not only lose Lowestoft, but also Bungay, Ipswich, Aldeburgh, and Bury St Edmunds!” Montgomery said with a wry smile.

The aide-de-camp was stunned, then looked at Montgomery. “How is that possible?”

“The King has just issued a commendation, awarding me the newly created British Empire War Medal… The Prime Minister has delivered his ‘From Bungay to Great Yarmouth’ speech on the streets of London. They see this counter-attack victory as an important milestone to inspire the people to continue resisting. If we withdraw from Great Yarmouth just after they’ve shouted that Britain will be victorious, will I be able to keep my position as commander-in-chief?”

He pointed to the map. “Once they get rid of me, no matter which idiot takes over, he will be forced by the dual pressure of the Prime Minister and the King to launch a full-scale offensive. At that point, we will be truly finished!”

“They would do that at a time like this? Gamble with the future of the British Empire?” The aide-de-camp could hardly believe his ears. They were fighting to the death at the front, and the bigwigs in the rear were making the situation even worse for the sake of face and other trivial matters. What kind of sense did that make?

“The logic is simple! First, it’s a show for the Americans, to ensure that aid and support continue. Second, it’s a show for the colonies, to reassure India and Canada. Third, it’s a show for the public, to give the British people at home more confidence in the war,” Montgomery said, holding up three fingers. He, a general, could see these three points. The calculations of the men in the rear were undoubtedly even more elaborate. The loss of thirty or fifty thousand troops at the front was just a number to those high and mighty gentlemen.

The tragedy was that, just like the soldiers fighting and bleeding at the front, he himself was nothing more than a pawn. The only difference was that those soldiers were pawns that could be sacrificed at any time, while he was a more valuable pawn, one that the players were reluctant to part with easily. And if he wanted to avoid being cast aside, he would have to go against his conscience and send the troops he had trained with his own hands to their deaths at the front.

“So what do we do now? We can’t find a way to withdraw the troops from Great Yarmouth? That’s a full 20,000 men!” the aide-de-camp asked, his voice filled with anguish.

Montgomery waved his hand in frustration. “To secure my own position, not only would I not withdraw those troops, I would have to throw in another 20,000! It would be perfect if Great Yarmouth could be turned into a second Norwich.”

“General!” the aide-de-camp blurted out, stunned. “We can’t do that.”

“Yes, I know we can’t do that. If I did that, the VII Corps would be completely finished. And if the VII Corps is finished, our situation will be even more difficult,” Montgomery said, as if talking to himself. “But what can I do to make Great Yarmouth hold out for more than three days?”

Silence. All that remained in the British frontline command post was a terrible silence.

A few British soldiers, their hands raised high in the air, stared blankly at the fallen bodies of two of their former comrades. They then looked at the young German platoon leader, his face covered in scars, holding an assault rifle in his hands.

“That’s enough! You few, take these surrendering British soldiers to the prisoner-of-war camp in the rear!” The commander of the assault gun, the man called Lald, opened his hatch and shouted to the young platoon leader.

A few German soldiers quickly began to escort the disarmed and terrified British soldiers to the rear. A few dozen British prisoners, dejected, formed a line and walked past the young platoon leader, who still held his assault rifle.

“Smoke?” Lald opened a new pack of French cigarettes and offered one to his young comrade. The platoon leader slung his assault rifle over his back and took the cigarette from his old friend.

“I brought 14 men, 15 including me. They killed my men and still dared to laugh at me…” the young platoon leader muttered. He lit the cigarette and sat down on a large rock. At that moment, the seven remaining soldiers from his squad gathered around him, forming a small semicircle.

“Smoke up!” Lald said, wasting no words. He passed his cigarettes around. Each of the seven men took one, and two of them brazenly took two. Soon, these soldiers, who had luckily survived the battlefield, were squatting together, puffing away. Within a few minutes, they had forgotten their fallen comrades and were laughing and cheering, celebrating their victory.

Lald walked back to his assault gun, glanced at his gunner who was peeking out and watching their surroundings, then climbed onto the low vehicle and squeezed into the cramped command compartment. He sat in the commander’s seat and looked at his crew. “Let’s go. Back to HQ to rearm. I hear the British have paused their attack. Who knows what trick they’re planning now.”

“We’re not the generals up top. Just fighting each encounter well is enough,” the gunner said with a smile. Their assault gun had moved up on a whim, and its arrival had turned the tide. This was not a coincidence; it was the reason why an elite unit was called an elite unit.

These soldiers had integrated the art of combat into their very souls. They could smell danger with a sniff of their noses, they could sense the direction of an enemy attack with a narrowing of their eyes. That was why this assault gun had abandoned its simple artillery mission, coordinated with the front-line troops, and charged to this spot to fight a brilliant defensive action.

Later, astonishing news came from the Army Group A headquarters. The British attacking force had been encircled by the German armored units on both flanks. Thousands of troops had surrendered, and even their frontline commander, the general of the 1st Armoured Division, was now in a prisoner-of-war camp.

If Rundstedt did not order a counter-attack at this point, his time as an army group commander would be over. Army Group A immediately launched a counter-attack and, later that afternoon, encircled the British forces attacking Great Yarmouth. However, due to the weather, the German air force was still unable to sortie its aircraft and could only watch as their ground troops fought and bled at the front.

But Army Group A did not disappoint Akado, nor did it disappoint Rundstedt. They held the vast majority of their defensive positions and, in several days of continuous rain, had lost only one town: Great Yarmouth.

That day, the British battleship HMS Queen Elizabeth shelled the German pontoon docks, sinking two requisitioned civilian fishing boats and destroying several German coastal defense positions south of Bacton. It also damaged a French heavy cruiser, killing 11 sailors of the Vichy French Navy. These 11 men became the first soldiers of Vichy France to be killed in World War II and were recorded in the annals of history.

The novel has already been fully translated up to the final chapter. You can access it on my Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair