Chapter 185: Just Sheer Numbers

In the view of the Gallic frontline commanders, the Instruction Assault Battalion’s full retreat proved that their tactics were correct.

So what if the enemy had Heavy Machine Guns and automatic weapons? Didn’t they still have to retreat when a large number of brave infantry closed the distance?

Therefore, when the Ninth Division Headquarters learned that the second wave of attack on Charleroi had achieved great success, General Fournier unhesitatingly issued the order to continue the offensive.

And targeting the strongpoints the Instruction Assault Battalion had established in the city—which were extremely sturdy against infantry—General Fournier, based on the advice of his staff officers, ordered the 75mm Magic Guided Field Artillery Regiment to detach one battalion, totaling 12 guns, to participate in the urban advance.

However, the area of South Charleroi was not large, and the depth of the streets along the north-south direction of the Gallic assault was only a few hundred meters. This meant the gun crews of the 12 75mm Magic Guided Field Cannons were actually advancing into the firing range of some of the defender’s weapons, significantly increasing the danger.

The attackers, however, were clearly intoxicated by their recent success. Believing the Instruction Assault Battalion had been thoroughly defeated and driven back, they were now high on morale and ignored the potential dangers.

The Gallic soldiers, urged on by their officers, maintained their dense formation—used to ‘maintain morale’—and charged along the empty streets toward the deep layers of the defense line. The young soldiers advanced somewhat numbly, unaware of the abyss of despair awaiting them ahead.

De Gaulle, with a bandage wrapped around his arm, was leading the surviving soldiers of his company, trudging through the streets littered with corpses. Although the medical non-commissioned officer had told him that his arm, which had been punctured by a bayonet, required serious attention, De Gaulle simply could not bring himself to retreat to the rear alone while leaving his soldiers behind in the city. So, after a temporary treatment by the medical NCO, he returned to the fighting.

The brief and fierce exchange of fire just now had cost him over two-thirds of his men. The survivors were either wounded or covered in dirt, their expressions numb. When the Saxons suddenly abandoned their position and retreated, they didn’t even react before their Battalion Commander urged them to continue the pursuit.

“The Saxons are weakening!”

“They must be out of ammunition!”

“Charge! Victory is in sight!”

It was unclear if this was due to their heavy losses suddenly being followed by progress, but the Battalion Commander himself had become wildly zealous.

De Gaulle’s heart, however, was filled with a deep sense of unease. He felt things were not that simple. The Saxons’ retreat was too deliberate; they didn’t look like a defeated unit. It felt more like a planned tactical withdrawal. If the retreat was planned, it meant an even more terrifying trap was waiting for them deep inside Charleroi.

With this anxiety, De Gaulle and the other soldiers passed through the shattered first defense line, continuing their push toward the city’s depths.

Soon, De Gaulle noticed that something was amiss. Many of the small alleys and side roads within the city were blocked off by massive amounts of Barbed Wire and obstacles. Clearing them would require a significant amount of time. Consequently, the units that had intended to bypass the main thoroughfare found themselves continually steered back onto the main street.

“Why do I feel like the Saxons are deliberately guiding us this way?” De Gaulle wondered, but he quickly dismissed the idea as too fantastical, as if the opposing commander completely understood their tactics and movements.

As they pushed deeper into the city, the surrounding streets grew eerily silent. Only their own footsteps and heavy breathing echoed. This silence was more terrifying than a storm of bullets. De Gaulle gripped his revolver, cautiously scanning his surroundings. The soldiers in his company also held their rifles nervously, moving forward step by step.

Suddenly, the soldier at the very front stopped.

“Company Commander… there’s something ahead!”

De Gaulle immediately rushed forward. When he saw the scene on the street ahead, his heart sank.

Dozens of meters ahead, the main thoroughfare was crisscrossed by layers of obstacles made of Barbed Wire. The wire gleamed with a cold, sinister light in the shadows, its sharp, dense barbs leaving no doubt that they could easily tear human flesh. The Barbed Wire was arranged in layers, one after another, forming a complex maze. It segmented the wide street into narrow, twisting passages that stretched beyond the line of sight.

“What the hell is this?”

The soldiers were dumbfounded. They had never seen a wire obstacle of this scale and complexity, especially deployed within the confines of a city street.

De Gaulle finally understood why the Saxons had voluntarily retreated. They had prepared an insurmountable path of steel thorns for them here.

“These damned Saxons!” The Battalion Commander behind him also caught up, and upon seeing the sight, he couldn’t help but curse under his breath.

But they had no way to retreat now. With follow-up forces continuously surging from the rear, they had to push forward.

“Engineers! Where are the engineers? Get up here quickly! Cut this damned Barbed Wire for me!” the Battalion Commander roared.

Several engineers, laden with heavy tools, reluctantly hurried forward under the urging of the officers. They reached the first line of Barbed Wire. One engineer took out a pair of large wire cutters, preparing to start the work.

“Bang!”

A crisp shot rang out abruptly in the silent street. The engineer’s head snapped back, a bloom of blood splattering from his skull. He collapsed instantly without a sound.

Everyone was shocked, instinctively diving to the ground. De Gaulle lay prone, staring intensely forward. He saw a faint muzzle flash from a window of a three-story building at the end of the street.

Before he could react…

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

A Light Machine Gun suddenly started rhythmic long bursts from another window in the same building. Bullets whistled over, instantly sweeping down the few engineers in front of the Barbed Wire, followed by shots hitting the ground in front of the wire, kicking up plumes of dust.

This seemed to be the signal. Hidden firing ports in the buildings on both sides of the street simultaneously spat fire. Heavy Machine Guns, Light Machine Guns, Submachine Guns—innumerable bullets poured in from all directions, instantly turning the area in front of the Barbed Wire into a death zone.

“Attack! Attack! Charge forward and close the distance, just like before!” the officers screamed hoarsely.

The Gallic soldiers, initially disoriented by the sudden firepower and unable to move, were lying on the ground like headless chickens. When they heard the officers’ voices, however ridiculous the command, it acted as a stabilizing force. They rose like men possessed and charged toward the depths of the street.

One soldier successfully reached the front of the Barbed Wire. Noticing that gaps had been intentionally left between the wire obstacles, he immediately waved others to follow him. The moment he squeezed through, a bullet from an unknown direction struck his calf, causing him to lose balance and fall straight into the Barbed Wire.

The sharp spikes tore his hands and face. In panic, he tried to pull free, only to find his uniform and trousers snagged firmly by the barbs on the wire. He struggled desperately, but the more he struggled, the tighter the wire held him. The sharp barbs even pierced his thigh.

“Help me! Come and help me!” he screamed in terror.

The soldiers behind him immediately rushed forward. Under the hail of bullets, they frantically grabbed the wire cutters from beside the engineer’s corpse, attempting to cut the unlucky soldier free from the wire.

But the commotion immediately drew the attention of a Machine Gunner, who waited for a moment… and only pulled the trigger when the soldiers had grouped together. A burst of bullets swept over. The soldier caught in the Barbed Wire convulsed violently as his body was shredded, hanging there like a broken piece of cloth before going limp. The soldiers who attempted to rescue him were also gunned down.

De Gaulle watched this scene, his hands and feet growing cold. He finally understood why he felt the Saxons were deliberately guiding them here. This wasn’t a feeling; it was the opposing commander’s intent.

Through the obstacles on other streets, the Gallic soldiers were ultimately funneled into this single main thoroughfare, like a carefully designed ‘troop funnel.’ And now, the Gallic soldiers were completely stuck here by the Barbed Wire, unable to advance or retreat, becoming perfect targets under the enemy’s crossfire.

Oval-shaped grenades began to fly from the windows of the buildings on both sides, landing accurately in the midst of the dense, bunched-up Gallic soldiers stuck in front of the wire.

“Boom! Rumble!”

The flash and blast wave of the explosions ravaged the dense crowd. Soldiers were thrown about violently, and severed limbs and screams echoed down the entire street. The Gallic soldiers trapped in front of the Barbed Wire were completely broken. This was a nightmare. They were pinned between the insurmountable obstacle ahead and the constantly surging comrades behind, unable to move, forced to watch themselves become targets for slaughter.

Bullets whistled in from all directions. Every burst claimed over a dozen lives. Grenades continuously detonated in the crowd, each explosion clearing a small area. Some tried to climb over the Barbed Wire by force, but without exception, they were caught by the sharp barbs and shredded by machine gun fire amidst their screams. Others tried to retreat, but the road behind was blocked by follow-up units and panicked crowds; there was no way out.

“Charge! Charge through! Charging is the only way out!” An enraged Gallic officer, his eyes red, waved his pistol, trying to force the soldiers forward.

But before he finished shouting, a precise rifle bullet took off his military cap and the top of his skull, killing him instantly.

(End of this Chapter)