Chapter 246: The Bloody Battle

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The bearded man turned his head back, his face pressed against the gunsight. “Fifteen degrees to the left! Quick!” As soon as his voice fell, the cannon beside him began to turn. On the other side, a German artilleryman was frantically cranking the gun’s traverse wheel.

“Boom!” The German anti-tank gun fired again. Another B1 tank was destroyed on the highway, but this one did not have its ammunition cook off. It just stopped there and did not move. The remaining French tanks seemed to have found the position of the German anti-tank gun and began to slowly turn.

Although the French tanks had not yet completed their turn, their turrets were already pointed over. The machine guns fired fiercely, tearing through the haystack and striking the German anti-tank gun, kicking up a shower of sparks. A ricocheting bullet hit a loader. The German soldier was hit in the chest by the deflected bullet and fell to the ground with a muffled grunt.

The bearded man hurriedly dropped to the ground, lying face down. And beside him, a German gun operator was also hit by a bullet. He was shot in the head, and blood splattered onto the cannon, a very jarring sight.

Just as the German anti-tank gun position was being attacked by the French, on the other side, the German Bofors anti-aircraft gun opened fire. “Boom!” “Boom!” The rate of fire of the Bofors was very fast. In the blink of an eye, it had already fired three or four shells at the French Renault tank that was following behind. These shells easily pierced the side armor of the FT-17 Renault tank, turning the driver inside into a pulp.

It was clear that this one-two punch had stunned the French. A French armored car began to fire at the Bofors anti-aircraft gun’s position and charged over at full speed. And the remaining French tanks and armored cars were still turning toward the German anti-tank gun’s position.

“Aim at that armored car! Fire! Fire! Quick!” the second squad leader shouted from the side of the Bofors anti-aircraft gun, poking half his head out from behind a mound of earth. Soon, the Bofors had reloaded its magazine and roared to life again. A storm of bullets hit the French armored car, directly riddling the thing, which was converted from a car, with holes.

However, the anti-tank gun position over there could be said to have suffered a disaster. A burst of machine-gun fire from a French tank swept down the German soldiers there. A French B1 tank, in its panic, fired a 75mm shell that went wildly off course—this shell hit a house not far away, directly reducing the building to its foundations.

Borol, with the MP-44 in his hand, cut down a French soldier who was trying to rush over and throw a grenade. He turned his head to eject the magazine and reload a new one and happened to see the bloody anti-tank gun position behind him. A German soldier with his chest pierced was hanging on the trail of the cannon, while another man, his face covered in blood, lay motionless by an empty ammunition box. Borol could even see this man’s eyes. It seemed that when he had died, he had been looking at the back of Borol’s head.

“My God…” Borol muttered. “Baru! Give me covering fire! If you can’t hold on, take your men and retreat into the village.”

He struggled to his feet as he shouted, raised his weapon, and ran quickly in the direction of the anti-tank gun position. Behind him, a bullet from a Frenchman hit the ground, only a few centimeters from his heel.

Baru raised his G43 and emptied the magazine in one go, which finally made the French fire let up a little. Taking this opportunity, Borol ran all the way to the anti-tank gun’s position before stopping. A beautiful slide tackle helped him cover the last meter or so.

“Is anyone… hurt?” he asked, panting heavily.

“Help me load a shell, quick!” the bearded man said with difficulty, lying on the ground. “The shell is not far from your feet.”

Borol scrambled around on the ground, picked up the shell that had fallen beside the corpse, and, as the bearded man instructed, pushed it into the breech. The bearded man rolled over and quickly adjusted the gun’s position a few times. The French machine gun opposite may have seen the bearded man operating the cannon and opened fire again. The bullets once again flew toward the anti-tank gun, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Boom!” The bearded man fired the newly loaded shell from the cannon. The shell flew toward its target as if at the speed of light. It directly hit the frontal armor of the last FT-17 tank and then, like a hot knife through butter, it pierced the tank’s armor plate, carrying shattered iron fragments into the tank’s driver’s compartment, and then through the driver’s bones into the engine behind.

“We have to get out of here! They still have a tank! You and I can’t deal with that big guy,” Borol said, emptying his entire magazine with his assault rifle. He grabbed the bearded man’s arm, wanting to take him back to the village. But he found that he couldn’t pull him and was taken aback.

“Let me rest here,” the bearded man said with a grin, clutching his bleeding abdomen. As he spoke, he patted the anti-tank gun beside him. “I can’t leave my old partner.”

As he spoke, blood dripped from his lips onto his beard, and his teeth were also stained red. After speaking, he gave Borol a push, then leaned against the body of the cannon, grimacing in pain. “Hurry up and go! Otherwise, you’ll have died here for nothing.”

Pushed off balance by the last of the bearded man’s strength, Borol leaned against the wooden wall of the warehouse, staring blankly at the bearded man. Perhaps it was only for a moment, perhaps it was for a long time; he himself did not know. But after he realized his own danger, he quickly adjusted his posture and quickly retreated toward the main entrance of the warehouse.

Soon, Baru and the machine gun team had also retreated to Borol’s side. Their flank had been lost, but the French, in addition to suffering heavy losses on the main front, were still maintaining a fierce attack.

The 40mm Bofors anti-aircraft gun, firing horizontally, finally found that it could not penetrate the armor of the rampaging French B1 tank. The shells bounced off the tank’s armor. And this French tank was slowly decelerating, bringing its 75mm hull gun to bear.

And this tank seemed to be in a greater hurry to solve the problem, so its turret also began to turn. The machine gun on the turret was firing continuously, kicking up a cloud of dust on the muddy ground around it. The German troops on the main front were retreating into the village. After all, they had lost their only heavy anti-tank weapon. And the French, on the main front, apart from one remaining heavily armored B1 tank and a light armored car, all their other armored vehicles had also been destroyed by the Germans.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” The few German soldiers at the Bofors anti-aircraft gun position also knew that their weapon probably wasn’t very effective against the French B1 tank, so they had no choice but to quickly turn their muzzle and fire fiercely at the constantly firing armored car.

A shell hit the wheel of the armored car, blowing the unmodified car wheel clean off. The armored car’s body shuddered as it lost its balance, but its machine gun, due to the vibration, also fired in their direction. A high-explosive shell hit a German soldier operating the Bofors, and the remaining German paratroopers were forced to lie flat and find cover.

They ducked into cover, picked up their guns from the ground, and, bent over, retreated through the simple trench to their pre-prepared firing positions. They rendezvoused with the few men who had just destroyed the Maxim heavy machine gun there, and the group quickly retreated in the direction of the village.

“Boom!” An explosion was heard on the flank of the village. It was a landmine laid by the German paratroopers that had done its job. Several French soldiers fell to the ground, and debris was scattered everywhere. And from the rear, more French infantry were frantically charging forward.

Baru, carrying an MG42, panted as he climbed to the second floor of a building. Borol, behind him, was carrying two ammunition belts for him. The two men set up the machine gun at a window, opened the feed cover, and loaded the ammunition belt. And the French infantry opposite had already reached not far in front of them.

“Rat-tat… rat-tat.” The sound of the dense machine-gun fire could not be distinguished. The unique sound of the German machine gun, like a chainsaw due to its super-high rate of fire, rang out. Many of the French infantry opposite fell in an instant.

Borol, with his assault rifle, rushed downstairs and happened to see two French soldiers breaking in through the door. He raised his MP-44 and fired a burst, cutting down the two French soldiers at the doorway. A hand grenade rolled from the hand of one of the French soldiers and suddenly exploded at the doorway. The entire house shook, and plaster and dust fell from the ceiling. Borol could hear nothing but a buzzing sound in his ears.

He covered his nose with his left hand, and with his assault rifle in his right, he walked to the door. He found two more French soldiers outside, but now, because of that hand grenade, they had become corpses. Not far away, with the shouting in French, the French infantry were retreating. This made Borol feel very strange.

“Boom!” On the main front, an anti-tank team that had sneaked close to the French B1 tank through the trench fired a Panzerfaust. The rocket accurately hit the tank’s track and broke it. The B1 struggled for a couple of times and finally stopped. But its turret was still turning, and its machine gun was also firing fiercely.

The two-man German Panzerfaust team, reloading in the trench, adjusting, and changing to a new position to pop their heads out again, seemed very proficient. This time, they were aiming at an air intake grille on the side of the B1 tank. A rocket accurately hit this spot.

The French tank began to burn. The commander pushed open the hatch, wanting to escape. The Maxim heavy machine gun, hidden at the entrance of the previously secret warehouse, opened fire. The bullets whizzed through the air and pierced the commander’s lungs, followed by the driver who was climbing out, the radio operator… in short, everyone who was still alive in this tank was killed by the Germans.