Chapter 561: We've Won!
Lieutenant General Avis pointed his baton behind the German defensive line on the map, his tone light and confident:
"The key lies in the German artillery!"
"We all know the Germans hold the upper hand in artillery, while the French rely solely on the 75mm infantry gun. Its range is far too limited to contend with the German 105mm."
At the Somme, the reason the Allies had any artillery superiority at all was thanks to the British, who had concentrated thousands of guns of various calibers.
The MPs all nodded in agreement. They could already picture French soldiers being blasted skyward by German 105mm shells.
…
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh
Whoosh—whoosh!
With a series of sharp howls, rocket projectiles streaked across the sky, headed directly for the German 105mm artillery positions.
They came from modified landing craft sailing down the Somme—positioned in the rear of the French task force, yet paradoxically the first to fire thanks to their 8km range.
Twelve converted landing craft carried a total of 120 rocket launchers. In just a few minutes, they had fired off their entire payload—1,440 rockets.
Row upon row of fire lances screamed through the sky, leaving long, glowing trails.
Then came the blasts—deafening explosions that swallowed the sky in fire and thick smoke. German cannons and bodies alike were hurled into the air amid bursts of flame.
Ammunition caches were hit, sending up mushroom-shaped clouds. Flames danced and leapt like living creatures, devouring anything flammable nearby.
At British HQ on the north bank of the Somme, Haig—who had been smugly watching events unfold—was startled out of his complacency by the sudden barrage.
"What is that?" he cried, stunned. "Did the French destroy a German ammo depot? But they don't have artillery with that kind of range!"
His aide, having watched closely, responded calmly: "General, those are rockets."
"Rockets?" Haig's eyes narrowed. He lowered his binoculars and turned sharply. "You mean the same type Charles used at Namur? They outrange even the German 105s?"
The aide pointed to the cloud-covered launch zone. "There, sir. That's the Somme."
"The Somme?" Haig stared in disbelief. The French launched rockets from the river?
And then it clicked—it wasn't the shore, it was boats! That bastard Charles had mounted rocket launchers on ships and fired from the water!
…
Back in the National Assembly chamber, Lieutenant General Avis was still dragging his pointer across the German forward positions:
"The Germans have built anti-tank trenches here, wide and deep enough to stop any vehicle."
"At Namur, Charles used bridge-laying tanks to cross such obstacles, but that won't work here."
"The Germans have positioned artillery to cover the trenches. They'll destroy any vehicle that gets close—including bridging tanks!"
The MPs' faces turned pale. Charles must not have known this. Why else would he launch such a reckless attack?
…
Meanwhile, the Char A1 tanks rolled off their landing craft with heavy rattling noises.
Thanks to the deafening roar of artillery and the veil of rocket fire, the Germans hadn't heard a thing.
Due to days of rain, the river had swelled. The boats had to beach deep onto solid ground before lowering their ramps. One by one, twelve tanks rumbled ashore.
Surrounding them were French infantry disembarking from amphibious transports. As soon as they landed, they jumped off and took up formation around the tanks, rifles at the ready.
Major General Christine led from the front. He disembarked, scanned the horizon cautiously, then pulled out his revolver and gave the order:
"Advance!"
The tanks thundered forward in perfect order, accelerating quickly, and soon they were charging straight into the German artillery positions.
Still stunned from the rocket strike, the German gunners had yet to regroup.
Some were tending to wounded, others shouting over field phones to spotters, and many more were trying to re-aim their guns toward the rocket source.
And then, through the dim light of dawn, a French armored unit burst through—tanks and infantry charging like wolves into a flock of sheep.
Grenades exploded. Gunfire cut down artillery crews who hadn't even managed to pick up their rifles.
A tank rammed directly into a field gun, its treads grinding over the cannon barrel with a sickening metallic shriek.
Its main gun fired point-blank into a munitions truck, transforming it into a massive fireball. The blast hurled nearby German soldiers into the air like rag dolls.
…
Back in the Assembly, Avis shook his head, wearing a look of fake concern—but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips:
"Gentlemen, it's too late."
"No one could've predicted Charles would choose to go on the offensive—at a time like this."
"Now, the only thing that can save France is the British Army. Only if they cross the Somme quickly to reinforce the south bank can we prevent the Germans from breaking through like a flood."
Panic rippled through the chamber. MPs leaned toward each other, whispering anxiously.
Then someone stood up and shouted: "What are we waiting for? Let's make a decision—we must unify command!"
"Unifying command" was their way of saying: hand the reins to Haig.
Nods followed one after another. To them, this was clearly the best solution.
Gallieni's face went pale. He knew the Assembly would pass the resolution—no matter what he said.
Most of them had already swallowed every word from Avis.
Ballots were quickly distributed. MPs filled them out and returned them, and the tallying began at the podium.
Just as Gallieni had feared, the vote overwhelmingly favored "unifying command."
But then, just before the final count was completed, Colonel Fernand burst through the chamber doors, shouting with breathless excitement:
"General! We've won!"
The entire Assembly turned as one, stunned. Even the vote-counters stopped what they were doing.
"Won what?" someone blurted out.
Avis looked momentarily confused, then regained his composure. "It must be British reinforcements. They pushed back the Germans!"
Gallieni stood instinctively, eyes locked on Fernand. He wanted the answer as badly as anyone.
Fernand clenched his fist, eyes gleaming:
"It was Charles, General! Charles's counterattack broke the German lines! The enemy is in full retreat—we've advanced five kilometers! Five kilometers!"
Gasps filled the chamber. Could it be true?
They had launched a counterattack in these conditions—and won? And advanced five kilometers?
Avis's smile froze.
No. This couldn't be. There was no logic to this outcome!
Gallieni burst out laughing: "I knew it! That kid would never let me down!"
He strode toward the edge of the observer's gallery, chest puffed with pride. He looked down at the stunned MPs and said, his voice ringing with irony:
"Gentlemen, please—by all means, go ahead and finish your vote. Transfer command to the British."
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 30 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/Franklin1