Chapter 698 – They Were Ready to Surrender?
As per standard practice, German artillery units were typically stationed 3 to 5 kilometers behind the front lines. This distance was crucial to avoid being suppressed by French howitzers and to provide enough reaction time in case the enemy infantry broke through.
(Note: An artillery range of 3 to 5 kilometers allows sufficient time to react or retreat if the front is compromised.)
But on the west bank of the Meuse, German artillery positions were set up just one kilometer from the front.
They didn't worry about counter-artillery strikes or enemy infantry breakthroughs. The Meuse River, wide and deep, seemed like an impenetrable natural barrier standing between the two armies. It gave the Germans a false sense of complete security.
Colonel Cyril, commander of the 97th Artillery Regiment, was convinced of this. He spent the entire night directing artillery fire into the city and didn't even bother relocating his batteries.
"Relax, they can't reach us," Colonel Cyril said, glancing around and addressing his staff. "We've spaced out our guns, one every couple of hundred meters. If the French artillery opens fire, they'll expose their position immediately."
This was an unfair artillery duel—open terrain outside the city versus the congested, building-filled interior of Mézières.
The downside of this scattered setup was poor precision. The bombardment turned into a widespread shelling of Mézières with little regard for specific targets.
But that situation changed quickly.
Over 40 howitzers were withdrawn from the front lines and placed under Colonel Cyril's command. More shells were brought in from the front as well. The artillerymen seemed eager to unload the ammunition just to lighten their load and move faster.
This was undoubtedly Colonel Cyril's moment of glory—commanding over 70 howitzers, practically the firepower of an entire artillery division.
Confident, he began planning a bombardment of the Mézières railway station.
Cyril pointed at the map and explained:
"The train station is the most critical location in the city. There are more than a dozen warehouses there for storing supplies."
"Even if they've already distributed most of the materials, it's still a vital transport hub."
"If we reduce it to rubble, we'll disrupt French troop movements—especially their armored and mechanized forces."
His staff had no objections, but one aide expressed concern: "It's still night, Colonel. We won't be able to aim properly."
To strike accurately, they'd need to know the coordinates and make adjustments via trial shots. But in pitch-black darkness, with Mézières under total blackout orders, even the best artillerymen couldn't locate their targets.
"That's why we prepare now," Cyril replied. "Get the batteries in place. Once the sun rises, we'll open fire on the station immediately."
"Yes, Colonel."
…
Dawn came slowly, the eastern sky glowing faintly. A heavy fog had rolled in, disappointing Colonel Cyril—it would obscure vision and targeting.
Still, he wasn't overly worried. It was a clear day otherwise.
"When the sun rises, they're finished," he said, ordering reconnaissance planes to be launched—three in total.
It was risky. The skies belonged to the French, and their Camel fighters could shoot down anything in the air.
But Cyril believed it was worth it.
Soon, he realized he had miscalculated.
"Colonel," said the radio operator near the phone. "Our planes have been shot down."
"Which one?" Cyril asked.
"All of them!"
The reply made Cyril's heart skip a beat.
All of them?
He had hoped to gather some intel during the faint morning light, but the planes hadn't even had a chance. They were swatted down the moment they took off.
Cyril frowned. Did that mean the French had already prepared their aircraft to take off at first light? Were they holding air superiority from the start?
Not good. If the French were this well-prepared, it was likely their artillery was about to counterattack too.
Sure enough, Cyril soon heard the low hum of engines in the sky, and the forceful gusts of low-flying aircraft.
He looked up nervously toward the sound, but saw only murky shadows flitting through the mist like bats.
Suddenly, several bombs were dropped.
They exploded within the dense artillery formation, setting off fires and sending debris flying.
Colonel Cyril instantly sensed danger: the artillery positions had been exposed, and the enemy aircraft were marking them for targeting.
"Relocate!" he shouted, jumping into a vehicle with his staff.
Artillery crews were used to this—they often relocated in a hurry once discovered. Cyril had even set up his command post on a car for just this reason.
But something didn't sit right.
Despite the bombing, the French artillery hadn't opened fire. There were no howling shells, no deafening blasts—just the drone of engines overhead.
Wait—there were engine sounds on the ground, too.
Cyril turned toward the source of the noise. It was low and powerful and growing steadily louder. Definitely not from the air.
Then he heard it clearly—the groaning creak of tank treads.
"Tanks," he muttered. Then relaxed. "That's good. They must be ours. Charles couldn't possibly get tanks across the Meuse without a bridge."
"We have reinforcements!" Cyril shouted with relief.
The artillerymen cheered. Those in the middle of disassembling their guns paused, excited by the news.
With no French counter-barrage coming, they prepared to greet this "tank reinforcement."
Then, out of the fog, a tank rumbled into view.
The Germans froze.
It wasn't an Upper Silesian model. It wasn't from the LK series. It was… a Charles A1.
A French Charles A1 tank.
Was it captured? Cyril wondered. That must be it!
But why would they lead with a captured tank? That's bound to confuse people!
Then more appeared.
One… two… three… soon there were dozens, flooding the landscape—every last one a Charles A1. Behind them, squads of French infantry advanced with rifles at the ready.
The French soldiers were just as confused. They stared at the German artillerymen in disbelief.
Why weren't they running or defending themselves?
They looked like they were… welcoming the French?
Were they already prepared to surrender?
(End of Chapter 698)
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