Chapter 41
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Cambrai (2)
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November 20th.
The British left and right wings successfully linked up, completely shattering the German lines.
And the 326th Light Tank Battalion, positioned at the very forefront, along with the following British forces, achieved the honor of being the first to enter the Hindenburg Line.
A great victory!
The British advanced a full 10 kilometers, closing in on Cambrai, the enemy's key stronghold.
How many kilometers had they pushed forward at Passchendaele at the cost of trapping hundreds of thousands in the swamps?
In this war, where advancing even 1 kilometer meant burying tens of thousands of soldiers in the earth, a glimmer of hope shone for the first time.
The entire United Kingdom was immersed in the joy of victory. Churches across the land rang their bells wildly, and citizens poured into the streets, sharing the hope of triumph.
A new victory born of a wonder weapon and novel tactics! It was a juicy story no press outlet could ignore.
The American Expeditionary Forces headquarters in Chaumont received the news in much the same vein.
"Report from the 326th Light Tank Battalion!"
"What happened?"
"Our forces have made the first breach of the Hindenburg Line! The enemy is retreating to their second line!"
"Waaaaah!!"
The staff room erupted into chaos for a moment.
That the army of those second-rate powers, dismissed as country bumpkins, had accomplished what even the haughty British couldn't!
As everyone embraced in joy, General Pershing approached Colonel Rockenbach.
"Colonel."
"Yes, Commander."
"You've done well. I heard you put in a lot of effort."
"I haven't done any work for days."
"The training staff told me. Did you even get an hour of sleep a day?"
"...An old fatass like me has to handle the paperwork for the guys heading into battle, doesn't he?"
"That's enough. More than enough. Let's get those decorations ready for our young heroes."
Rockenbach nodded.
"Of course. Shall we prepare a bottle of booze per battalion member?"
"They'd love that. ...Make it three for Captain Patton."
As long as he doesn't drive drunk. Pershing whispered quietly.
In the midst of that chaos and cheers, one figure quietly entered the headquarters.
"Colonel MacArthur? What brings you here?"
"I have urgent business to report to the Commander-in-Chief."
His face was stiffer than ever, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Several staff officers nearby approached to say something, but MacArthur gently brushed them aside and stepped up to Pershing.
"General."
"...Aren't you busy? I heard the 42nd Division is in quite a frenzy."
"I apologize for intruding due to a grave issue with our division."
With that preface, MacArthur spat out each word deliberately, as if chewing them.
"I heard the headquarters decided to hold our 42nd Division back as a replacement reserve."
"That's right."
"No division is more battle-ready and burning with fighting spirit than the 42nd right now. Sending underprepared units to the front while pulling back a combat-ready force like ours? That's unacceptable."
"Every division commander says the same thing to me, Colonel MacArthur."
"Hold on, hold on, let's all calm down."
Expeditionary Forces Chief of Staff Brigadier General James G. Harbord stepped between them, waving his hands.
"Sir, it's true the 42nd is exceptionally prepared. Why not reconsider?"
"If there's room for reconsideration, we'll discuss it in a meeting later."
"I'm sorry, but I believe there's a front right now where the 42nd needs to be deployed immediately."
Just as the tension was cooling, MacArthur's words reignited it.
"Is that so? Which front?"
"We need to send combat forces to Cambrai right now."
"Cambrai?"
"What are you talking about?"
Even Harbord, who had spoken with MacArthur earlier, was taken aback by the unfamiliar claim, as MacArthur lifted his head sharply.
"Before the Allied forces on Cambrai's left and right flanks are annihilated, we must at least rescue the American troops deployed there."
As mentioned earlier, the British left and right wings successfully crushed the Germans and flung open the path to Cambrai.
But the problem was the center.
The commander of the British 51st 'Highland' Division, the spearhead of the central assault, despised the new weapon called tanks.
"March my soldiers alongside those iron lumps? Why die together?"
He ignored higher command and coolly ordered, "Advance about 200 meters away from the tanks."
Just 200 meters. Perhaps it seemed like no big deal.
But the commander of the German 54th Reserve Division, facing the 51st, was deeply wary of the island perverts' wonder weapon that was proving ever more effective.
"The enemy will push those tanks harder from now on. Train the artillery with anti-tank fire in mind starting today."
The moment the two division commanders' judgments aligned, the spark of disaster finally ignited.
The tanks advancing at the forefront of the British 51st Division were annihilated in moments by artillery positioned on high ground, without any infantry cover.
By the time the marching infantry heard the thunderous barrage and rushed toward the tanks, they were already reduced to scrap metal.
With the tanks wiped out, the 51st Division's advance stalled.
The planned push failed, and despite fierce shelling, they couldn't fully clear the German wire. The cavalry sent to exploit the breach couldn't cross and had to withdraw dejectedly.
The Cambrai offensive was originally set to last exactly 48 hours. The right call might have been to regroup the line and shove back the central Germans.
But it's an eternal truth across East and West that gamblers go blind after a win. The British pressed on.
The German Empire's final duo, Hindenburg and Ludendorff, sprang into action the moment they received the Cambrai report.
"The enemy left and right are launching furious assaults."
"Reports say American tank units have been committed too."
"What does Crown Prince Rupprecht say?"
"The 54th in the center will hold the high ground to the last man. Everything is turning in our favor."
"Simple, then. Let's chew up those arrogant Tommies who pushed too deep. Double down for His Highness the Crown Prince."
With American support, the British penetrated deeper than in original history.
Deep penetration naturally exposes more flanks.
And the Germans, upon hearing of the battle's start, assembled 25 divisions and threw them into Cambrai.
Instead of the clean sweep the British dreamed of, what awaited them were the latest German tactics honed on the Russian and Italian fronts.
It didn't take long for the smiles to vanish from British lips.
As if mocking them, it was now the Germans' turn to settle the blood debt.
"Incoming! Incoming shell! No functional damage!!"
"Keep moving! We all die if we stop!"
The battalion now had 31 tanks left. Even using all reserves, this was it.
Few were knocked out by the enemy. Most broke down and were abandoned on the field. Still, the tankers had saved the crews and brought them along on foot—small mercies.
The Cambrai battle, which started with euphoric victory, lost momentum rapidly from day two, devolving into the same bloody mess as 1914 onward.
Our battalion sortied daily but pulled back after probing lightly.
Pershing hadn't demanded heroic feats from me, and I had no hobby of slamming my head into walls. Day one was enough glory. Thinking back still gives me chills—in a good way. Patton, too, was honing his ominous instincts over his urge to charge.
And on November 30th, near Cambrai.
If our side showed offensive power with tanks, the enemy countered with infantry and artillery combos.
After pounding the weakest point with gas-laced heavy shelling, those horrific Stormtroopers infiltrated the ragged gaps, turning the field into hell instantly.
Tactics proven on the Eastern Front and Italy played out again in Cambrai.
Telegraphs severed, rails cut, couriers killed, bridges blown.
Before the staff watching from afar could decide, all means to relay orders to limbs evaporated.
Now I had to choose.
Maybe I should have ten days ago.
But we'd pushed too deep, and if 50 tanks had suddenly bailed with "Whoops, time to head back," disaster would've struck then.
"The most suitable force to smash the bastards breaking through now—"
"Is us."
"Yes."
"But didn't General Pershing say to report and withdraw?"
"Precisely, he left it to on-site judgment."
Patton looked deeply troubled too.
When fuel runs dry, we're done. Bridges are cut too. Lose either fully, and we're isolated.
Our tankers aren't Rangers or paratroops. They're less combat-effective than infantry on foot. Tossed naked onto this open plain? Grim future.
"To save as many tankers as possible and get back, we should pull out now."
"......"
"But can you live with that? Abandoning those poor Tommies and running?"
"That's why I'm agonizing."
"Damn. Good thing I'm not the commander. If they shoved this shitty choice at me, my brain would've rotted. No decisions is the best."
Right now, we were the most efficient at plugging those bastards.
Of course, German assault troops were well-prepped for anti-tank at this point. But we were armored, the only mobile force around.
After deliberating with Patton, I decided.
"We withdraw from the field."
"Yeah? Well, not a wrong call."
Patton spat on the ground, looking conflicted.
"As we withdraw, we take every visible German head."
"Huh?"
"Big 360-degree pivot and retreat. Plenty of fuel left anyway?"
"Ha! Hahaha! Yes! That's my junior! Let's go hunt some Germans!"
General Pershing, sorry.
Can't bail after all.
And that day, the German Stormtrooper unit earned two skull badges.
"Heee— ha!!!"
"Kill! Kill them all!"
"Charge straight! Crush them!! They're Germans God shat out by mistake! Deliver them swiftly to His bosom!"
Stormtroopers bravely traversing the shell-cratered field halted at the majestic engine roar approaching from afar.
Then the wave of steel crashed upon them.
Shellfire, bullets, and tons of weight welcomed them hotly.
"Argh! Aaaagh!!"
"Uwaaaah!!!"
"Keep scraping! Every one that survives kills one of ours! Wipe them out!"
Germans scream the same.
But pity was a luxury too far. Our allies were falling back, barely holding the line.
They fought valiantly, but our rampage couldn't last.
Whiiiish—
"That sound—"
"Artillery! Floor it! Max speed!!"
Boom!!
A horrific vibration erupted right beside us.
The tank rocked. Tracks held, luckily.
"Faster!"
"Already maxed!"
"Fuck! My sperm's faster than this!"
"That's why you have a kid!"
"Then stomp harder so we pop out a baby tank!"
The tank commander’s getting cocky now. We'll see once we survive.
Who knows how much the Germans hated us—shells killing us outright, but their own troops flying too.
Of course, I know it's my imagination. If calling for fire got instant results, we wouldn't suffer like this. It was pre-planned to land here, and bad luck tangled us with Germans—
Kwaaang!!
"German hunt ends here! Straight back to rear!"
"Yes, sir!"
A flying chunk hit my head, warm trickle spreading. Ah, definitely blood.
As long as no brain bleed, I chanted, pushing on.
After rampaging awhile and breaking rearward, we reached a small village.
"Major Kim! Maaajor Kiiiim!"
The Stars and Stripes fluttering atop the village's tallest building. Couldn't just pass by.
"Colonel, sir?"
"Good timing. It's a mess."
Colonel Parsons of the 11th Engineer Regiment looked haggard after ten days, like he'd endured all the world's pains.
"You bastard. Said you'd escort, where the hell were you?"
"Heh heh. I arrive right when the regimental commander needs me most. Divine providence, no?"
"Damn it. True. God sent you."
The colonel led me to the village hall serving as HQ.
I first ordered tank maintenance, told idlers to scrounge fuel, then followed.
Inside, unexpected faces.
"Captain Eugene Kim, commander of the U.S. 326th Light Tank Battalion."
"Brigadier General Henry de Beauvoir De Lisle, commander of the British 29th Infantry Division."
Why's a division commander here?
My question cleared fast.
"We're already surrounded by Germans. As you see, the British have their commander isolated. Lucky to link with us, but..."
"It's over. Are the Germans monsters? How could this happen! My unit! Give me back my unit!"
De Lisle was clearly broken mentally.
I didn't hesitate longer.
"Get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To withdraw. Can't bury the whole regiment here."
1,400 volunteers.
These men who enlisted seeing Europe's peril must go home.
We began preparations at once.