Chapter 58
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: Devils of Amiens (6)
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At the foremost lines of the German 208th Division, while the Stormtroopers and 185th Regiment were spilling blood in the woods to secure a retreat against Eisenhower's 369th Regiment...
The tanks of the U.S. 93rd Division, charging forward with terrifying momentum, finally clashed with the enemy for the first time.
"Enemy spotted ahead!"
"Mow 'em down!"
"KILL!!"
From the start, the 208th Division had been racing toward Amiens like mad, brushing off the "unwilling to resist" Americans' feeble opposition with ease.
So focused on speed, they hadn't prepared for battle at all—and the result was a steel catastrophe.
"Time to follow the division commander's orders! Crush 'em all!"
"KILL! KILL!"
"Guaaaah!!"
They scrambled to prepare an anti-tank defense, but proper anti-tank warfare was something only the Stormtroopers could pull off—that was the reality of the German forces.
These guys, marching across open plains without trenches or anything during their rapid advance, ran straight into tanks?
Even desperately firing their rifles did nothing; as the hulking tanks unleashed machine-gun fire without mercy, the Germans standing exposed in the fields were torn into chunks of meat one by one.
The cannons they'd hastily dragged out didn't even get a chance to aim before the gunners were riddled with bullets, and the overwhelming firepower of submachine guns greeted the defenseless crews.
"Fire!"
"Look at that! Jerries everywhere! Hell, you could pull the trigger with your dick and it'd bloom! Just shut up and spray 'em!"
There was nothing they could do.
What the hell had the division been thinking?
They should've known something was wrong when they were told to abandon the regiment in this barren wasteland and push forward blindly!
In the end, the panicking Germans, unworthy of their invincible reputation, scattered in all directions in a pathetic rout.
And just like that, the 208th Division's 185th Brigade subordinate 65th Reserve Regiment shattered into pieces, all too easily.
Watching this, Eugene shook his head.
"Ignore the small fry."
"Sir?"
"Roughly chase 'em off and keep moving! We're not slowing this advance just to cut down some rabble!"
That's why I'm here riding along, Eugene grumbled.
"Leave the rear to the 371st! We head straight for division HQ!"
"You're saying we don't even disarm them and just keep going...?"
"Of course. This is the golden opportunity we barely snatched while giving up Moher. It doesn't add up if we waste time killing those guys."
He irritably pulled a cigarette from his pack and snatched the map from Hodge's hands.
The 208th Division's reckless charge meant they could reap far more than expected.
But human psychology being what it is, after one big score, the greed only grows.
If they played it right—really right—they might not just devour the 208th whole, but shake up the entire area. A godsend opportunity that defied belief.
If he'd only sent Anastacio, he'd probably cut it at a reasonable line and regroup. That was a major's limit.
But he was the division commander.
And in his eyes, this could upend the whole front.
"Hey, driver."
"Yes, sir!"
"Head that way, right there. That guy. Looks like a big shot, doesn't he?"
"What if you get shot—"
"These bastards are too busy running. Let's have a one-on-one chat with him."
The driver gave up thinking and followed the one-star general's heavenly orders, and Eugene grinned, sticking his head out the window.
"Hey, guten tag? Or guten morgen?"
"A... a brigadier general? Asian??"
"Ah, if you speak French, let's do that. I'm Eugene Kim, division commander of this unit. I advise you to disarm immediately and surrender your entire force."
"H-how—"
As the regimental commander panicked, unsure what to do, Eugene's mood soured. He drew his flashy ivory-handled pistol and aimed at the man's head.
"Yes or no! Die fighting or just die! Choose now!"
"We surrender! I'll order all troops to cease fire, so please stop this massacre!"
"Good. Should've done that from the start. Hodge, pat him down for maps or whatever."
"Are we the U.S. Army or the Mongols...?"
Hodge sighed, searched him briefly, and pulled out a few military maps. Eugene's smile deepened as he scanned them.
"Perfect. Next target: here. Hey, you. Our follow-ups will arrive soon, so hand over your weapons nicely and wait quietly."
"Pardon? What?"
"Let's go! Keep mobile! Send messengers to division HQ and the brigade pals! Plan change!"
"SIR! YES, SIR!"
The surviving Germans watched in stunned silence as the Americans vanished toward the rising sun, soon meeting the incoming U.S. 371st Regiment.
"Major Van Fleet, 371st Regiment commander."
"We've already surrendered, so no need for formalities."
"Surrendered?"
"Your division commander shoved a pistol in my head and demanded it. You guys really U.S. Army? Even Tatar descendants wouldn't pull this."
"...Our commander's a bit hasty."
A division HQ messenger with the Germans handed Van Fleet an order. Crudely scribbled, unmistakably Eugene's handwriting—complete with a cigarette stain. The situation was clear enough.
"Fine. The 372nd is following; wait here for their custody."
"????"
"Division commander ordered us to keep advancing. See you later. 371st! March on!!"
That day, the 65th Reserve Regiment commander surrendered three times,
and was abandoned twice.
Cursing his foolish choice not to blow his own head off with Eugene's pistol, he finally became a POW when the 372nd arrived.
"The 65th Regiment collapsed? What the hell does that mean!!"
Major General von Grodek couldn't believe it.
Two days.
Just two days.
Not even 48 hours yet.
The lead Stormtroopers and 165th Regiment had gone silent after reporting Moher captured.
Then the 65th Reserve Regiment reported a "major enemy assault with tanks" before cutting out.
If he couldn't see what the enemy was after, he didn't deserve his stars.
"They're obviously after our necks! Send messengers to the 165th—pull 'em back now!"
"They're probably already cut off and isolated."
"Send every messenger at HQ if you have to—drag 'em out! If they sit in Moher, they'll get surrounded and slaughtered!"
"What about the 25th Regiment?"
"Pull 'em back now... No, we're going there! This place is too exposed! Order the artillery to withdraw immediately!"
"What do we report to corps...?"
"......"
Grodek shut his mouth, and the staff squeezed their eyes shut.
How the hell do you explain this mess?
Sorry, we got baited. It was all those nigger's schemes, and we charged in blind?
Corps ordered continuous advance. You urged us to Amiens—why dodge blame now?
We just followed orders. Follow-ups were late—that's why.
Everything went black.
No excuse would change it: this was a blunder.
His name would live forever in textbooks as the idiot who botched command.
It felt like he'd been possessed by devils.
Why the stupid judgment?
Pressure from above? Sure, he could dodge blame that way.
It was plain greed.
Like a devil whispering glory, offering exactly what he craved—he bit without hesitation.
And now, that devil was coming to collect.
"Not yet, not yet!"
But with bloodshot eyes, he bellowed.
The flanking divisions were moving in sync, and higher-ups promised reinforcements to widen the breach.
Hold a bit longer, and they could annihilate the reckless enemy.
Devils?
Don't make him laugh.
Faust was ultimately saved. Devils tempt with sweet deals, but evil grasps nothing—that's the world's law.
Hope reignited in the staff. Too early to despair. The enemy was ragtag Americans, after all?
"They're just attempting a mad beheading strike! As long as we're here, they'll come to us! Gather every gun for direct fire! Crush their lead tanks in one blow, and we're back to square one!"
Thud—
As von Grodek slammed the table, a faint vibration hit.
Not from the table.
Something like... artillery—
Thud—
"Enemy tanks sighted ahead!"
"N-no... impossible. Impossible! They can't be here already—this defies reason!"
One staffer shrieked like a ghost.
"Ri-right now! Arm everyone! Cooks, engineers—anyone for close combat!"
"Sir, we must evacuate immediately. Vehicles prepping!"
"Battle stations! Battle stations!!"
Rat-tat-tat—rat-tat—boom—
The sounds grew closer.
But this racket was all alien noise.
No proud German guns roaring back.
"It's over."
"What do you mean?!"
"Never seen maneuvers this fast in my life. You'd think they rode a train."
In those few seconds, Grodek seemed decades older, all will drained.
Thud.
He slumped into his chair; the pointer rolled across the floor. No one picked it up.
"Toyed with. The enemy wasn't weak. They just waited for our front regiments to charge in disorder. Ha. Haha."
"Not yet. It's a crazy gamble. The 25th and follow-ups—"
"Burn the division colors."
"We can still fight!"
"That's an order. Burn them. Can't hand our proud flag to the niggers."
Heh heh, heh heh heh heh.
Grodek shook with low, ceaseless laughter.
"It's done. Everyone out."
Battle noise now echoed right outside.
Machine guns blazing everywhere. Artillery.
Only horrific destruction filled the HQ.
"FREEZE!"
"There. You've come to heel."
Dozens of Black soldiers stormed the tent.
Staff gritted teeth, slowly raising hands.
Soldiers held fuel cans high, clearing space for one man.
"German Imperial Army 208th Division commander, correct?"
Young.
No, a kid.
A smooth-cheeked Asian stared him down with a conqueror's gaze.
No sign of the devil who'd offered that cruel deal.
"Yes."
"Brigadier General Eugene Kim, U.S. Army 93rd Division commander."
"I hope you treat me according to convention."
"The U.S. Army never mistreats POWs. I accept your surrender."
Only now could he glance at the rank insignia.
"If it's no imposition, may I ask your age?"
"Born '93, General."
"'93...? Younger than my son. Ha. Ha. Ha."
"You did us many favors at Cambrai. Got a proper schooling then, so I applied the lesson this time."
The era had changed too much.
Grodek gazed at the Blacks howling victory, waving his proud division flag in the distance.
A young Oriental.
And the niggers.
His fate.
All he'd achieved in life, trampled in the mud.
Even the mighty German Army had no answer for morale bread.
Every one of them glassy-eyed, suicidal.
But these were my precious POWs now—no suicides allowed. Gotta squeeze 'em to the bone.
Still, great we made it here. But how the hell do we exfil?
Help me, Bradley-mong...
"My God, what... what in the world is this?"
"All as planned. Substituting mobility for firepower is Tactics 101, no?"
Hodge, who'd grown steadily distrustful, was turning fanatic again. Wait, that wasn't the point.
I had no choice but to bluff harder, boast of my grand feats.
"Soldiers of the 93rd Division! We've done it!"
"Eugene Kim! Eugene Kim!"
"Our savior!!"
"But the fight's not over! We're still hungry! We'll take more Jerry heads!!"
"KILLLLL!!"
Now just collect these guys and the POWs, head home cozy.
Before the bad uncles catch up.