I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start Chapter 28 28: On the Right Track

Matthew pulled out the crank and started up the tank's engine, the loud "rumble" resonating around him as he climbed inside, ready for combat.

The early tank model was awkward to handle. The gunner sat almost level with the driver at the front, and the driver could only see through a small observation slot barely the size of his hand. This limited visibility was the main reason so tanks had previously driven into trenches and gotten stuck.

The first sounds to erupt were, predictably, artillery fire. But unlike before, now it wasn't only the Sixth Army's guns firing—the Fifth Army's artillery had joined in, unleashing a bombardnt against the Germans.

Outside, the earth shook with explosions, while inside the tank, the engine's rumbling drowned out all other sounds. The thick steel plating muffled everything else, and Matthew could barely hear anything over the noise.

After waiting for several minutes, he finally spotted the signal flag waving up ahead through the observation slot. The infantry was signaling him to advance, using a flag on a long, bent rod so that they could direct the tanks from the side without stepping into the line of fire.

Matthew pressed the accelerator, pulling the control lever, and with a roar, the tank shot forward along the incline.

Once he was out of the protective cover, Matthew was startled by what he saw. The area ahead was blanketed in a thick, white haze of smoke and dust; even Marne Bridge was obscured, with only a faint outline visible.

This was Charles's plan?

Matthew silently cursed. Had Charles even thought about the driver's visibility when he ca up with this plan? If Matthew hadn't been so familiar with the terrain, he might not have managed to get the tank onto the bridge at all.

But Charles had been right about one thing: in the midst of all this artillery fire, the tank felt relatively safe. Shells exploded just ahead, and the barrage moved gradually forward. Matthew carefully controlled his speed, advancing with the artillery fire. Now and then, he even heard fragnts of stone clink against the steel plating with a tallic ring.

At one point, he caught sight of a tank nearby erupting into a fireball after being hit by a shell. Despite the flas, it continued moving forward for a mont before grinding to a halt.

It dawned on Matthew that it wasn't only the tanks falling victim to the barrage. So of the infantry were likely being hit by friendly fire too—French artillery.

Feeling as if he was sleepwalking along the edge of a cliff, Matthew was suddenly acutely aware of the danger. His breath ca faster as he moved forward.

Ahead of him, the signal flag waved again, directing the tank to advance or halt as needed, and the journey was a chaotic mix of smooth and jarring movents.

Yves, crouched near the front, fired the machine gun. The already murky air inside the tank filled with smoke and the acrid stench of gunpowder, making it difficult for Matthew to breathe and further blurring his limited view.

Through the haze, Matthew glimpsed a Maxim machine gun, toppled over a trench, surrounded by German corpses. It dawned on him that the tank had already crossed the enemy's moat and trenches.

Relieved, he felt a renewed sense of freedom—the tank was past the obstacles that could potentially "trap" it.

Matthew knew this landscape like the back of his hand. He could tell where the road was, where the solid ground lay, and where the treacherous marshes were that would immobilize a tank. He even had a hunch about the likely location of the German command post.

Now, he felt as free as a fish in the ocean.

To test his theory, he slamd on the accelerator, making a sharp turn with the wheel. The tank roared as it angled sharply in a new direction.

Yves turned, looking at Matthew with confusion, shouting over the engine and artillery, "Are we off course, Matthew?"

"Trust !" Matthew shouted back, his voice brimming with confidence. "We're finally on the right track!"

…

General Kluck had set up his command post between two hills on the north bank. With him were five 77mm M96 field guns.

He'd chosen this position because of the French Army's artillery superiority. Though France's other weapons were often lacking, the 75mm field gun was impressive—it boasted a hydraulic recoil chanism and could achieve an incredible rate of thirty rounds per minute.

Ironically, this recoil chanism was a German invention initially rejected by the Krupp Company, which had left the inventor no choice but to sell the patent to the French.

Outnumbered and outpaced, Kluck had stationed his command post and artillery in a dead zone, safe from French artillery fire. Another advantage of this position was that it allowed his artillery to cover Marne Bridge, preventing the French "iron beasts" and infantry from crossing.

"Artillery, get ready!" Kluck ordered, and the well-trained artilleryn promptly loaded their shells, preparing to fire.

The French artillery was bombarding the bridgehead, but Kluck was certain that the "iron beasts" that had bested his First Regint would soon approach the bridge. He intended to blow them to pieces the mont they appeared.

Suddenly, Kluck saw sothing through his binoculars—a shadowy form, just visible when the flas from the explosions briefly flared. For a fleeting mont, a black shape appeared amid the smoke and dust.

Kluck's heart sank as he realized it was one of the French "iron beasts." They weren't about to cross the bridge—they had already crossed, hidden by the smoke.

"Those bastards!" Kluck turned to his artillery, yelling, "Fire! Open fire imdiately!"

The artillery roared, shell after shell launched, but Kluck soon noticed through his binoculars that it was already too late—the "iron beasts" had advanced past the artillery's aim, and the shells were landing harmlessly behind them.

"How did they get over the trenches and moats?" Kluck was dumbfounded. During their last encounter, these contraptions had been unable to cross the trenches, yet now they moved as if on solid ground.

There was no one to answer, and no one knew.

Once again, the German soldiers at the front were driven back in terror by the "iron beasts," and the French soldiers, emboldened by the tanks' presence, plunged into the German flank like a knife.

"Target those beasts!" Kluck commanded, though hitting a moving target with a field gun was far from easy. The artillery relied on volu, raining shells over a wide area to hit sothing.

After crossing the bridge, the French "iron beasts" had dispersed, leaving Kluck's five cannons at a loss, uncertain which target to prioritize.

Even in this crisis, Kluck's battlefield experience kept him calm. After a mont's thought, he issued two orders:

"Guard battalion, set up a defensive line at the pass!"

"Artillery, adjust range—target 200 ters in front of the pass!"

The pass lay between the two hills, narrowing to only about thirty feet. Once the "iron beasts" entered the pass, they would be unable to avoid the artillery barrage.

But just as the guard battalion and artillery readied themselves, a clattering noise echoed from the ridge behind them. Monts later, an "iron beast" erged, charging down the slope, the shocked soldiers hearing a faint "Yeehaw!" as it sped forward.

The tank barreled down, unleashing gunfire as it went, instantly cutting down over a dozen artilleryn.

The remaining gunners scattered, unwilling to stand their ground and be slaughtered. Flesh and blood were no match for the "iron beast."

The guard battalion, thrown into disarray, rushed back to protect Kluck himself.

"General!" the battalion's commander urged, "We have to retreat. We can't hold them here any longer!"

His implication was clear: if they didn't leave now, Kluck would beco the highest-ranking officer to be captured or killed.

(End of Chapter)

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