Charles knew little of what was happening behind him; he was fully focused on leading his armored and chanized divisions along the planned route. His tactical approach mirrored the famous "blitzkrieg" of World War II.
Charles had managed to et several key conditions for this tactic:
Firstly, he had a powerful air force, granting him air superiority. Without this, his armored and chanized divisions would be bombarded continuously, risking destruction before reaching their objective.
Next was the structure of the assault: the armored division advanced as the spearhead, breaking through enemy lines, while the chanized division provided mobile artillery and infantry support from behind. Following them, Foch's infantry would reinforce their progress. The core of this tactic was rapid advancent; if they were slowed, the operation risked turning into a prolonged, grueling conflict.
Finally, he relied on intelligence and infiltration. In WWII, German forces used paratroopers and special units, recruiting soldiers fluent in English and Russian to infiltrate Allied lines disguised as enemy troops and capture key transportation hubs. Charles's equivalent forces were the White Lady network and the Belgian resistance fighters.
Had the Germans managed to destroy the bridge at Walatown, all of Charles's preparations would have been for nothing. Tanks, armored cars, and trucks would be unable to cross, and the entire plan would have collapsed. Fortunately, this didn't happen.
As he rode in an armored vehicle with his n, helt on and sitting in the back with the other soldiers, it was nearly impossible for anyone to pick him out, even the communications officer.
The route was lined with German POWs, disard, belts removed, heads hanging low, and covered in dirt, marching under the watch of French guards. Their faces showed both fear and envy as they watched the French forces pass in armored vehicles.
Charles ignored the scene, concentrating on the map in his hands. Just then, a sidecar motorcycle sped up from the front, stopping to report, "General, the guerrilla forces have secured the Walatown Bridge, and our vanguard has made contact with them!"
Charles exhaled in relief, finally feeling the weight on his shoulders ease.
Across from him, Tijani gave a slight chuckle. "General, just how many preparations did you make?"
Charles hadn't disclosed his full plan to Tijani; the fewer people knew, the better. Besides, there was no need to tell Tijani specifically.
"You're seeing most of it," Charles replied calmly. "Except for Brussels."
"Brussels?" Tijani looked at him in surprise.
Charles pointed to the map. "The Germans' rear defenses are weak. Beyond the Walatown Bridge, they have almost nothing to stop us—if we move quickly."
Tijani nodded. With the armored and chanized divisions moving at around 30 kiloters per hour, it would only take about three hours to reach Brussels, 100 kiloters away, assuming minimal breaks.
And with bombers ravaging railway lines, no German reinforcents would likely reach them in ti.
"But Brussels is the exception," Charles added. "There's a German division stationed there. Although it's a reserve unit with low combat effectiveness, they're entrenched in the city."
Tijani nodded again, understanding imdiately. Tanks weren't well-suited for urban combat. The Germans could hide around corners or on rooftops, throwing grenades or explosives at the tanks.
Urban warfare could beco a quagmire, slowing down the French advance.
Charles thought of the Battle of Stalingrad. Urban combat remained a significant challenge, even by WWII standards.
However, Brussels, as the Belgian capital and a major transportation hub, was unavoidable. Skipping it could leave French supply lines and reinforcents vulnerable.
Charles calmly took out another map from his satchel—a detailed plan of Brussels. He pointed to a stadium on the city's northern side. "The Germans have converted this stadium into a barracks. Their munitions depot is in the basent of an adjacent textile factory."
"A munitions depot?" Tijani's eyes lit up. "So your plan is to blow it up?"
…
The German 82nd Reserve Division was stationed in Brussels, under Major General Khalil. A month prior, the division had been pulled from the front lines with only about 3,000 soldiers. Within a week, it had swelled to over 27,000 as new recruits were added, with the intent of sending them back into combat after a month of training.
Colonel Afri, the division's chief of staff, looked out at the n training in the field, his face lined with worry. "The only thing distinguishing them from civilians is that they just learned how to shoot."
Major General Khalil, seated nearby and sipping coffee, responded coldly, "That's more than enough, Colonel. What else do we need?"
Afri paused before letting out a bitter chuckle. Though Khalil's words were harsh, they were accurate. In trench warfare, soldiers didn't need many skills beyond knowing how to shoot and endure hardship.
Every day, their lives boiled down to two things: enduring the miserable conditions of the trenches, living like primitive n, and when the enemy charged, popping up and pulling the trigger—either killing the enemy or getting killed in return.
Khalil, coffee cup in hand, stood and looked out at the shooting range beside Afri. "Any training beyond that is a waste, Colonel. No one can dodge artillery shells."
Afri had no retort, but he couldn't help but think of a certain individual. "Charles's troops might be different. I heard he's heavily focused on training."
"Maybe," Khalil shrugged, "but it doesn't concern us."
Just then, a staff officer on the telephone suddenly shouted, "General! We have a situation!"
"What is it?"
"Charles's forces have broken through the Cambrai defensive line, and they're advancing rapidly along the main road."
"They're expected to reach Brussels in about three hours!"
An uproar swept through the command room. Khalil and everyone around him looked shocked.
Just monts ago, they'd all thought of Brussels as a peaceful place where they could enjoy a break from the front lines. Now, it was about to beco the front lines.
Khalil was bewildered. "We're a hundred kiloters from Cambrai. How could they reach us in three hours? Are they arriving by car?"
"Apologies, General," the staff officer responded. "That's exactly what they're doing."
Khalil was speechless.
He took the dispatch from the officer, read it, then issued orders in a booming voice: "What are you all waiting for?"
"Prepare for battle!"
"This is not a drill. Open the ammunition depot and start distributing rounds imdiately!"
"Yes, sir!" The signaln ran off to relay the orders.
Khalil didn't know that, just outside the ammunition depot, a group of "German soldiers" was already waiting. They were rely waiting for soone to unlock the depot and give the order to distribute ammunition.
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