Antwerp city center, Headquarters of the British First Army Group.
Lieutenant General Aves paced anxiously within the command post. The distant roar of artillery grew more intense by the minute, and German fighter planes scread overhead at low altitude, freely searching for targets they deed valuable. They held complete control of Antwerp's skies.
Of all those involved, Lieutenant General Aves was the most unwilling to accept defeat, and the most reluctant to request assistance from Charles.
Ever since being transferred to the Antwerp defensive line, Aves and his troops had lived in the shadow of Charles.
Although Aves was nominally the commander of Antwerp, he had never truly had full control of its defenses.
The French army was beyond his command—and even the Belgian troops and militias answered only to Charles.
When Charles mobilized his forces to attack Namur, Aves had no idea. He only received the intelligence after Charles had already taken the city.
"We are the best," Aves often boasted to his subordinates. "Charles' troops are nothing compared to ours. We need just one battle—when that day cos, everyone will know our strength!"
He firmly believed this.
The reason was simple: Britain was the world's foremost power, and under his command was the elite First Army Group of the British Expeditionary Force. They were experienced, well-equipped, and rigorously trained—superior to all others, even Charles' forces.
That day, battle broke out suddenly.
Though the initial engagent ended poorly, Aves believed that was only because they had been caught off guard.
That had to be it.
Eventually, Aves stopped pacing and asked, "What's the status of the underground warehouse?"
"Reporting, General," the staff officer replied. "German aircraft are covering their 'Storm Assault Squads' in waves. Major General Eden's forces have launched multiple charges but were repelled."
Aves frowned. "Tell Major General Eden we need those supplies from the warehouse to launch a counterattack. Tell him to hurry!"
"Yes, General."
Soon, the officer returned, visibly excited. "General! Major General Eden has successfully recaptured the underground warehouse. German aircraft have abandoned the blockade—we can now access the supplies."
"Excellent!" Aves finally relaxed. This was a good start.
"Send soone to retrieve the supplies imdiately," Aves ordered.
"Yes, General!"
What Aves didn't know was that Eden's so-called "success" had only happened because he claid they were preparing a counterattack.
The Germans had no reason to stop them—why prevent the British from rushing toward their own deaths?
Besides, British ammunition wasn't compatible with Belgian or French arms. It was useless to the enemy.
…
At 2 PM, the British First Army assembled behind the fortress lines, ready for battle.
After so reorganization, they appeared more spirited. Wearing steel helts and gripping rifles, they stood in neat ranks in the trenches, awaiting orders.
Aves and Eden had drafted a counterattack plan.
"I need your artillery to provide covering fire," Aves said, pointing at the map. "Including the Saint-Chamond tanks."
"But the Saint-Chamond can't hit anything," Eden replied.
Though equipped with a 75mm gun with an 8-kiloter range, the Saint-Chamond's gun was mounted inside the hull with limited visibility. After a few shots, the interior would fill with toxic smoke, making accurate fire nearly impossible.
It was better suited for defense, or following the infantry to suppress deep artillery positions.
"I don't need them to hit anything," Aves said. "All I need is for them to throw so smoke on the battlefield."
"Very well, General," Eden nodded reluctantly. "As you wish."
He looked at the attack plan Aves had marked on the map and shook his head internally.
It was a textbook offensive: infantry attacking frontally while cavalry flanked from both sides.
Aves hoped to exploit a temporary German weakness, break through their lines, and cut them off.
It was suicidal.
Did Aves really believe the Germans hadn't anticipated a cavalry maneuver?
But Eden knew that saying anything would be useless—and he didn't want to say anything.
Let the battlefield teach these arrogant British officers a lesson.
…
A piercing whistle blew.
British soldiers climbed from their trenches, shouting as they launched a bayonet charge at the German lines.
Artillery shells flew back and forth, exploding among the advancing troops.
Groups of soldiers were flung into the air, flipping several tis before crashing down. So lay dead instantly, others bled and twitched, and still others scread, missing limbs and covered in blood.
No one stopped to help.
Soldiers marched past their fallen comrades, clutching their rifles, eyes fixed on the German defenses.
They knew only one thing: the faster they reached the enemy trench, the less likely they were to end up like the bodies around them.
On both flanks, the cavalry charged.
Their speed increased until they were galloping full tilt, hooves kicking up muddy snow, leaving deep imprints in the earth.
Cavalryn crouched low on their horses, one hand on the reins, the other wielding sabers that glead in the light—blades aid at the enemy's heart, eager to pierce through the wind and flesh alike.
But then…
German machine guns opened fire.
Bullets poured out like a tide, sweeping over the British forces.
Infantry fell like cut wheat, bodies collapsing in neat rows as blood sprayed in every direction.
The cavalry fared no better.
Horses were shot mid-gallop, crashing headfirst into the snow. Their riders were thrown violently, hitting the ground with bone-shattering force.
Blood gushed from ears, mouths, noses, and eyes as they lay gasping for breath.
The sky howled with engines—fighter planes dove from the sun, strafing the cavalry with twin lines of bullets, leaving crimson trails.
Horses scread, the wind echoed with their despair.
In no man's land, a massacre unfolded.
And it was only the beginning.
The sound of engines rumbled—German tanks launched a counterattack under the cover of dozens of armored vehicles.
They split into flanking formations, charging straight at the oncoming cavalry.
Like tigers among sheep, they rolled over the British horsen.
Those unable to dodge were crushed under treads, man and beast alike turned into pulp.
The cavalry—halted in front, but pressed from behind—descended into chaos.
n and horses toppled over each other, forming a horrific, tangled mass.
Even Eden couldn't bear to watch. He grabbed the phone and shouted to Aves, "You need to stop this—now! This is aningless!"
But Aves rejected him without hesitation.
His voice was cold, confident, and full of pride:
"No, General. This is war!"
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 30 Chapters In Advance: patreon/Franklin1
User Comments
0 comments from readers