Chapter 237: Evenly Matched
"Hello? This is Crew Six. We have spotted a large number of tanks approaching Karlia Village. Requesting support!"
Ral ducked back into the tank and quickly reported the current situation.
Due to optimized crew communication equipment, the newly produced Panzer IV Ausf. S had eliminated the old arrangement where the machine gunner also served as radio operator. Instead, the tank commander now provided real-time battlefield updates.
This strengthened the tank's information transmission system, but it also increased the commander's responsibilities.
"Received, Six. We are about five hundred meters from your position…"
Before the reply could finish, boom!
A shell blasted apart the few remaining houses that had been providing cover. Amid the swirling dust, the Panzer IV Ausf. S was about to be exposed to a large number of French heavy tanks.
There was no time to reply.
Ral realized that once the dust cleared, everyone in the crew would be dead.
He gestured for the driver to jump out of the tank with him, then threw his submachine gun to Babuz and shouted toward the others.
"Infantry is coming! Return fire! Do not let them get close!"
The submachine gun spat flames, sweeping through the dust.
A continuous rain of bullets mowed down several French soldiers who had gotten too close, but at the same time, it also revealed the tank's position to the B1 bis heavy tanks.
Boom!
Boom!
Two shells were fired in quick succession.
One struck the track of the Panzer IV Ausf. S, causing the twenty-ton iron beast to tilt slightly to the left under the force of inertia.
The other penetrated the thinner flank armor, leaving behind a black, gaping hole.
Bang!
Moments later, the tank detonated.
The advancing French infantry poured bullets into the burning wreckage.
The tank machine gunner, unable to escape, was turned into a bloodied corpse riddled with bullet holes.
The driver, who also failed to get away in time, became a charred body sprawled across the turret.
Of the original five-man crew, only Ral, Babuz, and the burly, bearded loader who had just gone to relieve himself remained.
"Damn it!"
Ral gripped his Luger pistol tightly.
Babuz handed the submachine gun Ral had thrown to him over to the loader, then made a quick gesture. While the French soldiers had not yet broken through the dust, he stripped off his coat and put on a French uniform, pretending to be a corpse.
He lowered his head and tightly clutched a pistol he had confiscated from a French soldier, intending to launch a sneak attack.
The next moment, the dust was dispersed by a gentle breeze.
Ral, leaning behind a wooden house, fired sideways.
Bang!
The bullet went wide, kicking up only a splash of dirt from the ground.
In the blink of an eye, the machine gun mounted on the B1 bis heavy tank poured a hail of bullets toward him.
"Get down!"
Ral instinctively ducked.
The wooden house had not been sturdy to begin with. After a round of strafing, it could only be described as tottering on the verge of collapse. Splinters struck his face, stinging like needles.
But at least he had survived.
The loader was not so lucky.
A bullet that penetrated the wooden wall struck his neck. Warm blood gushed out, steaming in the cold air.
"Damn it!"
Listening to the sparse footsteps outside and the incomprehensible French commands demanding surrender, Ral pressed himself against the ground and pulled the submachine gun back into his arms.
He looked around, panting heavily. Then, in a burst of rage, he shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Come on, you beasts! Even if I die, I will drag you all to hell with me!"
The French soldiers did not give him that chance.
Seeing that Ral had not surrendered, the B1 bis heavy tank's 47mm cannon easily blasted the wooden house apart, burying Ral, who was still trying to resist, beneath the rubble.
Only Babuz remained of the five-man crew.
At that moment, he did not even dare to breathe too deeply.
Feeling someone fumbling over his body, he twisted violently, seized the French soldier checking the corpses, and shouted, "Get back, all of you!"
Staring at the muzzle of the B1 bis heavy tank, Babuz's palms were slick with sweat as he retreated step by step.
Bang!
The next moment, an 88mm anti-aircraft gun shell flipped the B1 bis heavy tank in front of him onto its side.
Fragments from the detonation knocked down and wounded the advancing French infantry.
Babuz, who was holding a hostage, was lucky enough to escape.
The French soldier being used as both hostage and human shield was not so fortunate. A piece of shrapnel lodged itself in his eye socket, killing him instantly.
In a daze, Babuz saw two Panzer IV tanks push forward under the support of anti-aircraft guns.
A machine gunner poked his head out and kept signaling for Babuz to hide behind them.
Realizing that the German forces were launching a counterattack, the remaining B1 bis heavy tank decisively abandoned the infantry and dragged its cumbersome body out of the village position, preparing to organize a second attack.
Babuz remained dazed for a long while before finally realizing that he was still alive.
He touched his blood-stained face. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he desperately ran toward the ruins, wanting to dig out his talkative tank commander.
But the commander of Tank Five stopped him directly and shouted, "Run! Damn it!"
"Scouts say more than ten tanks are approaching us. This village has been abandoned. Command ordered us to move to Village Two and organize flank defense. We must hold until at least afternoon."
"The Air Force has already been dispatched to support the left and right attack lines."
He grabbed Babuz by the shoulder.
"This place is too close to the French Army's main force."
As soon as he finished speaking, bang!
French artillery fire created one deep crater after another in the ground.
Babuz was dragged toward Village Two.
This village was slightly larger, but the situation was not optimistic either. Wrecks of French tanks could be seen in several places.
Clearly, it had already gone through an offensive battle.
"How do they have so many tanks?"
Babuz's voice was hoarse.
"I heard the French tank units were all wiped out. Why are they still resisting so fiercely?"
The commander of Tank Five, who was smoking a cigarette, glanced at him and said, "According to the prisoners, the attacking force is the French First Armored Division."
"The quality and number of their tanks are not inferior to ours."
He exhaled smoke.
"They are not like those infantrymen who wet themselves the moment they see tanks coming."
Taking advantage of the conversation, the commander of Tank Five continued, "You are a gunner, right? Tank Crew One just lost its gunner and machine gunner."
"You are lucky. They are driving one of the few Panzer V medium tanks."
As he spoke, the commander of Tank Five pointed toward Crew Sixteen resting near the village.
Babuz looked over.
The Panther tank that Ral had long coveted appeared in his sight.
Unfortunately, the tank commander who loved tanks and occasionally indulged his crew in breaking regulations was gone.
In his place was a stern middle-aged man wearing a military cap.
"Hello, soldier."
The man extended his right hand.
"I am Joachim. Welcome to the First Crew."
Seeing the outstretched hand, Babuz paused for a moment. Then he extended his left hand.
"Ral first…"
He suddenly stopped.
"No, no. I am sorry."
He swallowed.
"I am Babuz, gunner of Crew Six."
The frontal assault had drawn the full attention of the French Army.
Coupled with the deployment of all elite units to defend the center, the battles on the flanks were left unattended.
By afternoon, while the German frontal forces were contracting their offensive line, the German Air Force gained air superiority over the left flank attack zone.
Under the bombing of the Stukas, the fragile defensive line was quickly torn open.
Then came the familiar tactic.
Manstein's armored group broke through the gap and streamed toward the Normandy region.
Two days later, this news finally reached French Army General Headquarters in Paris.
By that time, Manstein had already launched attacks on several major port cities in Normandy.
The sluggishness born from repeated military setbacks had turned the entire French operational system into a snail.
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