Chapter 236: Feigned Attack
Late night.
Greece, inside the Italo-French Joint Command Center.
The French envoy, who had rushed over at the risk of being shot down by the German Air Force, hurried into De Gaulle's room.
When he saw the already packed luggage, his eyes immediately filled with disdain.
"I did not expect Mr. De Gaulle to be a coward."
His voice was sharp and contemptuous.
"Army General Headquarters strictly ordered you to return to France and continue the resistance. Not to flee to North Africa and become a deserter."
De Gaulle did not refute him.
Nor did he want to explain.
Because he knew very well that he had indeed violated military orders. At a critical moment when Paris was in danger, leading his troops to North Africa was no different, in the eyes of others, from cowardice.
Seeing De Gaulle remain silent, the envoy spoke even more directly.
"Given your repeated refusal to obey the orders of Army General Headquarters, General De Gaulle, I am now informing you that you are temporarily relieved of command."
"All unauthorized actions are officially canceled from this moment onward. All troops are to depart for Paris immediately and defend the capital."
Seeing that De Gaulle still did not make a statement, the envoy's gaze sharpened.
He turned his eyes toward the aide-de-camp and demanded that he carry out the order.
But what answered him was the dark muzzle of a gun.
"What do you intend to do?"
The envoy raised his head proudly, staring down at the gun as if certain the aide-de-camp would not dare pull the trigger.
"Mutiny?"
Bang!
A bullet grazed his cheek and pierced the desktop behind him.
The guards outside, who had been about to enter to check on the situation, were stopped by De Gaulle's cold snort.
"Get out."
Wiping the blood from his face, the envoy roared in a low voice, "Do you know what you are doing?"
De Gaulle stood up.
His tall, slender figure blocked the downward slant of the lamplight, casting a long, narrow shadow across the room.
"I know exactly what I am doing, Mr. Envoy."
His voice was calm, almost cold.
"I am doing everything I can to preserve our remaining strength."
He then looked toward his aide-de-camp.
"I apologize, Pisso. Tie him up and untie him once we reach North Africa."
The aide-de-camp saluted and nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Ignoring the envoy's curses and furious struggles, De Gaulle turned around and looked outside.
Under the moonlight, batch after batch of soldiers were boarding civilian cargo ships through a temporary pontoon bridge.
The sea wind blew across the harbor. The soldiers moved in silence, their figures swallowed one after another by the shadows of the ships.
De Gaulle shook his head and said softly, "Then let me be this traitor."
When De Gaulle sent a telegram to Rome announcing France's withdrawal from the Balkans, Mussolini immediately exploded with rage.
He cursed the French as unreliable allies and treacherous cowards.
This also gave him a reason not to send troops to support France.
The next morning, Mussolini stood in Milan Square and announced that Italy would only fulfill the military alliance agreement after conducting a thorough assessment of the war situation.
Although De Gaulle did not receive support from the French government, his strategy of retreating to North Africa and continuing the resistance received approval from many naval officers.
To cover the withdrawal of one hundred thousand French troops from the Balkans, one battleship, three destroyers, and more than a dozen torpedo boats became sacrifices for the evacuation operation.
Even so, the well-prepared German submarines and carrier-based aircraft groups that broke through the air blockade still buried nearly thirty thousand men at the bottom of the Mediterranean with torpedoes and bombs.
In addition, two infantry divisions refused to agree with De Gaulle's withdrawal plan. They chose to return to Paris instead, where they would face the German Army, which had regrouped for two days and was now poised to strike.
Early morning.
A village along the Aisne River.
Heli Karl, commander of the French First Armored Division, eased the tension in his chest with one cigarette after another.
Sometimes, silence on the battlefield was more terrifying than artillery fire.
Artillery and bombing brought physical fear.
Silence brought psychological terror.
Unlike the tank battalions and armored divisions that had been annihilated on the Eastern Front, the First Armored Division had been stationed around Paris. Its losses were relatively small.
It was the only unit in the French Army whose tank strength could contend with a German Panzer division.
But equality in weapons could not erase the doubt in Heli's heart.
For some reason, after the German Army had easily taken the northern regions, he had lost his former confidence. The belief that French armor was invincible had cracked without warning, replaced by caution, suspicion, and unease.
And it was not just him.
Other officers in the Army were in the same state.
A thick sense of German invincibility had swept through them all.
"Commander!"
A staff officer rushed over.
"Front-line personnel have detected that the German Army has begun a frontal assault."
The second round of frontal attacks was not led by the main attacking forces of Germany's Western Front Army.
Instead, it was led by the newly formed Sixteenth Panzer Division and the Seventeenth Panzer Division, the latter reorganized from the former Austrian Third Motorized Infantry Division.
The Third Armored Division, which Heinz Guderian had redeployed back to the front line, only played a partial role in the coordinated attack.
The purpose was to give these new Panzer divisions and their new Panzer IV tank crews sufficient combat experience.
In a small village on the plain, the Sixth Tank Crew of the Sixteenth Panzer Division was one such unit.
They had easily occupied this undefended village and wiped out the French reconnaissance team stationed there.
Babuz searched the pockets of French soldiers who had been riddled with machine gun fire from the Panzer IV and muttered, "Attacking is not that hard after all."
He pulled a few bloodstained banknotes from a French soldier's wallet, checked the man's fingers, then began inspecting his teeth to see if there were any valuable gold ones.
"Do not relax, Babuz."
Ral, the driver, stuck his head out from the Panzer IV and smoked a cigarette.
"We have three more minutes of rest, then we have to get back in the tank. The other three tank crews will arrive soon. If they see that the gunner is not inside the tank and report it, you will be in serious trouble."
Germany was always generous with spoils of war, but only after the mission was completed.
For Babuz to climb out of the tank and scavenge during the mission was a clear violation of discipline.
Although the Panzer IV was described by the equipment research and development department as a new type of tank with impressive defensive capabilities, Ral did not like its design, which had overturned traditional aesthetics.
The sloped armor was very unfriendly to the driver. It compressed the internal space and made everything feel cramped and uncomfortable, especially during rapid advances and long-distance driving.
Ral preferred the new Type 5 medium tank equipped by the First Armored Division. That vehicle also used sloped armor, but it did not sacrifice the rational internal layout of the tank.
Unfortunately, he had no idea when he would be able to drive one.
"I know, Ral. You are as annoying as an old woman."
Babuz continued rummaging through the dead.
"By the time the other three tank crews arrive, there will not be a single penny left."
Then his eyes lit up.
"Oh, I found something good."
Babuz tossed over a bloodstained colored magazine and continued, "Finally, something to do tonight. Ral, do not get it dirty. I still need to use it."
Boom!
The moment he finished speaking, a nearby house was reduced to its foundation by a 75mm shell.
Ral raised his binoculars.
A French B1 bis heavy tank was staring at them menacingly.
Several squads of soldiers followed closely behind the tank, advancing toward the village.
"Get in the tank!"
Ral, who had spent a great deal of time studying tank identification, recognized the vehicle at a glance.
"It is a heavy tank!"
Such heavy tanks were rarely equipped in the French Army.
For them to encounter one here was truly damn lucky.
Babuz, whose eyesight was better, saw that there was more than one.
Identical tanks were approaching the village from both the left and right sides.
.....
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