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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 41
🕑 Added 2025-02-10 17:01:07 +0000 UTCChapter 41: Maintain Speed
The afternoon had just begun.
Warm sunlight streamed through the canvas tent’s windows. Von Kluck sat in a campaign chair, silently staring at the cup of coffee in his hand. It exuded a tantalizing aroma, but to Von Kluck, it looked more like a cup of congealed, blackened blood, steeped in death and suffering.
“According to the latest statistics from each unit, our army has suffered over 60,000 casualties!” The staff officer, holding the latest intelligence, reported while marking positions on the map.
“The 2nd and 3rd Corps are on our left flank, the 4th Corps is on our right, and the location of the 9th Corps is unknown. They are likely scattered behind our lines and have yet to regroup.”
Von Kluck, who had been motionless like a statue, suddenly raised his head. His voice, though quiet, was chillingly cold:
“Relieve Major General Dümcke of his command. Major General Baldwin will take over and must have the 9th Corps organized before nightfall.”
“Yes, sir!” The staff officer responded quickly and ordered the signalmen to relay Von Kluck’s command.
One of Von Kluck’s strengths was his extraordinary memory. He knew the structure of the 1st Army Group by heart, down to the key officers of each corps and division, their specialties, and their personalities, as if etched in his mind. Without consulting any documents, he could easily make adjustments, never once erring.
After a brief silence, Von Kluck asked again, “Where is the 2nd Army located now?”
The staff officer glanced at the map and answered, “Five kilometers behind us. Given that we are retreating, they have halted their advance.”
Von Kluck let out a neutral “Hmm” and said calmly, “Inform them they may resume their advance tomorrow morning.”
“But General!” The staff officer grew anxious. “The Chief of General Staff’s orders are to continue the retreat. There are two enemy army groups ahead of us, and the British Expeditionary Force has rejoined the counteroffensive!”
Von Kluck said nothing, merely casting a cold glance at the staff officer. That single look was enough to silence him. In the end, the staff officer could only murmur, “Understood,” before relaying the orders.
Von Kluck knew he still had a chance.
Although the 1st Army had suffered over 60,000 casualties, it still retained a force of more than 200,000 soldiers, maintaining considerable strength.
As for the two French army groups… their large numbers were intimidating, but they were nothing more than an illusion of strength.
French tactics were so predictable that Von Kluck could already guess their next move.
The German forces only needed to remain in their defensive positions, inflicting casualties to sap the enemy’s morale. Then, with a counteroffensive, they could rout the French and achieve victory.
As for the Chief of General Staff, he was merely intimidated by the size of the enemy forces. Once the 1st Army triumphed again, the Chief’s opinion would surely change.
I will win, Von Kluck thought to himself. Even if the enemy deploys those “armored monsters,” my artillery will obliterate them.
Von Kluck stood up, moving to the window to gaze out at the soldiers resting in the open field. They belonged to three mixed infantry brigades directly under the army group, totaling over 20,000 men.
These were the empire’s most loyal and elite troops, well-trained and undeterred even in adversity.
Watching their orderly actions filled Von Kluck with confidence. He made a firm judgment:
“Nothing can stop their march on Paris. Nothing!”
As if in response to his thoughts, a sudden burst of gunfire shattered the calm. The orderly camp descended into chaos as soldiers scattered, and a few fell screaming to the ground, struck by bullets.
“What’s happening?” Von Kluck demanded sharply.
He recognized the distinct sound of Maxim machine guns. Yet, the enemy wasn’t equipped with them. Could it be a friendly unit mistaking them for the enemy?
As Von Kluck puzzled over the situation, bullets whizzed through the air, puncturing his tent. A three-wheeled motorcycle sped past within a mere dozen meters of him, its unexpected appearance leaving Von Kluck momentarily stunned.
Before he could get a clear look, the commander of the guard battalion burst into the tent and tackled Von Kluck to the ground. The next instant, machine gun bullets ripped through the air above them with a relentless “rat-a-tat-tat.”
In that fleeting moment, Von Kluck had confirmed the intruders’ identity.
These were enemies.
The Germans didn’t have such motorcycles, and the rider was wearing the distinctive red trousers of a French soldier!
But why were the enemy here?
Why hadn’t the regiment assigned to rear-guard duties sent any warning?
Could it be that they had been completely wiped out before they had time to react?
Impossible!
Yet the reality was undeniable—the enemy was right in front of him, and they had nearly turned him, the commander of an entire army group, into a sieve.
…
The unit that had infiltrated Von Kluck’s camp was none other than Major Browning’s 3rd Infantry Battalion.
At dawn, they had departed from the motorcycle factory on sidecars. While buying supplies in a small town, they also recruited two locals familiar with the terrain to serve as guides.
They successfully evaded General Garde’s main force and entered the mountain roads.
After hours of winding through the hills, the convoy finally emerged onto a highway.
They hadn’t traveled far before a vast open plain and an enormous enemy camp suddenly came into view as they rounded a hill.
Caught off guard, the motorcycles slowed one by one, their riders staring dumbfounded at the densely packed enemy soldiers ahead.
The Germans remained unalarmed, assuming the approaching convoy was one of their own.
“God, that’s at least 20,000 men!” Yves, the machine gunner seated in a sidecar, reported to Major Browning. “What do we do, Major?”
Peering over the lead motorcycle to get a better view, Major Browning gritted his teeth and responded, “What else can we do? We have no way out!”
Turning to the motorcycles lining up behind him, Major Browning waved his hand and issued a command: “Enemy ahead! Prepare for battle!”
“Enemy ahead! Prepare for battle!”
…
The order was relayed down the line.
Motorcycle drivers crouched low, tucking their heads beneath what little armor they had. The machine gunners secured their ammunition belts, chambered rounds, and gripped their weapons tightly.
Major Browning himself manned a machine gun in a sidecar.
“Maintain speed!” he added. “Go as fast as you can! Do not look back!”
The soldiers responded unevenly:
“Yes, Major!”
One nervously asked, “Major, what if there are more enemies ahead after we break through?”
Major Browning replied coolly, “Then kill them.”
Before anyone could voice more concerns, Major Browning gripped his machine gun and raised a hand, shouting:
“Forward, boys! Kill them all!”
With a roar, the motorcycles veered off the highway and charged onto the plain. They cut diagonally along the left flank of the German camp like a dagger.
The Maxim machine gun mounted on the right-side sidecar erupted as they neared the camp, its bullets tearing through the air like a hurricane, sweeping across the German encampment with deadly precision.
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