Chapter 379: The Momentum of the M21
The frogs croaked, the cicadas buzzed, and restless souls lingered.
In an open area north of Cambrai, soldiers of the German First Tank Division were busy constructing tank trenches under the setting sun.
Tank trenches, similar to traditional trenches, were deep pits with sloped entry and exit points on either end. These allowed tanks to "hide" within the pits to avoid being targeted by enemy artillery.
However, the German forces rarely needed to worry about such threats, as their 105 mm howitzers consistently outperformed the French artillery.
After all, what else could be expected from the foolish French who were infatuated with their 75 mm cannons?
Such concerns were not for Major General Nicolas to address. Sitting on a waist-high rock, he was deep in thought, staring at the notebook in his hands.
He was satisfied with today’s results—at the cost of 13 "Upper Silesia" tanks, his forces had destroyed the entirety of the French heavy "Saint-Chamond" regiment, likely over a hundred "Saint-Chamond" tanks.
Yet, as Nicolas stared at the sketches of the French tanks in his notebook, he couldn't help but feel troubled. His forces had been held back by these small tanks.
Tanks... with wheels?
What could those wheels possibly be for?
Were they part of a new French innovation, or one of Charles's novel inventions?
Major General Nicolas was at a loss.
This was also one of the reasons why he refrained from ordering his troops to charge at the enemy’s lines earlier in the day. The enigmatic wheels had left him puzzled.
Unbeknownst to Nicolas, he had missed a golden opportunity—a chance to decisively defeat the First Special Artillery Division.
The consequences would be dire. The surviving small tanks would soon inflict irreparable damage upon his forces.
As darkness enveloped the battlefield and his sketches faded into obscurity, Nicolas closed his notebook and tucked it into his bag.
He pondered, "If we encounter such a defensive line tomorrow, should we attack or hold back?"
“Erwin,” Major General Nicolas called out, turning his head.
A tank crewman ran up to him and stood at attention. “General.”
“Tomorrow,” Nicolas said coldly, “your tank battalion will take the lead and charge the enemy lines at full speed. Understood?”
“Yes, General,” Erwin replied without hesitation, promptly accepting the task.
It was a calculated probe. If successful, the main force following behind would overwhelm and annihilate the enemy. If it failed, the main force would still have room to retreat.
However, Nicolas hadn’t anticipated that his opponent would deny him the chance for a “test attack” the next day.
As Nicolas contemplated strategies for luring the French tanks out of the city, the air was suddenly pierced by the shrieking sound of incoming shells.
“Artillery strike!” a sentry shouted in alarm, and the soldiers instantly dove to the ground.
Nicolas, however, remained seated, unflinching.
This wasn’t a matter of bravery—he knew the shells wouldn’t land near him.
Before becoming a tank division commander, Nicolas had been an artilleryman. His experience directing 77 mm field guns on the front lines against the French had honed his ability to pinpoint shell impacts by their sound. These shells would land at least 400 meters away.
Sure enough, several explosions erupted 500 meters away.
Then another salvo fell, just as inaccurately.
Nicolas found it odd. Were the French firing blind, unable to locate his camp?
Ten minutes passed, and the shells continued to fall sporadically and aimlessly—a wasteful bombardment devoid of precision.
A staff officer approached and reported, “Our artillery cannot suppress them. The enemy is employing mobile shelling.”
Mobile shelling involved firing a shot and relocating to a new position, making it impossible to predict where the next shell would come from. In the dark, suppressing such tactics was futile.
Yet this approach lacked accuracy since there was no time for adjustments between shots.
Nicolas furrowed his brow. Why would the French waste shells like this?
As he strained his ears to listen, realization struck. Beneath the intermittent artillery fire was the unmistakable hum of engines.
“Enemy attack!” Nicolas roared. “Get the tanks out!”
The sound was from enemy tanks, he realized. They were using the artillery noise to mask the roar of their engines.
If the enemy was deploying tanks, then tanks would be their answer, too.
However, Nicolas made a critical error in his orders.
The "Upper Silesia" tanks, with their turrets, had far inferior external visibility compared to the "Saint-Chamond M21." Once inside their tanks, the crew became effectively blind.
This was precisely what happened. The German tanks crawled out of their trenches but were rendered useless, staring blankly into the darkness through their observation slits.
Under these circumstances, it would have been better to remain entrenched and form a defensive line with infantry, relying on rifles and grenades for resistance.
On the battlefield, victory often hinged on split-second decisions. A commander’s reaction and judgment could determine the outcome.
While Nicolas seemed to recognize this, it was already too late to change his orders. He could only grit his teeth and command his troops to form a line alongside the tanks.
To make matters worse, the towering "Upper Silesia" tanks stood out on the German defense line like giant markers. The French immediately zeroed in on their positions.
Mortars opened fire first, raining down explosive shells that landed with sharp whistles. Some struck tree branches and detonated overhead, showering the Germans with shrapnel. Screams of agony echoed across the battlefield.
Gunfire followed swiftly, the glow of explosions illuminating German silhouettes and giving the French precise targets.
The "Saint-Chamond M21" tanks maintained their advance at a steady pace. Machine gunners, heads half-exposed, fired relentlessly, their heavy guns rattling with deafening bursts. Any shadowy movement was met with a hail of bullets.
The "Saint-Chamond M21" tanks, armed with 37 mm cannons, showed no hesitation. They closed in on the German tanks, their guns aimed squarely at the towering machines.
The Germans’ machine gun turrets spat fire, but their shots were wildly inaccurate, firing into the night sky without their knowledge.
At near-point-blank range, the "Saint-Chamond M21" opened fire.
With a deafening "boom," a German tank erupted in flames, white smoke curling into the air before giving way to a roaring blaze.
The inferno lit up the German lines like torches. Soldiers, aflame, stumbled out of their tanks, flailing and screaming in chaos.
The French tanks paid them no heed. They pressed forward, their engines roaring and guns blazing, destroying anything in their path.
Behind them, French soldiers methodically cleared out the remnants of the German defenses.
In a matter of moments, the German forces were routed. Like headless flies, they scattered aimlessly, unable to find their bearings in the darkness.
For the first time, the "Saint-Chamond M21" had displayed its true might!