Chapter 417: The Ammunition Depot
This was certainly not Charles' luck. He never relied on luck to secure victory.
From The Lady in White, he learned that this was a hastily formed, disorganized unit. Most of its members would be reassigned to different squads to reinforce the frontlines after completing their training.
This disorganization provided the perfect cover for infiltration.
Thus, Charles ordered The Lady in White to forge documents and military uniforms.
The documents were detailed, including home addresses and personal backgrounds, all genuine but belonging to German soldiers who had died in the First Battle of Cambrai. Their unit numbers were altered to match a regiment stationed in Brussels.
The group was led by a guerrilla squad leader named Lukaku. Before joining the guerrillas, he was a lieutenant in the Belgian army, commanding an artillery piece at the Liège fortress.
The fortress cannon Lukaku commanded was eventually destroyed by the German army’s “Big Bertha.”
That battle left a deep mark on Lukaku. When he spoke of it around the campfire with his comrades, his eyes betrayed a lingering fear:
“What’s most terrifying is not death itself, but waiting for it.”
“We stayed in the pitch-dark fortress, unable to strike the enemy because our cannons couldn’t reach them, while they could.”
“We could only watch helplessly as they aimed at us, shell after shell, until one struck its mark...”
His platoon of more than thirty men was buried under the collapsed fortress. It took days for rescuers to recover the bodies, and Lukaku miraculously survived as the only survivor of the fortress.
With a self-deprecating laugh, Lukaku often said, “The good thing is that I fear nothing now—because nothing can be worse than that.”
But now, waiting with twenty subordinates dressed in German uniforms in a textile factory storeroom, Lukaku once again felt waves of fear creeping up from the depths of his heart.
He wasn’t worried about his own life or death. Instead, the weight of his responsibility bore down on him: if they failed to destroy the ammunition depot, the German army would block Charles’ forces from advancing into Brussels.
What would happen then?
Brussels wouldn’t be liberated. The German forces wouldn’t be encircled, and Charles’ troops could even find themselves counter-encircled.
The consequences would be unthinkable!
At that moment, a bell on the wall rang. It was a signal from the intelligence officers that the operation was to commence.
Lukaku wasted no time, leading his men out of the storeroom one by one. They cautiously scanned their surroundings before calmly slinging their rifles over their shoulders and marching toward the ammunition depot.
Blocking their path was a German lieutenant who flipped through Lukaku’s documents and asked a few questions. Finding nothing suspicious, the officer waved them through.
Just as Lukaku was about to pass, the lieutenant called out to him, “Are you planning to go in like this?”
The lieutenant gestured toward their rifles with a nod.
Lukaku immediately realized they had to disarm.
Quickly assessing the situation in his mind, Lukaku noted their position: fifty meters from the depot, guarded by over thirty German soldiers armed with machine guns. The depot itself was in an underground warehouse. Any premature assault would likely result in total annihilation before they even reached the entrance.
Without hesitation, Lukaku replied, “Yes, sir.” He removed his rifle and signaled his men to do the same. Though his subordinates exchanged nervous glances, they followed suit, placing their rifles on the rack one by one.
The German lieutenant showed no suspicion, merely grumbling as he watched them leave, “These recruits know nothing!”
Some of the guerrillas began to panic. Without weapons, what now? But Lukaku led them steadily forward. When they reached the depot entrance, he confidently handed over a supply requisition and said, “We’re here for ammunition. Colonel Leo wants to start grenade training—you know, since we’ve heard the French are sending tank units.”
The depot clerk nodded, glancing briefly at the requisition. “You’re saying grenades first?”
“Yes,” Lukaku replied. “Our truck will arrive shortly.”
The guerrillas seemed to understand Lukaku’s intention: grenades required no rifles—just a pull of the pin to unleash their destructive power.
One by one, they steeled themselves for what was to come.
When crates of grenades were brought out of the warehouse, the guerrillas pretended to inspect them, opening the boxes and discreetly removing the safety covers.
“What are you doing?” the depot clerk exclaimed. “This isn’t your training ground—”
Before he could finish, Lukaku pulled the pin on a grenade and hurled it toward the German guards.
The unarmed warehouse workers, most of whom were conscripted logistics personnel with no military training, were paralyzed with fear, staring dumbfounded as chaos erupted around them.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!”
The German guards screamed in terror as explosions ripped through their ranks. Survivors quickly rallied for a counterattack. The lieutenant blew his whistle in the smoke, summoning reinforcements from a nearby unit.
“What do we do now?” one of Lukaku’s men shouted after throwing a grenade. Without rifles, they remained at a significant disadvantage, and storming the depot seemed impossible with a group of burly German workers standing in their way.
“Cover me!” Lukaku yelled.
His comrades were puzzled—how could they cover him without weapons?
Then they saw Lukaku binding several grenades together with a rope. Realizing his plan, they resumed throwing grenades, one after another, while one fighter, clutching a bundle of grenades, charged toward the enemy’s cover, forcing them back with sheer desperation.
Without hesitation, Lukaku leaned against the depot entrance, lit the improvised bundle, and hurled it inside. The deafening explosion was followed by frantic screams from within, as panicked soldiers stumbled out, crying and wailing in disarray.
...
At that moment, Major General Khalil was studying the map of Brussels with his staff, discussing defensive strategies.
Colonel Effry suggested fortifying the streets: “Especially the transportation hubs—we can stack sandbags and erect several lines of defense within half an hour.”
But Major General Khalil shook his head. “No, Colonel. The enemy has tanks. Sandbag defenses won’t stand a chance against them.”
“Then what can we do?” Effry asked.
“Buildings,” Khalil said, pointing to the structures lining the streets. “Every building is a defensive line.”
Effry’s face showed unease. “But General, that would bring the fight into civilian areas.”
Khalil dismissed the concern. “That’s not for us to worry about.”
Suddenly, a series of grenade explosions echoed in the distance.
Startled, the two men looked toward the source of the noise.
“Training?” Khalil wondered aloud.
Effry’s face turned pale as he heard gunfire and whistles. “No, General. That’s coming from the ammunition depot!”