Chapter 424: Only One Day
The Molotov cocktail, though primitive—merely a bottle for throwing—proved to be no less effective than any other weapon.
Its key advantage lay in its simplicity.
Other weapons often required careful design, gunpowder, and technological elements far beyond the reach of ordinary people. The Molotov cocktail, on the other hand, consisted of nothing more than a glass bottle, a bit of gasoline, and a cloth stuffed in the neck.
In just a few minutes, Charles had crafted a Molotov cocktail. He lit the cloth, hurled it into the distance, and upon its shattering impact, a fiery blaze erupted instantly at the point of contact.
"This is the Molotov cocktail. It will make an excellent weapon for night battles," Charles gestured toward the flames. "Infantry can toss it into enemy trenches, and tanks can use the fire to discern the trench lines."
Standing beside him, Colonel Estigny and Tigani were dumbstruck.
Such a simple assembly could achieve results comparable to, if not better than, grenades. Yet only Charles could have conceived such an idea.
After a long pause, Tigani exclaimed, "As I said, this is the allure of war. I’m already beginning to pity those who’ll perish under the Molotov cocktail!"
...
The tanks rumbled over the trenches "filled" with fire, relentlessly pursuing the retreating German forces. It had been only a few minutes since the collapse of the Germans' last trench line, and they hadn’t paused for even a second.
Finally, the German artillery within their fortress opened fire. They no longer cared about the risk of friendly fire from their shells; they could not stand idly by as their fortress defenses were breached.
But by then, they realized they had missed their only chance to destroy the enemy tanks.
At a range of just 100 meters, the advancing tanks moved faster than the maximum rotational speed of the fortress’ gun turrets. The German artillery barrels lagged behind by a crucial fraction of a second.
Firing hastily, they not only failed to hit their targets but also revealed their positions, inviting an overwhelming counterattack from enemy artillery.
Although the fortress was relatively safe from the French 75 mm guns, the explosions and smoke from artillery fire quickly obscured the already limited visibility. Trapped within the fortress, the Germans could do little but sit idly and wait.
Rolf had already given up on commanding the battle. He realized that the fall of Antwerp was inevitable, as the German defenses crumbled before Charles' forces.
The irony was that, not long ago, he and General Marcus had believed they could thwart Charles' plans and halt his offensive.
In hindsight, their confidence seemed like nothing more than a delusion!
With his hopes dashed, Rolf abandoned any thought of escape. Turning to face the rumbling tanks approaching from behind, he stood still, indifferent to the frantic cries of his guards.
The tanks drew closer, and closer still...
...
The battle ended in just over an hour.
The tanks, moving at a speed of 6 kilometers per hour, pierced straight through two layers of defensive lines, pushing all the way to the heart of Antwerp.
This was where the real trouble began. A large number of German soldiers retreated into the city, attempting to use its buildings to organize their defenses.
The Germans had reinforcements, likely in significant numbers, and they were expected to increase over time. Combined with the remnants of units fleeing from the front lines, they planned to trap Charles’ forces in Antwerp with an internal-external pincer attack.
However, without unified command, the Germans failed to coalesce into an effective fighting force.
As Charles deliberated over how to retake Antwerp and prepare its defenses before German reinforcements arrived, a German envoy arrived to negotiate surrender to the French army.
Thus, the Antwerp campaign concluded amidst cheers of celebration.
Not only did Charles reclaim the impregnable "national fortress," but he also captured its facilities almost entirely intact, including fortresses, artillery emplacements, defensive lines, and 23 105-mm howitzers.
...
The next morning, Parisians began their day by discussing at the breakfast table how far Charles' troops had advanced.
They no longer questioned the certainty of "victory," for Charles was someone who would never fail.
The focus now was on how long it would take him to secure victory.
Some guessed half a month, others a month, and still others speculated it might take half a year.
"After all, it’s a nation we’re talking about," they reasoned. "The Entente Powers dispatched hundreds of thousands of troops and a powerful fleet to the Dardanelles, and they’ve made no progress to this day. Meanwhile, Charles has only a tank brigade and an infantry regiment, and he’s up against the Germans!"
Before long, this sentiment became consensus. People believed they should temper their expectations, avoiding the mythologization of Charles and the assumption that he could achieve victory in just half a month or a month.
"This will be a prolonged battle. There’s no doubt many soldiers will sacrifice their lives for it."
"Still, our progress is far better than the stalemates we faced earlier."
"Charles changed this deadlock. We shouldn’t demand too much from him!"
...
Djoka and Camille hadn’t slept all night.
When Camille got up to prepare breakfast, her eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, sighing countless times. Her new radio, which sat by the bedside emitting static, was a constant source of anxiety, as she frequently got up to tinker with it, afraid of missing any news.
Djoka, seated at the dining table, finally spoke up, "It’s only the first day. We can’t keep this up."
"I know," Camille replied emotionlessly, "but I can’t control myself."
Djoka regretted buying the radio. His intention had been to reassure Camille.
"They say this battle could last a long time?" Camille served Djoka bread but forgot to pour milk or slice fruit.
Djoka grunted in response. "You know, Charles doesn’t have many troops under his command, and his enemies are formidable..."
Djoka stopped mid-sentence when he saw the worry in Camille’s eyes.
"They should give Charles command of more troops," Camille grumbled.
Djoka was surprised; Camille had never voiced opinions about military matters before.
"I’ve realized something," Camille sighed, sitting weakly across from Djoka. "The sooner this war ends, the sooner Charles will be safe. Don’t you agree?"
Djoka nodded in agreement.
No nation in wartime would let a talent like Charles go unused. Hoping to stay out of the fray was nothing but a naive fantasy.
As they sat and ate their bread, preoccupied with their thoughts, a sudden cheer erupted outside: "Charles has won! He’s achieved a decisive victory..."
Camille and Djoka immediately looked at each other, tossing their bread aside as they rushed to the door.
"Noémie, is it true? Has Charles won?"
"Who told you that?" Djoka asked.
Noémie shouted excitedly, her voice brimming with elation: "It’s true, Mr. Djoka! The army sent the news—just an hour ago, Charles captured Antwerp in a single day, encircling over 200,000 German troops. He’s incredible!"