The Twilight of Empire: Starting from Dunkirk

Chapter 7 Ghosts in the Mist

"Fire."

On the other end of the radio, Captain Dawson's voice was filled with the desperation of "trying anything as a last resort."

Immediately afterwards, the air was torn apart.

"call out--"

It was a sharper, lighter sound of air being cut, unlike the dull whistling of a high-explosive shell. That was the ballistic noise unique to a 25-pound base-launched smoke grenade.

Captain Dawson did not break his promise. His Hound gun battery used its last reserves. The two remaining 25-pound field guns fired at a rapid rate of 5 rounds per minute, hurling all the last box of smoke grenades that had been considered "junk".

The shells flew over the monastery's ruined dome, tracing elegant parabolas in the air before precisely landing at the crossroads blocked by German heavy machine guns.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, nor any flying shrapnel.

There was only a series of dull "pop, pop" sounds, like a giant champagne cork being pulled out.

Then, a miracle happened.

The propellant at the base of the projectile was detonated, instantly releasing the zinc chloride and white phosphorus smoke-generating agent packed inside. Blinding flashes of white light followed, and then, thick, milky-white smoke, like a white behemoth unleashed from hell, expanded and spread rapidly.

One second. Two seconds.

The once bright and clearly visible French street corner was completely swallowed up in the blink of an eye by this thick "Wall of Sighs," which resembled a London autumn morning.

That wasn't ordinary gunpowder smoke; it was the masterpiece of industrial chemistry. It was viscous, heavy, and even carried a suffocatingly sweet, metallic smell, swallowing up all light, vision, and field of radiation.

The tearing "hissing" sound of the German MG34 machine gun abruptly stopped.

But this is not the end; rather, it is the beginning of an even more dangerous contest.

If it were an ordinary second-line unit, they would probably have already rioted by now. But Arthur was facing the Großdeutschland Infantry Regiment—the face of the German Army.

In the half-second that they were out of sight, there were no panicked screams or the sound of footsteps running blindly.

"Nebel! Hinlegen! Feuerbereit machen! (Smoke! Lie down! Prepare to fire!)"

In Arthur's RTS view with the "high contrast filter" enabled, the red outlines that were originally standing looked like a group of neatly arranged mechanical dolls, and instantly all of them lay down on the ground.

Instead of running around aimlessly like headless flies, they professionally stayed close to the ground, pointing their guns in the direction they remembered the British troops might charge.

"Those bastards..."

As expected of the Great German Regiment. Faced with smoke and the unknown, they didn't become a flock of frightened birds, but rather a group of calm killing machines.

"Machine gunner! Suppressive fire with hip fire!"

In the smoke, the MG34 roared once again.

*Sizzle sizzle sizzle—!!!*

This time, it didn't aim at a specific target, but instead unleashed an extremely vicious "ground-skimming" attack. Bullets swept across the entire street at knee height, a trajectory high enough to break the legs of anyone trying to run upright in the smoke.

"what!"

A scream came from behind Arthur.

A British corporal attempting to follow McTavish in his charge was struck in the shin by a hail of bullets, even under the cover of smoke. The 7.92mm bullet instantly shredded his tibia, and he fell to the ground screaming, but the scream immediately drew even more intense follow-up fire.

Several grenades were thrown in the direction of the sound.

Boom! Boom!

The corporal and the private next to him were instantly blown to pieces.

"Don't run! Get down!" Arthur roared, his back instantly soaked with cold sweat.

This is practically a gamble of dancing on the edge of a knife.

If he makes even one mistake, he and his men will be annihilated by this elite German force, who can kill even when blind.

"McTavish! Crawl forward! Don't stand up!"

Arthur lay prone behind a pile of broken bricks, his MP40 pressed against his shoulder, his brain racing.

"Listen, they can't see, but they can hear! Don't shout! That's for the German mortars to give coordinates!"

"Sergeant, two o'clock, fifteen meters away. Behind that fountain. There are two red... damn it, two German machine gunners. They're changing their barrels. That's their only window of fire. Throw grenades! Don't fire!"

Sergeant McTavish gritted his teeth as he crawled through the mud like a lizard. Upon hearing the order, he didn't question it, picked up a Mills grenade, pulled the pin, silently counted to two, and then rolled along the ground.

boom!

The flash of light from the explosion disappeared into the smoke. In RTS's field of vision, the two red outlines vanished.

"We took them down!" The sergeant was about to cheer.

"Shut up! Change seats!" Arthur shouted.

Sure enough, the sergeant had rolled less than two meters away when a burst of submachine gun bullets hit the spot where he had just been, kicking up a cloud of dirt.

This is the professionalism of the Großdeutschland Regiment. Even if their comrades are killed, the survivors will immediately use the sound of the explosion to deduce the enemy's location and suppress them.

This wasn't a battle; it was like two groups of blind men stabbing each other in a dark room full of broken glass, the only difference being that Arthur was wearing night vision goggles.

"Miller!" Arthur looked to his left. "The German communications soldier by the left wall is calling for artillery fire! He's lying in a shell crater! Don't use your gun, the muzzle flash will give you away! Use your shovel!"

Private Miller, panting heavily, gripped his entrenching tool tightly. He crept forward silently.

All he could see was a stark whiteness until the gray M35 helmet nearly hit his nose.

The German soldier reacted extremely quickly, drawing his bayonet the instant he saw the shadowy figure and stabbing fiercely at it.

"Hiss!" Miller's arm was slashed open, but he gritted his teeth and swung his entrenching tool down with a whoosh, splitting the other man's neck open.

It wasn't as easy as I'd imagined. Every German soldier displayed astonishing resistance in their final moments.

"Williams! Eleven o'clock, that officer! He's giving orders! Take him out!"

boom!

Williams opened fire. The German lieutenant who was using his whistle to direct the troops' retreat fell dead.

But the gunshots revealed Williams's position.

"Sniper! Elf Uhr!"

In an instant, three or four Mauser rifles opened fire on Williams's direction. Bullets struck the cover in front of him, sending shards of stone flying and cutting his cheek.

"Damn it! Do these Germans all have dog ears?" Williams cursed, and had to awkwardly retreat back into his bunker.

The battle reached a stalemate.

Although Arthur possesses "full map vision" and can command his men to carry out precise kills, British casualties are also increasing.

Jenkins' comrade next to him was hit in the throat by a stray bullet and was gushing blood. Another recruit, too nervous, stood up to run and was instantly cut in two by a burst of bullets.

Arthur watched as his team's blue health bar dwindled in his mind, his heart bleeding.

This is the team he painstakingly assembled.

Just then, the roar of an engine broke the suffocating stalemate.

Rumbling--

Arthur's RTS radar immediately triggered an alarm.

A huge red cube is rushing into the smoke area at high speed.

"Half-track," Arthur whispered. "Hanomag."

That was an SdKfz 251/1 half-track armored vehicle.

The German commander was clearly aware of the disadvantage of infantry engaging in firefights, and he resorted to his trump card.

But this vehicle didn't charge blindly like in the movies. It moved slowly, using the sound of its tracks crushing the road to mask the footsteps of the infantry. Behind it followed a whole squad of German infantry—using the armored vehicle as mobile cover, they were steadily advancing.

"Smart. Fuck smart."

Arthur couldn't help but curse. This is true infantry-tank coordination. This is true elite force.

The MG34 machine gun on the front of the vehicle was firing short bursts to suppress any suspicious sources of sound.

"We have to take it down. Otherwise, it will bulldoze us like a bulldozer."

Arthur looked at Jeanne behind him.

"Lieutenant!"

Jeanne was lying on the ground, protecting that damned radio in her arms, and tightly gripping the Luger P08 in her hand.

"I want you to shoot." Arthur pointed to a broken lamppost by the roadside. "Just like we agreed. That's the only angle to shoot."

"But that's an armored vehicle!" Jeanne's voice trembled.

"Its observation window was open! The driver was practically pressing his face against the gap to see where he was going!" Arthur roared. "You only have one chance! Wait until it hits the lamppost and slows down!"

The half-track vehicle drew closer. Its massive body pierced through the thick fog, like a monster clad in iron armor.

Jeanne gripped the gun with both hands, resting it on the pile of rubble. Her palms were sweaty, but under Arthur's gaze, she forced herself to stop trembling.

Closer. Even closer.

As the left track of the half-track rolled over the base of the lamppost, the vehicle jolted violently, its speed slowing down for a fleeting moment.

"Fire!"

boom!

A 9mm Parabellum pistol bullet flew out of the muzzle.

The bullet did not hit the driver's eye directly, but struck the armored plate at the edge of the observation window, sending up a string of sparks.

"Damn it!" Arthur felt a chill run down his spine; he was doomed.

But perhaps God truly favors the mad. The ricocheting bullet entered the observation window, and although it didn't kill the pilot, it shattered his goggles, and shards of glass pierced his eyes.

"Ahhh! Meine Augen! (Oh, my eyes!)"

The driver screamed and jerked the steering wheel.

The out-of-control half-track suddenly swerved to the left, its rear end sweeping violently across the German infantry squad following behind. Two German soldiers, unable to dodge in time, were caught in the tracks, making a sickeningly loud cracking sound.

Immediately afterwards, the vehicle crashed into the window of a roadside cafe and overturned.

"Now! McTavish!"

"For the King!!"

The sergeant leaped out from the side, and the Thompson submachine gun's 50-round drum magazine finally found its chance to fire. He unleashed a furious barrage of fire on the group of German infantrymen who were disoriented by the car accident.

The close-range metal storm instantly claimed seven or eight lives.

But this still did not break the morale of the German troops.

The surviving German soldiers immediately used the overturned armored vehicles to retaliate, throwing several long-handled grenades like raindrops.

Arthur knew he couldn't delay any longer. If he dragged it out any longer, even if he won, he would be left with no one to rely on.

He must completely destroy the psychological defenses of this group.

He took the German megaphone he had captured from the small building from his waist and took a deep breath.

To completely crush this elite force, shouting in English won't work; it will only let them know where the enemy is. The most insidious method is to become their mole.

Arthur adjusted his voice, discarding the arrogant London accent and instead mimicking the roar of a terrified German corporal with a heavy Bavarian accent:

"Verrat! Das ist eine Falle! (There's an ambush! It's a trap!)"

The piercing German scream exploded through the smoke, sounding like the desperate alarm call from these German comrades.

Then, Arthur, in his convincingly authentic German, threw the final straw that broke the camel's back at the soldiers struggling in the darkness:

"The British are behind us! There are two battalions behind us! We've been cut off!"

"Panzerabwehrkanone verloren! Lauft! (Anti-tank gun lost! Retreat!)"

The effect of this statement is devastating.

Even the elite of the Großdeutschland Regiment, after losing sight of the enemy, losing armored vehicle support, and hearing false intelligence that "their rear has been cut off" and "two battalions" had their psychological defenses finally cracked.

They weren't afraid of death itself, but rather of dying meaninglessly, especially as victory seemed imminent.

"Rückzug! Geordneter Rückzug! (Retreat! Orderly retreat!)"

The German commander, the sergeant, finally gave the order to retreat.

The gray ghosts began to take turns providing cover, throwing smoke grenades out of the smoke—a secondary smoke barrier—while dragging the wounded back quickly. Their movements remained professional; they hadn't turned into a rout, but that was enough.

A few minutes later.

The smoke began to thin out.

More than thirty German soldiers lay scattered across the street, along with a half-track vehicle that was still smoking.

On the British side, there were also more than a dozen corpses. The recruit who always complained about his ill-fitting boots was dead, as was the Scotsman who wanted to go home. Williams' cheek was graze by a bullet, and blood was streaming down his face. Miller, his arm bandaged, was leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

Arthur stood on the steps of the fountain.

He watched the retreating German soldiers, feeling only a deep, lingering weariness.

"Those Germans..."

Sergeant McTavish walked over and replaced the last drum magazine on Thomson, his hands trembling slightly. "...Fuck hard."

Arthur nodded. He glanced at the map in his mind, still covered in red dots.

"Yes. And this is just their vanguard."

Arthur slammed his cane down on the ground with a sharp, resounding thud.

"Stop grinning like idiots, gentlemen. Take all the ammunition, food, cigarettes, and that damn chocolate from the Germans. Especially the fuel in that half-track's tank, find me a bucket and siphon it out."

"We should go."

"Where to, sir?" Sergeant McTavish shouted.

Arthur looked up and gazed north. On his RTS map, the massive red arrow representing the main force of the 10th Armored Division was closing in; time was running out for them.

But at the same time, a red dotted line leading to the German rear, seemingly a dead end but actually full of life, had already taken shape in his mind.

"Go to the Germans' backyard."

Arthur gave a smile that sent chills down everyone's spine.

"Since they've left the gates wide open, wouldn't it be incredibly impolite of us not to go in, take a look around, and perhaps leave a memento of General Guderian?"