PFC Chapter 42 Anti-aircraft guns laid flat
Chapter 42 Anti-aircraft guns laid flat
Berg East Gate, SNCF Railway Freight Station, June 2, 1940, 13:45, clear, light breeze, excellent visibility.
The streets of eastern Berger are eerily silent. What was once a bustling warehouse district connecting the French interior with the port has now become a labyrinth of red-brick ruins, twisted railway tracks, and blown-up freight cars.
The advance reconnaissance unit of the 10th Panzer Division—an reinforced company of the 69th Sniper Regiment (Schützen-Regiment 69)—has completely taken control of the area.
These German grenadiers displayed extremely high tactical skills. Instead of standing foolishly on the main road, they scurried like rats into the second-floor windows of the red-brick warehouse, behind sandbag bunkers, and under the boxcars parked on the tracks.
In the past half hour, the French 12th Division has launched two probing attacks at the company level in an attempt to recapture this supply point.
The result was disastrous.
The crossfire from two MG34 general-purpose machine guns, like two invisible chainsaws, sawed any French soldier attempting to cross the open ground in two. The few still-burning French corpses in the middle of the road were the brutal price of a frontal assault.
"It's just around the corner."
The Verdun stopped behind a half-collapsed brick wall, its massive hull trembling slightly with the engine idling. Arthur opened the hatch of the commander's cupola, his right eye narrowing slightly.
On the tactical interface, red dots representing the enemy are densely distributed behind the sandbags at the freight station gate and in the windows on the second floor.
[Enemy Unit Identification: German 69th Sniper Regiment]
【配置：步兵班x6，MG34机枪组x6，PzB-39反坦克步枪小组x2】
Threat Level: Medium (against infantry) / Very Low (against heavily armored units)
[Note: Six MG34 anti-tank guns have formed a crossfire network with no blind spots; a frontal assault by infantry would be suicidal. Due to the narrow terrain, the enemy has not deployed Pak-36 anti-tank guns.]
"The perfect killing field," Arthur murmured to himself.
The Germans were clever; they used the terrain to limit the firing arc of the French 75mm guns.
But it doesn't only have a 75mm gun.
He pressed the microphone, his voice as calm as if he were ordering afternoon tea: "Captain Higgins."
"Yes, sir." Higgins' slightly rapid breathing came through the headset, with the metallic clanging of the hydraulic spade being lowered in the background.
"At that intersection ahead, the Germans have set up several machine guns, and two guys with PzB-39 anti-tank rifles are waiting to smash my tank's shell. I don't want my tank to get its paint scratched before it's even had a proper meal."
Arthur adjusted his posture, a smile playing on his lips:
"I want to hear how you play your 'piano.' Since they like to hide behind brick walls, let's tear the walls down too."
"Understood, sir. Weeding operation to begin."
Higgins' voice carried a long-suppressed excitement.
With a screech of brakes and the screeching of tracks against the ground, four Sd.Kfz. 251 half-tracks burst from their bunkers. Less than two hundred meters from the German lines, they executed a breathtaking tactical drift and side-to-side stop on the main street.
Before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, the British gunners, who had been waiting inside, jumped off and began rapidly cranking the steering gear.
The four Bofors 40mm L/60 anti-aircraft guns mounted on the back of the vehicle did not, as usual, raise their heads proudly to search for the Stuka in the sky.
Instead, their gun muzzles were lowered to the lowest possible level, even slightly angled downwards, with the dark, trumpet-shaped flash suppressors pointing directly at the street corner controlled by the Germans.
The Germans on the other side were stunned.
In that initial moment, through their dusty goggles, they thought it was just a normal French counterattack, like the ones they had seen before, filled with despair and bloodshed.
But then they discovered that the enemy forces opposite them seemed somewhat different from those before.
"Warte mal... (Wait a minute...)"
The German observation post on the second floor stared wide-eyed. His brain was frantically reporting errors: it wasn't a French Renault truck, nor a British Bedford truck.
That distinctive wedge-shaped armored front, that iconic open fighting compartment... that's the Sd.Kfz. 251 half-track armored vehicle they know best!
Putting aside why these "Frenchmen" were driving vehicles belonging to their own armed forces, what sent chills down his spine was the stuff being towed behind those vehicles.
My first thought: That's an anti-tank gun (PaK). Maybe it's a French 25mm gun, or a British 2-pounder gun, as long as it's not 75mm, it's not a big problem.
But the next second, this conclusion was overturned.
That thing was too tall. A huge cross-shaped base, a disproportionately long barrel, and that iconic, trumpet-shaped flash suppressor.
"Um Gottes willen... (Oh God...)"
A dry groan escaped the observation post:
"Flak! Das ist eine Flak! (Anti-aircraft gun! That's an anti-aircraft gun!)"
This was beyond the scope of what these Hans were capable of! The German military's training manual had never seen an enemy dare to do something like this—bringing expensive anti-aircraft guns to infantry engagement range for hand-to-hand combat? Had the French gone mad?
No, they're not crazy.
As the dark muzzle of the cannon rapidly leveled under the power of the hydraulic rod, pointing directly at their bunker, all the German veterans realized one thing:
The newly arrived French company was full of ruthless people, from the commander to the soldiers.
But he only froze for a second, which is the physiological reaction time necessary for the human brain to process absurd information.
These soldiers from the 69th Sniper Regiment were no inexperienced greenhorns. As Guderian's elite troops, they possessed a formidable tactical proficiency.
The German sergeant at the second-floor window recognized the distinctive long barrel and funnel-shaped flash suppressor.
His pupils contracted sharply. He, or rather the Hans, were all too familiar with this tactic.
Damn it, using anti-aircraft guns to fire directly at infantry is a specialty invented by the Wehrmacht during the Polish campaign! However, they usually use 20mm Flak 38s, while these lunatics have brought up 40mm Boforss guns, which are twice the caliber, thicker, more powerful, and more unreasonable!
If a 20mm cannon is a chainsaw, then a 40mm cannon is a demolition machine.
What happened to the "French" on the other side? When did that rigid, inflexible French army, clinging to the dogmas of World War I, learn this barbaric, radical, and imaginative German fighting style?
Until the very last second before death knocked on their door, these poor grenadiers had no idea that the enemy had been replaced.
In the same location and in the same scene, they were no longer facing the dying 12th Infantry Company, but the Sterling Battle Group.
"Flak! Deckung!" (Anti-aircraft gun! Take cover!)
Before the sergeant's desperate shouts could even get through, they were drowned out by a piercing shriek that tore through the air.
The German machine gunners reacted with astonishing speed. They were not stunned by this crazy scene. Almost the instant the Bofors anti-aircraft gun came to a stop, all six MG34 general-purpose machine guns simultaneously spewed fire. The reason they did not fire the moment they saw the half-track was that they did not want to expose their firing position prematurely.
But if we don't fire now, the whole building will be blown to smithereens!
*Swoosh—swoosh—!* *Bang! Bang!*
A dense hail of 7.92mm general-purpose machine gun bullets swept towards the British convoy in the middle of the street like a torrent of water, interspersed with two muffled, hammer-like explosions—the roar of the PzB-39 anti-tank rifle.
These German grenadiers demonstrated exceptional tactical skill. They knew the weaknesses of the half-track.
Two high-speed tungsten-core armor-piercing rounds whistled through the air. One struck the upper glacis of an Sd.Kfz. 251, leaving a deep crater surrounded by a metallic blued sheen. The other round accurately hit the shield of a Bofors anti-aircraft gun, even penetrating the thin steel plate and grazing past the loader's ear.
They tried to suppress it with all their firepower. They tried to completely silence it before its damn firing pin could ignite the primer.
This was a textbook, almost perfect infantry counterattack.
Unfortunately, in the face of the absolute laws of physics, caliber is justice.
They were merely the advance team of the 10th Armored Division, and in order to quickly occupy the area, they did not carry any heavy weapons.
Whether it's a machine gun firing 800 rounds per minute or an anti-tank bullet with an astonishing muzzle velocity, they're ultimately just solid 7.92mm metal blocks. They might suppress infantry, or penetrate thin armor, but against a 40mm high-explosive incendiary round about to leave the barrel, this resistance is negligible.
It's like trying to extinguish an erupting volcano with a water gun.
"For the King!" Despite the barrage of bullets crackling against his shield, Captain Higgins waved his red signal flag without flinching.
"Fire!"
Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!
In that instant, the entire block seemed to be engulfed by a metal storm.
The impact point of this medium-caliber anti-aircraft gun is quite different from that of other weapons.
It doesn't have the huge orange fireballs and dust storms of a 75mm field gun, nor the understated presence of a heavy machine gun that leaves only bullet holes.
What Bofors creates is a series of suffocating, self-propelled blast waves.
Each 40mm high-explosive shell that hit the wall was accompanied by a short but intense cloud of gray-black smoke and a visible circular shock wave.
It was as if an invisible giant was wielding an invisible air hammer, smashing wildly along the German defenses at a precise rhythm of 120 times per minute.
One blow and the wall falls; two blows and the house collapses.
With four cannons and a theoretical rate of fire of 480 rounds per minute, it meant that within just a few seconds, dozens of 40mm high-explosive incendiary shells rained down on the building where the German troops were located.
To Arthur, it was less of a battle and more like a demolition operation.
The first salvo shattered their bunkers. The seemingly sturdy red brick walls crumbled rapidly before the 40mm high-explosive shells, sandbags were crushed, and the rising red brick dust instantly engulfed the entire intersection.
As for the people hiding behind the wall...
Through the telescope's high-powered, almost brutally clear view, Arthur witnessed a demonstration of the collapse of human structural mechanics.
A 40mm high-explosive incendiary round struck the sandbag bunker of the MG34 machine gun team squarely.
There were no screams, no struggles—the speed of human vocal cord vibration is far slower than the detonation wave speed of high-energy explosives.
In that instant, the machine gunner, who had been grimacing and gripping the trigger tightly just a second ago, was like a tomato being crushed by an invisible giant hand.
The MG34 machine gun, a symbol of the pinnacle of German precision industry, was also rendered indiscriminate in the face of this absolute violence. Along with its owner, it was reduced to several twisted, deformed, and unrecognizable pieces of metal, scattered amidst the rain of blood.
This is the terrifying aspect of direct fire from a large-caliber machine gun—any glancing blow will result in shattered pieces.
"Keep firing! Don't release the pedal! Smother that second-floor window! I need to be able to see the sky directly behind me!" Captain Higgins waved the red flag like a mad conductor, his shouts even drowning out the gunfire.
The frustration of a whole week, the frustration of being bombarded like ducks by the Stukas on the highway, the curses against those London gentlemen who abandoned their troops and fled alone... all of this was now transformed into the scorching bullets spewed from the muzzle of Bofors' cannons.
He couldn't reach the bombers above the clouds, nor could he reach Guderian sitting in the command vehicle, so these grenadiers of the 10th Panzer Division in front of him were the best sacrifices.
At this distance, nothing can soothe the wounds of a fleeing soldier better than tearing the enemy to pieces.
As for right or wrong?
Higgins glanced at the brick wall that had been blown to dust and sneered.
When the gun barrel is red-hot, morality is melted by the high temperature, leaving only caliber and truth.
The gunners were operating heavy logging machines. Tracer rounds flew in a continuous stream of fire, sweeping from the first floor to the second. The walls that had served as cover had now become deadly sources of shrapnel.
The German army's psychological defenses completely collapsed at this moment.
They could endure rifle fire, even mortar and field artillery bombardment, but this kind of violence that shattered you and your bunker together exceeded the limits of human endurance. The surviving German soldiers dropped their weapons and fled in terror into the depths of the freight station.
"Ceasefire!"
Arthur's voice cut off the furious cannon fire.
"Conserve ammunition, gentlemen. That's for the Stuka. Now, infantry, move forward and clear out the remaining enemy. Verdun, full speed ahead!"
The massive Renault engine roared as the 32-ton B1 tank crushed through the bricks and German corpses, smashing open the rickety iron gate of the freight station.
Inside the freight station, there were rows upon rows of wooden crates piled high. The crates bore the logo of the French Army Ordnance Department.
This is exactly what Arthur desperately needs—supplies.