xymnovel Chapter 56 The Final Military Order
Chapter 56 The Final Military Order
Chapter 56 The Final Military Order
June 3, 1940, 07:05, entrance to the command post in front of the ruins of Berg City Hall.
Arthur staggered out of the underground command post.
In that instant, the gentle morning sunlight stung his eyes, bringing tears to his eyes. After fifteen minutes of darkness and tremors, the world on the surface had completely changed.
If Berg was once a city ravaged by war, it has now become an open-air mass grave. The familiar streets have vanished, replaced by a wasteland riddled with craters, resembling the surface of the moon.
A sense of "dead city" wafted over me.
Half of the magnificent main building of the city hall had collapsed, its cross-section looking as if it had been slashed by a giant. And the ancient city wall, which had held Monk's corpse just half an hour earlier, had now completely vanished, leaving only a huge, smoking gap, as if a piece had been viciously bitten off by some prehistoric beast.
As for the Monk hanging on it?
The body was naturally nowhere to be found. Within the absolute destructive radius of the 210mm heavy howitzer, both the flesh of the SS battalion commander and his expensive leather coat had probably been reduced to part of the swirling dust, becoming the most insignificant footnote in this massive artillery barrage.
"Whoosh—whoosh—"
Arthur gasped for breath, his lungs stinging from inhaling too much dust.
He had no time to lament or mourn.
Because deep within his brain, an extremely dangerous red warning box marked with a skull symbol forcefully pushed aside all the chaotic data streams and began to flash wildly in the very center of his retina.
[Deadly Crisis Alert]
[Detection Source: Near-field thermal sensing/structural stress analysis]
[Location: 50 meters to the left of the command post, former clock tower ruins]
[Target Entity: French 22nd Regiment Logistics Transport Truck (Renault AG Heavy Duty Truck)]
[Loader: Bofors 40mm high-explosive tracer rounds (32 boxes) / TNT sapper explosives (5 boxes)]
[Status: Fuel tank rupture/fuel leak/contact with hot debris]
[Estimated time of detonation: 00:01:00]
Arthur turned his head sharply, and a cracking sound came from his neck.
Less than fifty meters away, the century-old clock tower had been reduced to a pile of rubble. And beneath that ruin lay a dark green, vintage French Renault truck.
Huge rocks crushed the truck's rear cargo bed, pinning it to the spot, but the front half and chassis of the vehicle remained exposed.
A pungent smell of diesel fuel, even overpowering the stench of corpses in the air, wafted towards us.
Arthur's pupils contracted instantly. The RTS's [Tactical Perspective] function automatically activated, dissecting the truck's internal structure before his eyes like a blueprint—
That wasn't just a truck; it was a super bomb that, if left unchecked, could wipe out everyone here.
Beneath the chassis, the fuel tank had ruptured due to the shockwave and compression. Thick, black diesel fuel gushed out like venous blood, pooling into a rapidly spreading puddle.
Less than ten centimeters from the oil puddle, several bronze fragments that had broken off from the clock tower's bell were radiating a dark red residual heat.
Sizzle————
A drop of splashed fuel landed on the debris and instantly turned into a blue flame.
Mars began to pulsate. Death's stopwatch began to count down.
"Damn it!!"
Arthur let out a low growl that was almost like that of a wild beast.
He was well aware of the explosive properties of the Bofors 40mm high-explosive shells. Those shells were filled with highly sensitive RDX (Recommended Detonator) compound explosives, and those boxes of TNT were even more potent, capable of detonating under high temperatures even without detonators.
Once the chassis catches fire, the flames will instantly engulf the entire fuel tank through the leaking oil gaps, and then detonate the tons of ammunition in the rear compartment.
According to RTS calculations, the overpressure shockwave and metal jet generated by this secondary explosion were enough to level everything within a radius of 150 meters.
This not only means that the entrance to the underground command post they just escaped from will collapse, but also that the entire elite guard regiment, including Major General Mori, the surviving staff, and dozens of soldiers who just crawled out of a pile of corpses, will be 100% dead.
【Countdown: 00:00:45】
The numbers were ticking away, each second feeling like a hammer blow to Arthur's temple.
There's no time to think. There's no time to explain.
The excruciating pain in my brain continued, caused by cerebral vasospasm due to excessive computational demands; my body was swaying precariously due to previous blood loss and overexertion, and my legs felt as heavy as lead.
But the instinct for survival, and the ingrained logical inertia of a "pro RTS player" seeking the optimal solution when facing dire situations, forcibly took over Arthur's body.
He shoved away the guards who tried to help him, with such force that he stumbled.
"Major! What are you doing? That's a dead end!"
Miller cried out in alarm from behind. He saw the smoking truck, but he had no idea what was about to happen there.
"Don't come any closer! Lie down! Everyone lie down!!"
Arthur roared, his voice hoarse and cracking. He stumbled toward the truck, his eyes fixed on the driver's seat.
The system blueprints show that although the driveshaft may be damaged, the core engine structure is intact! As long as it can be started, as long as reverse gear can be engaged, as long as it can be towed out of this death zone—
Just twenty meters away from here is the moat of Berg.
That five-meter-deep, silt-filled riverbed was the only wet silencer capable of suffocating the explosion and absorbing the shockwave.
【Countdown: 00:00:30】
The flames have already started to leap up.
The oil stains under the chassis began to burn fiercely, and yellow flames, following the trail of the leak, licked the outer wall of the fuel tank and the door panel of the driver's cab like a greedy venomous snake. Thick black smoke billowed up.
Arthur rushed to the driver's side door.
A wave of heat hit him, instantly scorching his eyebrows. He reached out, his gloved hand trembling, but he still grabbed the scalding hot car door handle without hesitation.
Snapped!
Just then, a hand suddenly reached out from the side.
The hand was rough and strong, and it grabbed Arthur's shoulder. The force was astonishing, and it actually pulled the weak Arthur off balance, causing him to fall heavily onto the muddy ground.
"Who the hell—"
Arthur raised his head angrily, his face covered in blood and dirt, making him look like a demon.
But he was stunned.
Standing in front of him, between him and the burning truck, was Colonel Pierre, the French Chief of Staff.
This old-fashioned French officer, who had only met Arthur a few times and seemed somewhat rigid and pedantic, looked extremely disheveled at this moment.
His military cap was missing, his sparse gray hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and dust, his fine staff uniform was torn open, revealing the shirt underneath, and there was a shocking bloodstain on his face.
But the look in his eyes as he looked at Arthur was unusually calm.
There was no fear, no panic, not even the tragic grandeur of facing death. There was only the kind of relieved satisfaction that comes from an elder watching a younger person fooling around, tinged with helplessness and reproach.
"Don't be foolish, Major Sterling."
Colonel Pierre's voice wasn't loud, but amidst the crackling of the burning fire and the sporadic gunfire in the distance, it was as clear as the tolling of church bells.
"Look at you now. You can't even walk steadily, and you want to drive? You can't even press the clutch."
The colonel glanced at the burning chassis, the flames reflected in his cloudy eyes. He then looked down at Arthur, whose face was covered in blood and who was trying to get up, and a smile appeared on his lips—the first time Arthur had ever seen this stern Frenchman smile like that.
"Your eyes are meant for staring at Germans, not at the steering wheel."
Pierre stretched out his hand, pointed to his temple, then to Arthur: "This war has only just begun. We need a brain that can command the battle, and we need a bastard who can give the Germans nightmares."
"As for the rough work of driving—it makes little difference whether there is one more or one less French staff officer who only knows how to drink red wine and draw maps."
【Countdown: 00:00:15】
Flames had engulfed the cab. The rubber tires were burning, emitting acrid black smoke.
Colonel Pierre did not say another word, nor did he give Arthur any chance to refute.
He turned around, his movements as swift as a twenty-year-old. He flung open the scorching hot car door and, amidst the intense heat that could bake a person alive, jumped without hesitation into the driver's seat, which had become an oven.
"Colonel! No!!"
The other soldiers in the distance finally reacted. They stared in horror and rushed forward frantically, trying to stop him.
"Back off!!!"
Colonel Pierre turned around in the flames.
His face was blackened by soot, and his once-neat uniform was now emitting smoke. He roared out his last words to everyone.
It was also the loudest military order: "This is an order! Everyone, stand back!!"
At that moment, his aura overwhelmed everything.
He didn't look at anyone else, not General Jensen, not Arthur. He just glanced one last time through the shattered windshield at the still-burning city, at the land beneath his feet that he had guarded his whole life, yet which had ultimately become riddled with holes.
That was his home.
Then, he slammed the car door shut.
boom!
Amidst the excruciating pain of the burning skin, the old staff officer mustered his last bit of strength and gripped the scalding steering wheel tightly with his hands, which were accustomed to holding wine glasses.
Shift gears. Reverse.
He floored the accelerator.
hum! ! !
The engine of the old Renault truck let out a dying roar, a sound as mournful as a giant beast trapped in a sea of fire.
To everyone's astonishment and disbelief, the truck, which had been completely engulfed in flames, actually started moving.
It trembled violently, its rear wheels spinning wildly, kicking up clouds of mud.
Creak—Bang!
With a deafening thud of metal tearing apart, the truck, like a raging bull engulfed in flames, struggled to break free from the rubble, dragging behind it heavy bricks and falling explosive boxes, and slowly retreating with a teeth-grinding scraping sound.
【Countdown: 00:00:08】
The driver's cab had been engulfed in flames.
Colonel Pierre's figure had become blurred in the raging flames, with only his still-burning rank insignia faintly visible.
No one knew the agony he was enduring—the kind of torture where his skin was carbonized and his trachea burned. But he didn't let go, nor did he scream. The truck's reverse trajectory was as straight as a line drawn with a ruler.
He simply gripped the steering wheel tightly, putting all his weight on the accelerator.
The truck exited the rubble.
The truck drove back across the muddy clearing.
The truck retreated to the bank of the moat.
【Countdown: 00:00:02】
Arthur remained lying in the mud, his vision blurred. Amidst the deafening roar of the engine and the crackling of the burning flames, a very soft, faint whisper seemed to drift through the air.
That wasn't a slogan, nor a shout; it was more like a calm farewell.
"Vive la France."
next second.
Boom!
The burning rear of the truck crashed violently through the rotten wooden guardrail of the embankment.
The enormous fireball lost its balance, the front of the car rose high, and then, pulled by gravity, it drew a tragic arc like a burning meteor before plunging headlong into the cold, black, foul-smelling moat.
【Countdown: 00:00:00】
Time seemed to stand still at that moment.
Only the splashing water droplets remained frozen in the air.
Immediately afterwards, a dazzling orange-red light shone from the depths of the riverbed, as if a sun was being born underwater.
BOOM
! ! ! !
A deep, muffled, yet soul-shaking roar came from underwater. The earth jolted.
Hundreds of kilograms of RDX and TNT exploded violently underwater.
The immense energy instantly tore through the river, and the shockwave that should have spread outwards was transformed into upward kinetic energy. A black column of water, more than ten meters in diameter, mixed with riverbed silt, twisted metal fragments, foul-smelling river water, and—human remains—roared into the air like an angry black dragon, shooting dozens of meters into the sky.
The water in the entire moat seemed to be boiling.
The shockwave, carrying icy water vapor and silt, lashed against the faces and bodies of everyone on the shore like a torrential downpour.
Arthur remained sitting in the mud.
He neither dodged nor closed his eyes.
The cold, dirty river water and silt poured over him, washing away the blood and grime on his face, which dripped down his chin.
He just stared blankly ahead.
Watching the towering column of water slowly lose its momentum and turn into a torrential downpour; watching the huge ripples on the river surface spread out in circles, crashing against the embankment; watching the tire fragments, plank debris, and the still-smoking, incomplete cushion foam floating on the water.
On the RTS interface, the suffocating red countdown timer has completely disappeared.
Instead, a cold, green, emotionless system notification hovered silently in mid-air:
[Friendly unit killed in action confirmed]
Name: Colonel Pierre
[Position: Chief of Staff of the French 12th Motorized Infantry Division]
[Cause of death: KilledinAction (combat death/self-destruction)]
[Contribution Assessment: HeroicSacrifice]
The fire is out. The crisis is over.
But in front of the command post, there was a deathly silence.
No one cheered, no one spoke, and you couldn't even hear someone breathing.
Miller knelt on the muddy ground, still clutching the entrenching tool tightly in his hand. Two streams of hot tears flowed down his face, which was covered in black soot, leaving two clear white streaks.
Major General Mori slowly walked over.
The old general seemed to have aged ten years in an instant. His back hunched over, as if crushed by an invisible burden.
He took off his military cap, blackened by gunfire, revealing his gray hair.
He didn't look at Arthur, nor at anyone else. He simply stood straight on the muddy riverbank, facing the bubbling, gradually calming water, and slowly and solemnly raised his right hand in a perfect French military salute.
I haven't been able to let it go for a long time.
The wind blew by, carrying the smell of gunpowder from the river and a chilling, heartbreaking scent.
Arthur braced himself against the ground, his fingers digging deep into the soil, and struggled to his feet.
He felt neither the joy of victory nor the relief of surviving a close call. The excruciating pain in his brain caused by overload continued, as if a saw was cutting into his nerves, but another, deeper, colder sensation filled his chest.
That's debt.
He looked at the river that had swallowed Colonel Pierre, and at the wreckage that was slowly sinking to the bottom.
He knew that from this moment on, on this damned battlefield of Berg, there would be no more so-called "alliance divide" between the British and the French, nor any more calculations of "mutual exploitation".
It wasn't because of any noble covenant, nor because of any shared democratic ideals.
It was a death pact forged with blood—the blood of a French colonel who sacrificed himself to protect his command post and a British ally.
There is no extra time for mourning; this debt must be repaid with the lives of Germans.
"Clean up the scene."
Arthur spoke.
His voice was as cold as ice, eerily calm. He issued the order without any emotion, as if the person who had just died was merely an insignificant data unit: "Sapper Company, inspect the damage to the riverbank."
"Air defense company, redeploy Bofors gun positions."
"Everyone, return to your combat positions immediately."
He turned away, not glancing at the river again, not even bothering to wipe the mud from his face. Dragging his weary body, he walked step by step back to the underground command post, still reeking of death.
Just as he turned around, those nearby, McTavish, saw that the major was gripping the silver-tipped cane tightly in his left hand, his knuckles white from the excessive force, and the silver tip of the cane was almost deformed from being squeezed.
It's almost dawn.
A pale, liver-colored dawn broke over the eastern horizon, but beneath that morning light, countless grey-clad German soldiers were regrouping.
For Berger, the darkest hour had arrived.
There will be two updates tonight to make up for the ten chapters I missed.
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