Chapter 413 Belgian Guerrillas

The town of Vallo is located in southwest Belgium, only 5 kilometers away from the French-Belgian border.

Belgium is mostly plains, with only the southern part having mountains, and the town of Vallo is right on the dividing line between the mountains and the plains.

A winding road stretches at the foot of the mountain, with a river on one side and a hundred-meter-high forest on the other. The highway bridge spans the ravine between the two mountains, connecting the two sections of road directly to the town at the other end.

On the roadside, elm trees stretched out their green branches and leaves. A breeze blew by, and a few golden leaves swayed and fell to the road, adding a bit of comfort to this summer.

Perhaps because they knew the highway bridge was important, the German army set up a checkpoint here and stationed a guard platoon to take charge of its safety. At this time, the guards were shouting at the tractor that had broken down on the bridge:

"Hey, drive it off right now or we'll push it off the bridge!"

The tractor driver was so anxious that he was sweating profusely. He responded while fiddling with the tractor head: "There's something wrong with it, sir. Can any of you know how to repair the tractor?"

The German second lieutenant replied: "We only kill people. If you don't drive it away within 5 minutes, I will be happy to 'help' you!"

The German soldiers laughed, and several of them lit cigarettes for each other.

A short soldier emerged from the phone booth and reported to the second lieutenant: "I can repair tractors, sir!"

The second lieutenant raised his eyebrows: "Yes, how could I forget you."

The short soldier, named Khalil, grew up working with tractors on a farm until he was drafted into the army a few months ago.

The second lieutenant raised his head in the direction of the tractor: "Go and check the situation. If it can't be repaired, tell us. We must keep the road open."

"Understood, sir." Khalil stood up and saluted, slung his rifle over his shoulder, turned and ran towards the tractor.

Khalil asked the driver politely: "Has this problem happened before?"

"No, sir," the driver replied. "It's never happened before."

"Have you checked the spark plugs?" Khalil said as he took a wrench from the tool box and walked towards the front of the car: "Or the ignition coil..."

Before he finished speaking, he froze in place. What the driver was holding was not a tool, but a pistol. The pistol pointed at him was in the blind spot of other people's sight.

"Do as I say, young man." The driver lowered his voice: "Otherwise you will die a moment earlier than me, do you understand?"

Khalil didn't doubt the driver's words at all, because his eyes were filled with murderous intent and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, as if he was ready to die together.

"Okay." Khalil replied nervously, wondering why the driver did this.

Khalil had the answer in the next second, because the "rumble" of the tank engine could be heard on the other side of the road.

This was a premeditated plan, Khalil thought, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Seeing a tank coming from the other end of the road, the second lieutenant, who was worried about being blamed, immediately became nervous. He threw away the cigarette butt, looked at the tractor, and shouted: "Khalil!"

"It may take ten minutes, sir." Khalil stuck his head out and said, "It'll be ready soon!"

The second lieutenant was helpless. It was too late to push the tractor under the bridge now. Waiting for ten minutes might be a better choice.

The tank "clacked" along the road to the checkpoint. When it stopped, a cloud of dust and exhaust gas came out, with a strong smell of gasoline.

A lieutenant poked his head out of the tank cabin and yelled: "What's going on? Are you watching all this happen?"

"Tractor failure!" the lieutenant responded quickly: "It can be repaired in 10 minutes, lieutenant, I promise!"

The tanks stopped one after another, like a long snake coiling on the mountainside.

Major General Nicholas's car was blocked between tanks and could not move forward or retreat. Just when he was confused, a communications soldier ran up and reported: "General, the tractor ahead is out of order and it will take 10 minutes."

Major General Nicholas frowned slightly and said "hmm" expressionlessly.

Erwin stuck his head out and looked ahead, then looked at both sides, his expression changed, and he ordered: "Charge over!"

"What?" The signal soldier was puzzled.

Major General Nicholas was stunned for a moment and immediately realized that this might be an ambush. When he reacted, he loudly repeated Erwin's order: "Rush over, right away! Push the tractor under the bridge."

"Yes, General!" the communications soldier responded and trotted forward.

But it's too late.

Hand grenades were suddenly thrown out from the woods a few feet higher on the right. They were rolling in the air, with terrifying blue smoke coming from the handles.

Almost at the same time gunfire and cannon fire rang out.

The machine gun was a light machine gun, the "Saint-Etienne 2". It was easy to carry and had good sustained firepower. Bullets fired at the guards and soldiers, and they screamed and fell in a pool of blood before they knew what was going on.

The gun was a 37-gun, and Erwin had engraved the sound in his mind. His unique sound immediately touched his sensitive nerves.

The 1st Tank Division was finished, the armor of the "Upper Silesian" tank could not withstand 37 close-range shots, not on any side.

Erwin grabbed Major General Nicholas and rolled him inside.

Major General Nicholas was about to jump to the left, toward the river, because it was far away from the road.

It wasn't until he was hiding on the inside that he realized that Erwin was right. The inside was a blind spot for enemy fire, and even grenades couldn't be thrown here.

Hand grenades exploded among the crowds and tanks, and the German troops howled as they were bombed.

But the German army did not collapse. They were well-trained and raised their guns to fight back at the commander's shouts. The tanks immediately turned their guns and machine guns to aim at the enemy.

At this time, an embarrassing scene appeared: the tanks could not attack the enemy at a high altitude. They became a pile of scrap metal, a pile of scrap metal with no combat power, and even no defense, because they were aimed at 37 guns that could easily penetrate their armor!

"Charles, it's Charles!" Erwin's eyes flashed with anger, and he gritted his teeth in hatred.

Major General Nicolas did not react at first. What does this have to do with Charles? This is clearly the Belgian guerrillas...

Major General Nicolas understood the next second.

The people may be the Belgian guerrillas, but whether it is equipment, tactics or combat plans, they are all Charles's.

...

Erwin guessed correctly, this is indeed Charles' combat plan.

In particular, the use of height difference to avoid the firepower of the tanks made the German army passively hit. This was determined based on the defect that the firing range of the "Upper Silesia" tank was only plus or minus 20 degrees.

Generally, tanks can have a firing range of about 35 degrees, for example, the "Char A1" is from -20 to +35 degrees.

The "Upper Silesia" has a machine gun tower in front and behind the turret, and the firing range is affected by it and can only be +20 degrees.

With these and equipment, it is not a problem for the guerrillas to fight the tank division!