usatvline Chapter 105 Because of you, Europa still exists
Chapter 105 Because of you, Europa still exists
Chapter 105 Because of you, Europa still exists
June 7, 1940, 04:20, Le Havre Port, France, Place Victor.
Sound has weight. But when that weight strikes the ground vertically at a speed of 300 meters per second, it transforms into fear.
Yeah—woo—!
The air-driven sound generator—the Jericho Horn—installed on the landing gear of the Ju87B-2 Stuka, was tearing through the morning mist with a high-frequency shriek of 120 decibels.
It can not only kill people, but also destroy the enemy's nervous system and will to resist.
"Take cover! Lie down! Don't run around!"
"Get off the truck! Get off the oil drums!"
On the square, the soldiers who had just escaped from the brink of hell hadn't even had a chance to catch their breath before they were pulled back by this shrill scream.
boom!
The first SC250 aerial bomb detonated at the end of the breakwater. The massive shockwave, carrying seawater and debris, instantly submerged a Bren machine gun position that was fighting back in vain. Within the absolute lethal circle of fifty meters in radius of the blast center, the shockwave shattered the internal organs of all the soldiers, and a vacuum zone was instantly created wherever the blast wave reached.
Then came the second and the third.
But this was not a random bombing.
The German Air Force's objectives were very clear: to cripple port facilities, destroy cranes, and blockade shipping lanes.
Arthur did not lie on the ground.
He stood to the side of the command vehicle, his body pressed against the cold armor plate, letting the dust from the explosion fall onto his SS overcoat. He still clutched the telegram in his hand—"No ships. Hold out for 16 hours."
His gaze was focused on the edge of the RTS holographic map projected onto his retina.
There, on the sea 12 nautical miles west of the port, a green dot representing friendly forces is rapidly entering the battlefield.
HMS Galatia, an Aretosha-class light cruiser, was armed with six 6-inch MkXXIII main guns.
It came to meet us.
As originally planned, after receiving the telegram announcing the start of "Operation Bicycle," the light cruiser, which was originally waiting in the port, loaded its ammunition and rushed at full speed toward Le Havre, ready to use its powerful firepower to provide a protective umbrella for the 51st Division.
This was a courageous decision.
As part of the original "Bicycle Plan," the warship was supposed to move into an excellent firing position under the cover of night, and after emptying its ammunition, withdraw from this high-risk area at full speed before dawn.
Unfortunately, it was late.
It entered the battlefield at the most inopportune moment—dawn.
A light cruiser lacking air cover encountering two squadrons of Stuka bombers in coastal waters has only one outcome: it becomes a pile of scrap metal.
Arthur stared at the green dot of light charging toward death. His mind raced, calculating.
If the Galatea were to enter the harbor now, its few 6-inch main guns would be useless against the infantry in the square; instead, it would become the primary target of the Stukas' concentrated fire. Once it sinks, the entire harbor would be completely deprived of its only naval fire support.
Arthur doesn't need it to attract German bombs now; he needs it to become the decisive hammer at the most crucial moment.
"Jeanne!"
"Connect me to the Galatea! Use the Navy's emergency frequency!"
"But sir, the radio is on silent—"
"To hell with silence! The Germans are dropping bombs right where I want to take a dump, they already knew where we were!"
Jeanne connected to the channel.
Arthur grabbed the transmitter, completely ignoring the encrypted call sign: "Galácticos! Galácticos! This is Colonel Sterling, acting commander of the 51st Highland Division!"
"Turn immediately! Repeat! Turn immediately!"
"Do not enter the port! Do not enter!"
A burst of static came from the other end of the radio, followed by a somewhat excited voice with a thick Scottish accent: "Is that Colonel Sterling? The Colonel Sterling from Abbeyville?"
The captain's tone showed no dissatisfaction with the army commander's overstepping of authority; instead, it conveyed a kind of respect as if he were meeting an idol—after all, Churchill had called this man who had given Rommel a hard time in a radio speech just hours earlier "the spark of Britain."
"It is an honor to hear your voice, Colonel. The entire crew has heard of your deeds. The Galatea is at your command."
"If you come in now, I'll have to retrieve your corpse from the seabed in ten minutes!"
Arthur had no time to savor the compliment. He roared into the microphone, "Stop your respect! Look up! We're facing three squadrons of Ju87s! How many anti-aircraft guns do you have? Huh?"
Although the warship was less than 12 nautical miles from the port, the morning mist on the sea saved their lives, as the sun had not yet fully risen.
The German pilots were staring intently at the dock, unaware of the large object that had appeared on the sea. But if the sun rose another five degrees, they would be sitting ducks.
The voice on the other end of the radio immediately became tense: "Understood, sir. We need to evacuate immediately."
"Wait, do you see those cumulonimbus clouds in your northwest quadrant? There's a low-pressure cloud cover there!"
"I order you: hard port! Full speed into that cloud! Maintain radio silence! Stay under that damn cloud!"
"Wait for my signal! Even if your own mother is captured by the Germans on the shore, do not fire until I call your name!"
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the radio.
Then, the Scottish captain's voice became chilling and resolute, a testament to the Royal Navy's absolute trust in this nobleman. "Received. Hard port, northwest. We're hiding right under the Germans' noses."
"Good luck, Colonel Sterling. The Galatea is ready to go."
On the RTS map, the green dot drew a huge arc just before entering the Stuka's attack radius, then turned and disappeared into the thick gray clouds over the open sea.
It disappeared.
Arthur tossed aside the microphone and let out a long sigh. Now, it was time to think about himself.
At 04:30, the air raid ended.
Due to limited visibility, the bombing lasted only a few minutes, but for the soldiers hiding in the bunkers, those few minutes felt like thirty years.
When the last Stuka screeched to life, pulled up its nose, and disappeared into the eastern dawn, the port of Le Havre was completely transformed.
Victor Square was riddled with craters, and several trucks that hadn't been evacuated were burning. A section of the breakwater had also been blown up.
The survivors crawled out of the ruins, covered in dust, some with blood streaming from their ears, their eyes filled with terror.
But Arthur didn't give them a chance to catch their breath.
Because the ground started to shake.
-
This vibration is different from the instantaneous burst of an aerial bomb. It is a continuous, low-frequency tremor from deep within the earth's crust. It is the resonance produced by the simultaneous roar of hundreds of Maybach engines, the echo of thousands of tons of steel tracks crushing the earth.
Arthur walked to the front of the defensive line and raised his binoculars.
To the east, under the newly risen sun, a wall of dust several kilometers wide rose on the horizon.
Within that dusty wall, countless black steel outlines are emerging.
Left wing: The main force of Erwin Rommel's 7th Panzer Division. Right wing: The vanguard of Heinz Guderian's 19th Panzer Corps—part of the 10th Panzer Division.
The enemy caught up and was preparing to completely surround the area.
Like two giant iron pincers, the two most elite German armored groups met on the outskirts of the port of Le Havre.
On that RTS map, the red blocks representing the German army were no longer "dots" or "lines," but had become a red ocean, pressing the blue island representing the 51st Division firmly against the coastline.
There was no way back. Behind them lay the icy sea. And before them stood the sharpest fangs of Nazi Germany.
At 05:00, although the Germans had not yet launched an attack, they were waiting for the fatal blow.
But the atmosphere here is so oppressive it makes you want to vomit.
Major Ryder leaned against an overturned truck, holding a Thompson submachine gun that had already emptied three magazines in the previous battle. He looked at the tanks stretching across the hills in the distance, and his lips twitched.
"It's truly spectacular." Ryder spat out a mouthful of muddy saliva, trying to laugh but unable to. "Rommel on the left, Guderian on the right. If you check the textbooks at the Berlin Military Academy, this is probably what they call a funeral procession of the highest order."
"We've got quite the nerve, Master Sterling. That little mustache emptied half his fortune in northern France just to devour us, this bunch of wretched soldiers."
Beside him, Lieutenant Jeanne was wiping a MAS-36 rifle with a rag.
The female communications officer from the French First Army had no expression on her face. Her uniform was so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable, and her eyes were so cold that they seemed to freeze the air in front of her.
"At least we won't need to dig graves anymore," Jeanne said coldly. "The craters here are deep enough. Just cover them with soil and you'll have a ready-made cemetery."
"Besides, this is French territory. Dying here wouldn't be a loss."
These 16,000 people are squeezed into this port area of less than five square kilometers.
They knew what the outcome would be.
16 hours?
Between Guderian and Rommel, let alone 16 hours, even 160 minutes would be a luxury.
Morale is collapsing, and a virus of "despair" is spreading through the air.
Major General Fortune was pointing at a map with three brigade commanders.
Just then, a figure climbed onto the roof of an abandoned truck in the center of the square.
It's Arthur.
He was still wearing that dusty black leather overcoat. In that sea of tan British uniforms, his figure stood out like a black nail, conspicuous and jarring.
The square gradually quieted down. Countless eyes were fixed on him. Some were numb, some were fearful, and some were filled with hatred—those were the soldiers who had witnessed him ordering the ramming of the wounded vehicle.
Arthur didn't use a megaphone. He simply stood on high ground, surveying the faces around him. His gaze swept over each person, as if trying to memorize the features of every dying individual.
"I know what you're thinking."
Arthur's voice could be heard clearly in the deathly silent square: "You're thinking that the bastard commander led us to our doom."
"You're thinking, there are no ships behind us, and two armored divisions in front of us. We're doomed."
No one spoke. But this silence was a tacit agreement.
Arthur suddenly laughed. It was a laugh of extreme arrogance and utter contempt.
"That's right. In a sense, we're already dead."
He suddenly raised his hand, pointing to the eastern horizon, to the German tanks stretching across the mountains: "Look over there! That's the invincible German Wehrmacht! That's the steel torrent that swept across the entire European continent!"
"They've crushed everything in the past month!"
Arthur's voice rose, a certain emotion brewing in his chest: "Poland has fallen! Even their cavalry charging at the tanks couldn't stop the tracks!"
"The Netherlands has fallen! Their dikes couldn't stop the paratroopers!"
"Belgium has fallen! Their fortresses were torn to shreds like paper!"
"Norway has fallen!"
"Even the main force of the British expeditionary force was routed at Dunkirk and fled back to the island!"
The soldiers lowered their heads. Arthur showed no mercy; each roll call was accompanied by a slap across their faces.
That was shame, that was despair from which there was no way to turn back.
"but!"
Arthur abruptly changed the subject, his saber drawn: "But why did Rommel stop? Why did that Bohemian corporal assemble two armored divisions to surround us, this bunch of defeated soldiers?"
"Why did they need to mobilize the air force? Why did they need to deploy hundreds of tanks?"
Arthur roared, his voice echoing through the ruins: "Because of fear!"
"Because they are afraid of you!"
"Because when the Maginot Line collapsed, it was your 51st Division that held off their attack!"
"Because in Abbeyville, it was you 'dead men' who broke through their blockade line head-on!"
Arthur abruptly ripped open his collar and pointed to the concrete ground beneath his feet: "This is Le Havre! This is the last stronghold of the British Expeditionary Force on the European continent!"
"As long as we stand here for even a second, the Nazi victory is incomplete!"
"As long as the flag of the 51st Hill Division flies here, the free world hasn't lost its last shred of dignity!"
At that moment, the first rays of sunlight fully illuminated Arthur's face. There was no fear on that face, only a saintly fervor.
"Brothers!"
"Even if we're all corpses tomorrow, even if our names are engraved on the back of a monument!"
But history will remember this day!
"In this dark age, in this moment when everyone kneels down!"
"It's because of you all"
Arthur drew his Webberly revolver from his waist and pointed it at the sky: "Europa is still here!!!"
boom!
These words were like a high-explosive mental bomb, detonating in the crowd. A flame called "anger" reignited in their previously lifeless eyes. It was the fierce light of a cornered beast fighting for its life, the resolve of someone certain of death.
"Europa is still here!" Someone shouted first.
"Kill these Germans!"
"Highlanders! Prepare for battle!"
"Let them see what Scottish kilts are all about!"
The roar of 16,000 people merged into a wave of sound, even drowning out the distant rumble of tanks.
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