usatvline Chapter 96 The Twilight of the Empire
Chapter 96 The Twilight of the Empire
Chapter 96 The Twilight of the Empire
June 6, 1940, 18:00, London, England, Whitehall, Cabinet War Room.
The striker of the teletype machine struck the ribbon in a monotonous and rapid rhythm.
In this underground bunker filled with the smells of stale tobacco, damp mildew, and anxiety, this machine is the only neural link connecting the British Empire to the front lines of the collapse of continental Europe.
For the past two weeks, no, to be precise, a month, the paper rolls spit out here have been printed with only words of despair: "defeat," "surrounded," "communications cut off," and "request for evacuation."
But today, when the communications officer ripped off the long strip of paper, his finger paused for a full three seconds on the bold black text.
His cephalic pores underwent physiological contraction.
It's not because of fear. It's because the brain is trying to decipher information that contradicts the logic of the current battlefield.
Instead of following the standard procedure of registration, the staff officer pushed open the door to the intelligence officer's office, his hurried steps causing the military police in the corridor to instinctively grip their submachine guns.
Five minutes later, the telegram was placed on Winston Churchill's oak table, which was piled high with maps and whiskey glasses.
It was a joint telegram from the Abbeville region of France.
[From: Major General Victor Fortune, Commander of the British 51st Hill Division]
[Signatures:]
Colonel Arthur Sterling, Commander of Sterling Battle Group
1”P. P1”L1A
Encryption Level: Highest (Morse Level)
【text:】
[To the Imperial General Staff and His Excellency the Prime Minister:]
[My unit (51st Highland Division) successfully linked up with Sterling Battle Group, which was advancing south, at 14:30 today near the Abbeville Bridge on the Somme River.]
[Colonel Sterling's unit, in the ensuing engagement, decisively defeated the vanguard of the German 7th Panzer Division, which was attempting to blockade the Somme River crossing. They destroyed over 30 enemy tanks, a heavy artillery position, and managed to break out completely from the fire of the German 78th Artillery Regiment.]
Currently, our two units have completed tactical integration. Colonel Sterling has taken over command of the frontline armored forces. The main force of the enemy's 7th Armored Division is stalled and is undergoing reorganization.
The road to Le Havre is now open. We will bring everyone home.
God bless our King.
Churchill's hand holding the cigar trembled.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the words "converge" and "crush".
If it came from someone else, he would assume it was a false report of military intelligence, or the delusions of a mentally unstable commander on his deathbed.
But that was Arthur Sterling. The madman who single-handedly caused Guderian unrest on the outskirts of Dunkirk.
"Ismay," Churchill's voice was deep, with a resounding boom that seemed to come from the depths of his chest, "tell me, how did the General Staff assess this operation?"
General Hastings Ismay, Churchill's Chief of Staff, looked as if he had just witnessed a physics miracle.
"Your Excellency Prime Minister, from a military perspective, this is impossible."
Ismay walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall, picked up a red and blue pencil, drew a circle in Abbeville in northern France, and then extended a red line northward: "This is not in line with the Germans' usual way of fighting."
"It has always been the German armored divisions that have used speed and concentrated firepower to penetrate deep into our infantry lines from both flanks. This is the core logic of their proud blitzkrieg."
"Because their tanks are faster and more mobile."
"But our Lord Sterling made a decision that was completely contrary to dogma."
In private, Ismay subconsciously omitted the title "colonel." For people like them, at the heart of imperial power, lineage and peerage were far more distinctive than an army rank.
His finger traced the red line heavily, as if he wanted to slice through the German lines on the map. He didn't know how Arthur had done it, but he knew the other's starting and ending points: "According to the French major general, when they parted ways, they had less than a battalion of troops, and their vehicles were hastily assembled. But he chose to advance in the opposite direction. He started from Nieuport, traversed the entire German rear of the campaign, crossed the junction of the 6th Army, and finally, at Abbeville—Rommel's toughest front—he forcibly tore a gap open."
"His combat group was like a needle, piercing against the floodwaters. Not only was it not broken, but it also pulled everyone else out of the flood."
"This is a reverse blitzkrieg. And it was accomplished with almost no air support and absolutely no logistical support."
Churchill remained silent.
He took a deep drag on his cigar, the smoke billowing out in front of the map.
In that instant, the seasoned politician saw more than just a tactical victory.
A soldier's mindset stops at maps, while a politician's mindset transforms them into assets.
He saw it as leverage to demand aid from Washington, as a hope to prolong the wartime cabinet, and most importantly, as a dagger called "shame" that could be plunged deep into the fragile spine of France.
"Prepare for broadcast."
Churchill turned around abruptly, and his back, which had been hunched over for the past few days, suddenly straightened up.
"8 PM tonight. BBC Global News."
"I want to tell England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, France, America, and the whole world."
"We still have a nail in our hand on the European continent."
1940年6月6日，20：00。伦敦，BBC广播大楼，B2播音室。
The red "ONAIR" indicator light is on.
Winston Churchill adjusted his black-rimmed glasses in front of the microphone. London had just finished a round of air raid sirens, and the air still smelled of burning. Across the British Isles, millions of families sat around their radios, waiting in the darkness for news from London.
Recent news has been all bad: Norway has fallen, the Netherlands has surrendered, Belgium has knelt down, and although Dunkirk evacuated its people, it lost all its equipment and, more importantly, its courage.
National morale has plummeted to rock bottom.
They need a boost.
Churchill cleared his throat, and his distinctive, deep voice, a blend of aristocratic cadence and alcohol-induced huskiness, traveled through the fog of the English Channel on the radio waves.
"I am Winston Churchill."
"Tonight, as the shadow of tyranny hangs over the continent of Europe, as our allies waver in despair, as the flame of freedom seems about to be extinguished across the Channel—"
"I have some news to tell everyone."
"In northern France, on the banks of the Somme, on the land where our fathers shed their blood, the flag of the United Kingdom still flies."
Churchill paused, a common speaking technique of his, to allow the audience to digest the weight of the information.
"A lone force known as the Sterling Battle Group, led by Colonel Arthur Sterling, refused to surrender and refused to retreat."
"They did not lay down their arms as some had predicted. Instead, they chose to advance north. They were like a red-hot steel nail, driven deep into the heart of the Nazi armored onslaught."
"This afternoon, they routed the vanguard of the German armored division, which they were so proud of, and successfully joined up with our 51st Hill Division on the Abbeville Bridge."
At that moment, in countless London pubs, the clinking of glasses ceased. In the air-raid shelter, a crying child had his mouth covered by his mother.
Everyone held their breath, processing the weight that name carried.
"Sterling—"
In the smoky underground pub of Soho, an elderly World War I veteran suddenly stood up. Tears welled in his single, remaining eye as he recognized the name: "That's someone from the Sterling family! That's the son of the fourteenth Earl!"
In Britain, class is ingrained. Workers often ridicule aristocratic officers who only know how to drink afternoon tea. But the Stirling family is different. Throughout the long history of the empire, this surname has consistently appeared at the top of the list of the fallen.
"I knew it! Those noble gentlemen aren't all dead yet!"
The old soldier raised his stout and roared into the radio, "That Sterling is beating up the Germans! On the Somme! Just like I did back in the day!"
boom!
Upon hearing this, London, which had been feeling stifled for two whole weeks, instantly erupted in excitement.
This was no longer a simple tactical breakout.
For these ordinary people, this meant that the "backbone" of the British Empire—that ancient, martial, arrogant but truly willing-to-die aristocratic class—still existed.
"Homage to Lord Sterling! Homage to that madman!"
Countless glasses clinked together, beer foam splashing everywhere. People no longer discussed surrendering, no longer discussed fleeing. For even the count's son was holding out to the death, what reason did they have to give up?
Meanwhile, at Buckingham Palace, in the King's private living quarters.
King George VI, a monarch who usually appears somewhat insecure due to his stutter, is standing in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window.
He held a glass of Scotch whisky without ice in his hand, his knuckles clenched.
Churchill's broadcast continued on the radio.
"He did it—Elizabeth, he really did it."
The king turned abruptly and looked at the queen behind him. His eyes, which were usually slightly hesitant, were clearer than ever before.
As the monarch of the empire, he knew better than anyone how dire the situation was at the front. If the main force of the army were annihilated in France, the very foundation of the Windsor dynasty's rule could very well collapse.
But now, Arthur Sterling has single-handedly held up this cornerstone.
"That's Archibald's (the old count's) son, isn't he?"
The king set down his wine glass, even forgetting royal decorum in his excitement, and paced rapidly across the carpet: "I remember that young man. He was number one in Sandhurst. God, the Sterling family—they always manage to step up when the country is on the verge of collapse."
The king walked to his desk and picked up a battle report that had just been delivered—it recorded the number of German tanks Arthur had destroyed.
"If he comes back alive—"
King George VI suddenly stopped and turned to look at the huge royal family portrait on the wall, his gaze lingering on him when he was only 14 years old.
The portrait of the eldest daughter, Princess Elizabeth, who was 18 years old.
An idea that was almost absurd, yet extremely politically tempting, flashed through the king's mind.
"If he can bring the 51st Division back, he will be the savior of this country."
The King took a deep breath and said to the Queen, half-jokingly but with utmost seriousness, "Perhaps we should consider a marriage alliance between the royal family and the old military nobility. If Lilibette were a few years older—I would even consider betrothing her to Lord Stirling."
"Britain needs a hero right now."
"And nothing can solidify the glory of the crown more than a war hero who marries a princess."
Li8n8
Churchill's speech continued.
"This is not merely a military victory for the kingdom."
Churchill's voice rose an octave, carrying an almost reverent solemnity: "This is a signal."
"This proves to the world that as long as one British soldier stands on European soil, freedom has not fallen."
These words, transmitted via radio waves, not only reached every household in London, but also crossed the English Channel to Bordeaux, the temporary capital of France at that time, which was in chaos.
The situation there had completely deteriorated, going beyond the definition of "defeat" and evolving into a sociological collapse.
The "Wei Gang Line," which General Maime Weygand painstakingly built after taking command, has now become the biggest joke in military textbooks.
His so-called "Hedgehog Defense"—abandoning linear defense and establishing circular strongholds in villages and towns—was meaningless against the German armored formations. Guderian and Hoth's armored corps completely ignored those isolated strongholds, instead penetrating directly through the gaps in the defensive lines, cutting off the French supply lines and communication networks.
The Somme and Aisne defenses were breached by the Germans within 48 hours.
The French 7th and 10th Armies were no longer organized combat units; they had been scattered into countless disorganized company and platoon-sized fragments. Officers tore off their shoulder insignia, soldiers threw away their Lebel rifles, and mingled with the retreating crowds, running wildly south.
This retreat was completely blocked by the "Great Escape" of refugees.
Every major road and every country dirt road leading to Paris and Bordeaux was filled with millions of terrified French civilians. Mattresses were strapped to the roofs of cars, and horse-drawn carriages were piled high with belongings. The vital transportation arteries, originally used for military mobilization, were now fatally clogged and completely blocked.
This is precisely the German Air Force's favorite firing range.
U-87 Stuka dive bombers, like vultures smelling carrion, circled overhead in flocks.
They were in no hurry to drop bombs. German pilots would first turn on the Jericho Horn bagpipes on the landing gear, using the terrifying shrieks to break down the psychological defenses of the people on the ground.
As the shrieking sound reached its peak, the machine gun began to fire.
What the French faced was not war, but slaughter.
The 20mm cannon ammunition belts ripped bloody furrows through the crowded refugees and fleeing soldiers. Burning Citroën cars, shattered horse carcasses, and the screams of countless dead and wounded turned the rich fields of France into a living hell.
Just an hour earlier, Churchill had hung up the phone with French Prime Minister Reynolds.
On the phone, Reynolds' voice was filled with despair and collapse, even unusually trembling with emotion in front of Churchill: "General Weygand says the fighting is over. If Britain doesn't commit all its fighter planes, France will have no choice but to seek a ceasefire."
At that time, Churchill had no leverage. He could not refute Weygand's assertion that "the German army is invincible."
But now, he has been given a shot in the arm.
Churchill clenched his fist, revealing his true intentions to the microphone.
This is his real purpose—blatant moral blackmail!
"This proves to our allies that resistance is not futile, and surrender is not the only way out!"
"If a lone British force, lacking supplies and cut off from retreat, could break through the defenses of a Nazi armored division amidst encirclement, then what reason does France, with its million-strong army, the world's largest army, the world's fourth-largest fleet, and vast colonies, have to talk about a 'ceasefire' at this moment?!"
That was a resounding slap in the face.
Churchill is using Arthur's victory to put the French government of Reynolds, which is preparing to discuss surrender in Bordeaux, and the "peace faction" led by Marshal Pétain, in a difficult position.
His logic is unassailable and extremely cruel: if a British regiment can defeat Rommel and survive in that deadly land, what is your French army group doing? What is your marshal doing?
Arthur Sterling's victory stripped the last fig leaf from the French people's "dignified surrender."
"Colonel Sterling and the warriors of the 51st Hill Division, they protected not only thirteen thousand precious lives!"
"They are using their blood and steel to defend the last vestige of dignity in the civilized world!"
"In that dark night in Europe, trampled under the Nazi iron heel and shrouded in silence, they were the only light that refused to be extinguished."
A lone star that refuses to remain silent, still burning brightly!
Churchill paused for a second, then, with all his remaining strength, uttered his final vow: "Since the Lone Star still burns, we will not stand idly by!"
"Let the fleet set sail! Let the planes take to the skies! Let the will of the entire British Empire ignite!"
"We will cross the strait; we will transform into raging flames, becoming torches guiding our heroes home!"
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