I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Want to Do It Again?

Blood splattered, and screams pierced the air.

Bullets whizzed above the German military camp, their sharp whistles carving visible lines through the air, like kite strings tugging against the wind.

But at the end of these strings were not beautiful patterns but mangled bodies and blinding scarlet.

Caught completely off guard, the German soldiers descended into chaos under the hail of bullets. Many didn’t even understand what was happening before they became corpses.

The officers shouted commands in a desperate attempt to restore order, but they, too, were clueless about what was going on. Their helpless cries rang out:
“Enemy attack! Prepare for battle!”

But where was the enemy?

Prepare for what?
Shoot where?
Everywhere they looked—standing, lying prone, or bleeding out in pools of blood—were their comrades. Occasionally, a shadow flickered past amid the roar of engines, followed by the chilling staccato of machine-gun fire. Bullets, like the blade of a massive scythe, mercilessly harvested lives.

The terrified soldiers froze, clutching their weapons but not daring to fire.

If they shot now, they’d only hit their own!

The cavalry’s horses, tethered neatly at the other end of the camp, sensed danger and reared back in alarm, letting out shrill neighs. Soon, they broke free of their reins, stampeding wildly. Their charge knocked over countless soldiers, who were trampled mercilessly under their iron hooves.

A cart loaded with ammunition was dragged by panicked horses, its ties snapping amid the jostling. Shells spilled across the ground as the cart careened through the chaos.

Finally, a volley of bullets hit the cart.

With a thunderous explosion, the munitions detonated, shredding the cart and its horses into pieces. Flames and smoke rose into the air, forming a small mushroom cloud. Nearby German soldiers were hurled skyward, their bodies disintegrating before crashing to the ground in fragments.

Major Browning, who had been firing all the while, stood stunned by the scene.

He had never imagined the Germans could be so easy to defeat. All it seemed to take was pointing their weapons at the enemy and pulling the trigger…

The sidecar motorcycles careened wildly, their bullets spraying erratically up and down. Upon hitting the ground, the vibrations and inertia caused the machine guns to swing horizontally, rendering precision impossible.

But precision wasn’t necessary.

The enemy was right in front of them, clustered together. Whether the bullets landed high, low, left, or right, they still hit their mark.

However, Major Browning observed that most German casualties weren’t from bullet wounds but from the chaos itself: friendly fire, panicked running, trampling by horses, and munitions explosions.

Finally, the motorcycle unit broke through the German camp.

Charles had given clear instructions:
“Don’t linger, Major. You must exploit the advantage of speed. Slow down, and you’re done for!”

Following orders, Major Browning led his unit back to the highway without pause, leaving the Germans in shambles, like a motorcycle gang tearing through a market and leaving behind utter havoc.

The motorcycles rolled smoothly along the highway, the soldiers maintaining a somber silence. They seemed unable to shake off their combat state—or perhaps they couldn’t believe what had just happened.

After a long moment, someone finally shouted:
“What did we just do? Did we really give the Germans a thrashing?”

“Of course! Didn’t you see how pathetic they looked? My wheels are red with German blood!”

“Incredible. There are only about 200 of us, yet we left 20,000 of them dead or wounded, unable to fight back. How did we pull this off?”

Major Browning swallowed hard. He, too, couldn’t believe the outcome. Glancing ahead and behind, he saw that nearly everyone was accounted for. If there were losses, they were minimal.

Unbelievable. This tactic really worked. Charles had succeeded once again!

He had created another miracle.

Major Browning stared blankly for a moment before pulling out a map. Looking it over, he called out to the exhilarated soldiers:
“Hey, boys, want to do it again?”

...

Von Kluck stumbled to his feet, surveying the scene before him in disbelief. Just moments ago, the camp had been orderly, but now it was in complete disarray.

Tents burned, corpses littered the ground, and the wounded groaned in pain. The surviving soldiers seemed paralyzed—some sat dazedly, unsure of what to do, while others still lay flat, too frightened to rise.

Where was the enemy?
Von Kluck looked around but saw no sign of them.

If not for the devastation, he might have doubted the enemy had ever been here.

A staff officer ran up from somewhere, panting and visibly shaken:
“General! We’ve captured a few of the enemy along with one of their… sidecar motorcycles!”

Von Kluck gritted his teeth and gestured for the officer to lead the way.

There lay an overturned sidecar motorcycle. The gunner had been killed in the crash, his skull shattered, while the driver had been shot through the chest, dying instantly.

Only the soldier in the rear seat had survived. His right leg was broken, bent at an unnatural angle beneath him. He lay trembling in pain, his face pale and drenched with sweat, yet he dared not cry out. His eyes were wide with fear, fixed on the German soldiers surrounding him and their pointed guns.

Von Kluck paid no attention to the prisoner. Instead, his gaze fell on the overturned motorcycle. Its wheels still spun, and he crouched down to examine its structure closely.

After a long while, he stood up and remarked emotionlessly:
“A genius design—combining a Maxim machine gun with a motorcycle. It boasts formidable firepower, excellent mobility, and versatility.”

He began to piece together why his forward units hadn’t sounded the alarm. These motorcycles must have traveled via mountain paths or minor roads, bypassing the forward defenses and striking directly at the rear.

Right here.

Then, as if struck by a thought, Von Kluck raised his eyes to the direction where the motorcycle unit had disappeared and ordered the staff officer in a cold tone:
“Have the 9th Army organize a defense. The enemy is heading in their direction!”

“Yes, sir!”

Von Kluck added another order:
“They may circle back. Prepare my troops to defend the north!”

“Yes, sir!”

As his forces organized a northern defense, the rear units were left to clean up the aftermath. The artillery was deployed in an open area with their barrels trained on the highway. If the enemy’s motorcycles returned, a barrage of shells would blast them to oblivion.

“Come on, you little rats. Let’s see where you can run now,” Von Kluck muttered as he watched the highway from his hiding spot.

But suddenly, the faint sound of engines came from behind him.

Von Kluck’s heart sank. He whipped around, raising his trembling hands to his binoculars. Another enemy unit?

He quickly realized the truth. Through the lens, he clearly saw the same bloodied motorcycle unit.

Damn it! They had circled back along the highway!

As a German general, he had just been ambushed twice by the same unit in a single day!
And this time, the enemy was targeting the vulnerable artillery and logistics units—along with their stockpiles of shells!

Table of content - Next Chapter >>>