I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 26

Chapter 26: The Battle Plan

Major Browning cautiously peeked out from the trench, gazing across the Marne River.

Under Gallieni's command, the 6th Army launched an attack on the German flank... Though calling it the "flank" was no longer accurate. By the time the 6th Army had gathered, the Germans had already adjusted their defenses to face them directly. What was once a flank had turned into a front, leaving the Marne River as the actual flank.

The Germans' adjustment was undoubtedly the correct move.

The Marne River lay before the 5th Army, with only one bridge providing passage. The Germans needed merely a regiment of a few thousand soldiers to guard the riverbanks, leaving the tens of thousands of French soldiers on the other side with no choice but to watch helplessly.

"The battle plan is as follows!" General Garde personally gave orders to Major Browning's unit. "General Gallieni will command the 6th Army to attack the enemy flank. They will push toward the Marne bridge and assault the northern bridgehead. Your tank unit must cross the bridge at full speed and support their attack, flanking the enemy. Understood?"

"General!" Major Browning immediately voiced his concern. "The enemy has dug trenches on the far side of the bridge and positioned machine guns. Our tanks are likely to get stuck in the trenches and rendered immobile!"

General Garde stared at Browning with an incredulous expression. "Major, I am not ordering you to drive your tanks into the trenches. You only need to stop in front of them to block the German bullets. Our troops will be able to cross the bridge and flood the enemy positions!"

"Yes, General!" Major Browning replied.

Yet despite his verbal agreement, Major Browning had no faith in this plan.

Nervously gripping his binoculars, he carefully studied the enemy defenses. The northern bridgehead along the Marne River was fortified with a circular defensive line and at least ten Maxim machine guns.

Unlike the French Saint-Étienne machine guns, which overheated or malfunctioned after firing 100 rounds due to their complex structure, the water-cooled Maxim guns could sustain a relentless rate of fire at 500 rounds per minute, unleashing a storm of bullets on the advancing tanks.

If the tanks advanced as General Garde instructed and halted before the trenches, they would face machine-gun fire from every direction. Worse, German artillery likely already had the bridgehead zeroed in, with shells poised to obliterate the tanks and any following infantry in a storm of explosions.

Could the tanks' 9mm steel plating withstand the sustained fire of Maxim guns? Could they endure the bombardment of heavy artillery?

This plan was clearly unworkable—only someone as foolish as General Garde could have such blind confidence!

The 6th Army began its assault under the roar of artillery.

They relied on outdated tactics: soldiers clutching rifles fixed with bayonets charged the enemy defenses in dense formations, their bright red trousers unmistakable even amidst the smoke of battle.

Though they covered the red caps of their uniforms with covers, it made little difference. German machine guns and rifles poured bullets into the advancing soldiers, mowing them down row by row, leaving lines of French troops lying lifeless in pools of blood.

The soldiers were fearless, pressing forward in waves despite the deadly barrage. They trudged through mud, stepping over the corpses of their comrades. Some even threw themselves onto the barbed wire, creating bridges for others to advance.

Yet it was all in vain. The bullets mercilessly cut them down, and an invisible wall seemed to block the 6th Army’s assault, holding back the tide of their attack.

Before working with Charles, Major Browning might have accepted this as normal. This was war—death, sacrifice, and loss were inevitable. Such carnage was simply a reality of the battlefield.

But after collaborating with Charles, he couldn’t stop questioning everything.
Was this truly meaningful?
If the same objective—or even victory—could be achieved with fewer casualties, was such sacrifice necessary?

"Major!" someone beside Browning whispered urgently. "General Garde’s plan will get us all killed!"

"Yes!" another voice chimed in. "To him, this may be just a minor tactical error. But to us, it’s—"

Life. The loss of life.
Each person only had one life, precious to every soldier. Yet the generals didn’t seem to care!
They wouldn’t even spend a little more time thinking through their plans, content merely to order their soldiers to advance, attack, and kill the enemy.

Major Browning saw General Garde lower his binoculars. It seemed he was about to give the order to attack.

"That idiot!" Browning muttered, crouching low and hurrying back through the communication trench.

General Garde noticed Browning’s movements and shouted furiously, "Return to your post, Major! We are about to attack!"

As the tank commander, Browning’s role was crucial to leading the charge.

But Browning pretended not to hear. He crouched low, making his way to General Garde. Once face-to-face, he said, "General, now is not the time!"

General Garde’s expression darkened. "That is not for you to decide!"

"General!" Browning argued. "Look at the other side. The 6th Army’s attack has already been repelled. They are retreating and cannot coordinate a pincer movement with us. We should wait for their next wave!"

General Garde glanced across the river. Indeed, the current assault was winding down. The battlefield was littered with French corpses and wounded soldiers wailing in agony, while the survivors crawled back under relentless machine-gun fire.

"Do your duty!" General Garde ordered coldly. "I will decide when to attack!"

"Yes, General!"

Major Browning knew General Garde had taken his suggestion but was too prideful to admit it.

On his way back, Browning didn’t return to his position. Instead, he turned a corner in the communication trench, moving quickly out of General Garde’s line of sight, and sprinted toward Davaus.

He ran faster and faster, leaving the trench and breaking into an all-out sprint toward Charles’ residence.

The door was ajar, unlocked. Browning pushed it open and rushed inside, only to find the house empty. His heart sank.

They must have left, Browning thought.

At that moment, he heard faint noises coming from the basement. Realizing what it meant, he quickly descended the stairs, knocking on the door and shouting:

"Charles, it’s Major Browning! I need to speak with you! Please, open the door!"

Djoka froze at the sound of the voice, hesitating. Was Major Browning here to drag Charles to the front lines to command the tanks?

But Djoka eventually opened the door—after all, the Major had a gun and could force his way in if he wanted.

Browning shoved the door open, panting heavily. "Where is Charles? Is he here?"

Djoka’s eyes held a trace of caution. "I won’t let you take him to the battlefield. He’s only seventeen, Major!"

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