Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 183 Charles de Gaulle

As 'Miss 75' unleashes her fury once again upon Charlerois South.

On the front lines of the 9th Division's offensive, a young, ordinary company commander, Charles de Gaulle, had just assembled his company.

News of the failed first wave of attacks had already arrived. Although the specifics were unclear, the dejected appearance of the soldiers who had fled back from the city created an atmosphere of unease throughout the entire unit.

De Gaulle's mood also changed from initial excitement and exhilaration to some trepidation.

He didn't know what the enemy in the city was like, that could turn his brave comrades into that state.

But a soldier's duty is to obey orders.

After the battalion commander relayed the division headquarters' order to launch the second wave of attack, he immediately composed himself and began to give his company a pre-battle pep talk.

He stood before his fully assembled company and proclaimed, "Soldiers! The blood of our compatriots cannot be shed in vain! For Gaul! Charge with me! I will be with you!"

The soldiers in the company also let out a deafening shout as usual, which is a very common way to dispel fear in the army.

As the 10-minute barrage of firepower came to an end, de Gaulle took a deep breath and raised his hand in a gesture of respect.

Then, leading his company, he followed the entire battalion's offensive and launched a new wave of attacks towards the city that had become a meat grinder.

The soldiers trudged through the soft earth, tilled by artillery fire, and advanced rapidly into the town of Charleroi.

De Gaulle's battalion was one of the spearheads of the second wave of attacks, tasked with breaking through the enemy's defenses from the front.

The closer you get to the city, the more pungent the smell of blood and gunpowder becomes.

The moment they stepped onto one of the main roads south of Charleroi, even a man of such unwavering resolve as de Gaulle experienced a tremendous psychological upheaval.

He had imagined many possible horrific scenes within the city, but the scene before him far exceeded his expectations.

This can no longer be called a street.

The entire wide road was almost completely covered by a thick layer of corpses, and not a trace of the original road surface could be seen.

The blue military uniforms and red trousers were mixed together, forming an eerie and bloody carpet.

Mutilated limbs, shattered internal organs, twisted guns, and the helpless hands of some seriously wounded soldiers reaching into the air.
Everything was mixed together, creating a hellish scene.

In some places, the corpses piled up so high that they even formed waist-high mounds.

Blood seeped from the pile of corpses, forming dark red streams that flowed slowly down the street.

"my God."

De Gaulle and his soldiers were stunned, their faces pale and their eyes filled with terror and disgust.

They are soldiers; they have undergone rigorous training; and they are prepared to die on the battlefield.

But the scene before them, resembling a slaughterhouse, still had a tremendous impact on their mental well-being.

De Gaulle felt his stomach churning, but he clenched his fists tightly and forced himself to endure it.

He knew that now was not the time for weakness as an officer.

"Stand up straight, all of you!"

"Forward! Don't stop!"

He was the first to take the lead, stepping unevenly onto the 'carpet' made of corpses.

A soft yet strange sensation came from beneath his feet, sending chills down his spine.

The soldiers followed behind him, moving forward cautiously.

They tried their best not to look at the horrific scene beneath their feet, and simply moved their legs mechanically.

The entire battalion marched silently along this road of death. Apart from the 'plop' sound of their feet stepping on the corpses and the soldiers' heavy breathing, no other sound could be heard.

The atmosphere was oppressive and suffocating.

De Gaulle gripped the revolver tightly, his palms sweating profusely.

He kept scanning the dark windows and dilapidated buildings on both sides of the street, feeling as if countless cold eyes were hidden there, ready to fire deadly bullets at them at any moment.

However, to his surprise, the streets were eerily quiet.

They had covered nearly a hundred meters without being attacked.

Had the Saxons already retreated? Or had they run out of ammunition?

The thought had barely crossed De Gaulle's mind when he immediately dismissed it.

This is absolutely impossible!
The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt; his back was already soaked with cold sweat.

Just then, the first platoon was approaching the corner of the street.

"Da da da da da!"

Without warning, machine gun fire suddenly erupted again from the end of the street and from the buildings on both sides!

The moment the gunshot rang out, the platoon at the very front was as if struck by an invisible giant wave, and a large number of them fell instantly.

De Gaulle watched helplessly as his company's soldiers were torn to shreds like paper in a hail of bullets, blood and bits of flesh flying everywhere.

"Take cover! Find cover!"

He roared at the top of his lungs, instinctively throwing himself to the ground and hiding behind a relatively intact corpse.

Bullets whizzed past his head like raindrops, making sharp "whoosh" sounds as they struck the surrounding corpses and walls, sending up bursts of sparks and dust.

The streets were in complete chaos once again.

The soldiers scattered like headless flies, trying to find any place to take cover from the bullets. But the street was too open, and there was absolutely no cover except for the corpses of their comrades.

"Get inside! Quickly get into the houses on either side!" De Gaulle shouted at the soldiers around him, lying on the ground.

He knew very well that staying on the street would make him a sitting duck, and his only way out was to rush into the buildings on either side and engage the enemy in close combat.

Several quick-thinking soldiers immediately responded to his order, scrambling and crawling towards the nearest building.

However, when they rushed to the door, they were devastated to find that all the doors and windows on the first floor were blocked by wooden boards, furniture and sandbags, making it impossible to get in!

"Damn it! It's completely blocked!"

A soldier angrily pounded on a window that was boarded up with nails to its side with the butt of his rifle, but the window didn't budge. Just as he was about to despair, a dark gun barrel suddenly appeared from a second-floor window across the street behind him.

"Da da da!"

A burst of submachine gun bullets swept down, and the soldier's body shuddered violently before collapsing limply to the ground.

The tragedy was almost identical to that of the first wave of attacks.

These Gallic soldiers, trapped in the streets, once again used their own flesh and blood to withstand the steel storm composed of countless automatic weapons.

De Gaulle lay amidst the pile of corpses, watching his soldiers fall one by one amidst screams, his heart breaking.

He felt like an incompetent butcher who had personally sent his men into the meat grinder.

No! This can't go on any longer!
A surge of passion welled up in his head.

He suddenly rolled out from behind the corpse, pulled out a revolver from his waist, and fired repeatedly at a firing port on the second floor.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The bullets hit the wall, sending up a few sparks, but the fire from the firing port did not stop for a moment.

"Charge with me! Blow that door open!"

With red eyes, de Gaulle roared at the few soldiers around him who were still hesitating.

He took military explosives from the body of a fallen engineer and then rushed toward the door of a building without regard for his own safety.

Several soldiers, inspired by his bravery, roared and followed, offering their bodies as cover for him.

Bullets kept whizzing past them. One soldier had only taken two steps when his leg was broken, and he fell to the ground screaming.

Another soldier's head was blown off by a bullet, and red and white matter splattered all over de Gaulle.

But the company commander, already blinded by rage, couldn't care less about any of that.

All he could see was that damned door, sealed shut with sandbags.

He rushed to the door, deftly connected the fuse to a bundle of explosives, then forcefully stuffed it into a gap, lit the fuse, and collapsed to the ground.

"boom--!"

With a loud bang, wood chips, dirt, and bricks flew everywhere.

The gate, which had been sealed with sandbags and wooden planks, was blasted open with a large hole.

"Come in!"

The soldiers around him immediately rushed into the building.

De Gaulle also leaped up from the ground and rushed into the thick smoke.

The room was pitch black, and the pungent smell of gunpowder made it almost impossible for him to breathe.

He had just rushed in when he felt something trip him up, and he stumbled and almost fell.

A series of gunshots rang out, and the firelight from the wooden stairs illuminated the figure of a Saxon soldier.

The soldier in front of de Gaulle was instantly shot down, but the gunfire stopped just as the bullets were about to hit him.

The enemy has run out of bullets!

The thought flashed through the young company commander's mind, and he subconsciously pointed his revolver in the direction where the muzzle flash had just appeared.

"Boom!"

A muffled groan echoed from the darkness, followed by a dark figure lunging at him with a roar.

De Gaulle instinctively raised his arm to block.

"Pfft!"

A sharp sound of a blade piercing flesh rang out, and intense pain shot through his arm.

He looked closely and saw a bloodstained bayonet deeply embedded in his left forearm.

In that instant, de Gaulle also saw the enemy before him clearly—a young Saxon soldier whose face showed no fear.

The Saxon soldier was uttering some Saxon profanities and tried to pull out his bayonet and stab him again.

De Gaulle groaned in pain, then suddenly raised his right hand and pressed the muzzle of his revolver firmly against the other man's forehead.

"boom!"

The last bullet in the magazine was fired.

The gunshot, which was so close at hand, made his ears ring.

The Saxon soldier's body stiffened abruptly, then he collapsed limply to the ground.

Despite the excruciating pain, de Gaulle pulled the bayonet from his arm and leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

At that moment, the other soldiers in his company rushed in as well.

"Company Commander! You're wounded!"

"Never mind me! Quick! Take over this building! Fight from the inside!" de Gaulle ordered through gritted teeth.

Although they paid a heavy price, they managed to tear a small hole in the enemy's defenses.

Such scenes are constantly unfolding on the streets of Charleroi South.

Despite the fact that the automatic weapons in the hands of the training assault battalion had already caused a terrifying level of damage.

However, the overwhelming numerical superiority of the 9th Gallic Division became apparent at this moment.

No matter how powerful the training assault battalion's firepower is, there are only so many firing points it can deploy, and it also has to deal with attacks from all directions of the city at the same time.

Prolonged, high-intensity firing not only caused many gun barrels to overheat, but also resulted in an alarming rate of ammunition consumption.

The Gallic soldiers, with their extraordinary resilience, just like de Gaulle and his troops, relied on the constantly falling corpses as cover, enduring a hail of bullets and advancing bit by bit into the city.

More and more buildings were breached by them using explosives and brute force, and brutal close-quarters street fighting unfolded on the city's first line of defense.

(End of this chapter)