The Twilight of Empire: Starting from Dunkirk

Chapter 153 The Infantry's Can Opener

July 14, 1940, 10:30 a.m., Kent, Hythe Small Arms School testing range.

The winds of the English Channel blow across the shooting range in Hayes, Kent.

This place is less than 30 miles from the French coastline occupied by the Germans. The weather is gloomy, with low-hanging clouds that seem poised to unleash a swarm of Stuka bombers at any moment, showering death upon this last land of freedom.

General Sir Alan Brooke, a career soldier who had just taken over as Commander-in-Chief of Home Forces, was in a worse mood than the weather.

As a commander who had participated in the French campaign and witnessed the horrors of Dunkirk firsthand, he knew better than anyone the current predicament of the British infantry—they were either running naked or on their way to running naked.

Brooke stood behind a sandbag bunker, his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed on the front.

Beside him, Winston Churchill held a cigar, but did not light it. The Prime Minister's expression was equally somber.

Arthur Sterling, dressed in a dark gray trench coat, stood to the side like an outsider, fiddling with a brass bullet casing in his hand.

"Begin," Brooke coldly ordered.

One hundred meters ahead, a Vickers Mk.VI light tank was parked as a target vehicle.

This little guy with only 14mm of armor was once the mainstay of the British army, but in the face of modern German tanks, it was as fragile as a soda can. However, for the British infantry, who had lost almost all of their anti-tank guns, even this "tin can" was an insurmountable steel monster.

At the firing position, a burly sergeant from the Scottish Highlands Regiment lay prone on the muddy ground. Thick cotton pads were placed on his shoulders, and he held a clumsy-looking long rifle with a large muzzle brake in his hand.

Boyce anti-tank rifle.

This is currently the only anti-tank weapon available to British infantry squads. It is armed with a .55-inch (13.9mm) caliber projectile and fires tungsten-core armor-piercing rounds.

"Fire!"

Bang-!!!

The deafening gunshots made the eardrums of those around them ache, as if someone had detonated a grenade right next to their ears.

Even the burly Scottish sergeant was thrown backward by the immense recoil the moment he pulled the trigger. His shoulder slammed against the butt of his rifle, and his face contorted in pain. But he glanced at Arthur, who was watching him, and gritted his teeth to hold on, determined not to embarrass his superior.

Everyone immediately turned their binoculars toward the target.

100 meters away, a bullet hole appeared in the side armor of the Vickers light tank.

It was breached.

Just as the Ordnance Department officials were about to breathe a sigh of relief, they heard a cold snort from General Brooke.

"Change the target." The general pointed to the thicker steel plate next to him. "Change it to the Matilda's side armor plates (40mm). That's the standard thickness of the front of the German Panzer III tank."

The sergeant rubbed his bruised shoulder, pulled back the bolt, ejected a large, steaming cartridge case, and loaded a new round.

His movements were somewhat slow, clearly indicating that he hadn't felt well from that blow.

boom!

Another loud bang.

This time, sparks flew through the telescope.

The expensive .55 tungsten core warhead shattered upon impact with the 40mm thick steel plate, leaving only a faint white dot, without even a dent.

"Not penetrated." The target reporter's voice sounded somewhat embarrassed.

General Brooke slowly placed the binoculars on the sandbag beside him, a movement so slow that it made the target caller uneasy, as if he were being shrouded in a shroud.

He turned around, his eyes, which had seen hell in Dunkirk, now fixed intently on the face of the Ordnance Department representative.

His gaze held not just anger, but naked murderous intent. He seemed to want to skin the man alive on the spot, and then turn every drop of blood the expeditionary force had shed in France, every defeat caused by poor equipment, into a noose around the neck of the man before him.

"This is the anti-tank weapon you gave me?"

"Weighing sixteen kilograms, including the ammunition box, two soldiers would be exhausted like dogs just handling this pipe in the mud."

Brooke pointed at the gun, practically ready to bite the man in the face. He'd never been this angry with the Germans: "My division commanders complained to me that pulling the trigger felt like having your collarbone shattered by a startled mule. At the time, I thought it was just an exaggeration from the front lines."

"And the result? Soldiers paid the price of dislocated shoulders, and what did they get in return? It couldn't even penetrate the side armor of our own tanks! You're sending them to their deaths on the battlefield carrying firewood!"

"Later, in Dunkirk, I saw with my own eyes our soldiers desperately firing at German tanks with these things. It did nothing but enrage the Germans, making them turn their turrets around and blast the poor gunner to smithereens."

The general pointed at the gun, his tone filled with undisguised disgust: "This isn't for anti-tank purposes; it's for picking the Germans' teeth."

The ordnance bureau official wiped the cold sweat from his brow and tried to explain: "General, we are developing a new tungsten-core bullet. If we can increase the initial velocity—"

“Physics has its limits, Colonel,” Brooke interrupted him. “A human shoulder can’t withstand the kinetic energy to penetrate 50mm armor. Unless you want to break a soldier’s collarbone or make them write their wills before they fire.”

"Perhaps we can try this."

Another representative from the Unconventional Warfare (MIR) stepped forward. He held a strange object in his hand, which was a "contingency weapon" personally approved by Prime Minister Churchill.

A glass sphere-shaped object, covered with a layer of sticky resin, was housed in a metal sheath and attached to a wooden handle.

The No. 74 ST Grenade anti-tank grenade is commonly known as the "sticky bomb".

"This is the latest chemical weapon, General," the official explained, his tone somewhat uncertain but still excited. "It contains 1.25 pounds of high-explosive nitroglycerin. Soldiers simply need to pull the pin, rush to the tank, stick it to the armor, and then pull the fuse. It explodes in 5 seconds—"

"Demonstrate it." Brooke said expressionlessly, not even bothering to offer any comment.

A tester rushed toward the Vickers tank with the bomb in his hand.

But he was too nervous, or perhaps the superglue meant to ensure adhesion was too sticky. When he tried to stick the bomb to the tank track guard, it stuck to his trouser leg like a stubborn piece of chewing gum.

"Damn it!"

The tester was terrified, frantically tearing at his trousers. The surrounding officers recoiled in fear, even Churchill instinctively took a step back. Fortunately, it was a training round, unloaded.

That's enough.

Arthur finally couldn't stand it anymore. He stepped forward and looked coldly at the disheveled tester.

"The only tactical value of this thing is that it makes our soldiers cause some trouble for the German tank painters when they die."

Arthur turned to Churchill and Brooke: "I witnessed that despair firsthand in the ruins of Berg and the street fighting in the port of Le Havre." Arthur's voice echoed in the ears of every officer: "Because of the lack of anti-tank weapons, my soldiers' best young men had to be covered in Mills grenades and turn themselves into human bombs, jumping from high places onto German tanks. They were willing to die with the tanks; that was their heroism."

Arthur whirled around, pointing at the ridiculous sticky bomb, his eyes flashing with a fierce rage at incompetence: "But as commanders, our duty is to keep these brave bastards alive! To let them live to kill more Germans, and then let them go home alive, not to exploit their bravery by giving them these damn suicide toys!"

"Prime Minister, General. Look at this thing—a glass sphere filled with unstable nitroglycerin. You expect soldiers to carry it, braving machine gun fire, and get within five meters of a tank?"

"This is not an anti-tank weapon. This is murder."

"This is trampling on the dignity of soldiers who are willing to die for their country. They deserve better things, not these cheap glass coffins."

These words caused several high-ranking Ordnance Department officials present to lower their heads in shame, and even General Brooke, who was usually tough, showed a hint of emotion in his eyes.

"So, Brigadier General Sterling, what are your thoughts?"

Admiral Brook turned around, his eyes fixed on Arthur. His gaze held both scrutiny of the rising star and a barely perceptible hint of anticipation.

The commander-in-chief had been following Arthur for the past two days: in just two short days, this young man had pierced through the armored and artillery systems and replaced them with patches from Sterling Heavy Industries.

He also heard that at a commando training camp outside London, Arthur had equipped his cousin David Sterling's "private army" with a submachine gun named after the family name.

According to feedback from the front lines, that thing is practically a work of art, a hundred times better than the Sten submachine gun that the Ordnance Department is promoting, which looks like a series of pipes pieced together.

Clearly, this guy is not only skilled in tactical command, but also has an even bigger appetite for business. Judging from this, Sterling Heavy Industries intends to monopolize the entire army equipment market, from top to bottom.

But if what he brings out is really that useful, Brooke wouldn't mind letting him make this windfall.

"Since the Boyce rifle is a toothpick and sticky bombs are a joke," Brooke said, pointing to the empty firing position, her tone menacing. "What are you planning to give my infantry? Javelin?"

"In a sense, yes, General." Arthur met Brooke's gaze without flinching. He knew the general was trying to provoke him. "But before that, we need to address another problem more deadly than firepower: fear."

Arthur snapped his fingers.

Two Sterling Heavy Industries engineers pushed a strange little cart up.

Stirling-Oerlikon 20mm general purpose machine gun.

Historically, Oerlikon cannons were typically mounted on warships for air defense, but the one Arthur demonstrated was clearly extremely lightweight. He referenced the Polsten cannon designed by a later Polish designer, eliminating the complex hydraulic buffer mechanism, simplifying the ammunition feeding system, and adopting a 60-round high-capacity drum magazine.

It looks like a Bren gun magnified three times.

"The infantrymen were not only afraid of tanks, but even more afraid of the Stukas in the sky."

Arthur patted the thick cannon barrel: "This is the infantry version of the Swiss Oerlikon machine gun. We simplified the manufacturing process so that two soldiers can drag it along, or disassemble it into three parts and carry it uphill."

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"It can not only defend against air attacks, but also fire horizontally."

Arthur gestured to the tester to proceed.

The target is a decommissioned Bedford truck, used to simulate a German half-track troop carrier or truck.

Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!

Unlike the crisp sound of a Boyce rifle, this was a continuous, dull, terrifying sound, like tearing linen.

20mm high-explosive shells were fired at a rate of 450 rounds per minute.

Just three seconds.

The truck's cab disintegrated right before everyone's eyes.

Wood chips, sheet metal, and shards of glass flew everywhere. Each shell ricocheted wildly inside the target, tearing everything inside to shreds. If it were a truck full of soldiers, it would have become a slaughterhouse by now.

"Prime Minister, I do not want our soldiers to be able to only return fire with rifles when the German Stukas dive."

Arthur looked at Churchill: "I want every platoon to have one of these. It can't take down tanks, but it can turn German half-tracks, trucks, low-flying aircraft, and any exposed machine gun positions into scrap metal."

General Brooke nodded, his expression softening slightly.

"This is good stuff. 20mm caliber—this is the support firepower that infantrymen have been dreaming of. But Brigadier General, this still doesn't solve our current core problem."

The general pointed to the undamaged target: "If it were a Panzer III or Panzer IV tank, the 20mm gun wouldn't be able to penetrate it. And while traditional anti-tank guns can be issued to infantry companies and battalions, those things are too bulky."

Hearing this, Arthur smiled.

"Indeed. To deal with tanks, we need magic."

Arthur had his men bring in a blackboard.

Yes, it's that damn blackboard again; Arthur seems determined to turn the testing ground into a classroom.

He picked up the chalk and drew a cross-section of a cone on the blackboard.

"General, the Boyce rifle failed just now because it tried to penetrate the armor with kinetic energy."

Arthur wrote down the formula: E=1/2mv^2.

"To penetrate thicker armor, you need heavier bullets or higher speeds. This means greater recoil."

The human body has its limits; we can't carry a rifle that fires 50mm shells.

"Therefore, we need to change our approach."

Arthur erased the formula and wrote a new word:

Chemically charged explosive charge (HEAT).

He pointed to the cone: "This is a cone-shaped hollow explosive charge structure. We place an inverted cone-shaped copper shaped charge liner in front of the explosive."

"When the explosives detonate, the massive blast wave will compress this copper dome. According to the Munroe effect..."

(Effect) This copper is compressed into an extremely fine, extremely hot jet of metal.

Arthur drew a straight line on the blackboard with his finger: "This jet of metal travels at a speed of 8000 meters per second and reaches temperatures of several thousand degrees. It doesn't 'crash' through the armor; rather, it 'burns' through and melts it, like a high-pressure water jet washing away mud."

Arthur turned around and looked at the group of people who were considering the feasibility: "This has nothing to do with the initial launch velocity. This has nothing to do with recoil."

"Even if you just lightly press it against the tank with your hand, as long as the angle is right, it can burn through the face of the Panzer IV."

"We don't need huge barrels or complicated locking mechanisms. We just need to deliver this shaped charge warhead."

"Bring the things up."

Two engineers stepped onto the stage.

What they were holding astonished the officers present.

That looks too rudimentary.

It could even be described as shabby.

It was a seamless steel pipe about 1.5 meters long, without any complicated mechanical structure, only a simple grip, shoulder rest, and a crude optical sight. Next to it were several rockets that looked like oversized mortar shells.

"Lance" man-portable anti-tank rocket launcher, manufactured by Sterling Heavy Industries (Projector, Infantry, Anti-).

Tank, Rocket—PIAT—R, made by Sterling).

This is a hybrid design created by Arthur, combining the rocket propulsion principle of the US military's "Bazooka" with the over-caliber warhead of the German military's "Panzerfaust".

□ 88 mm caliber — a tribute to the German 88mm gun, using electrically fired rocket propulsion.

"Who will test fire?" Brooke asked, looking at the burly Scottish sergeant from before.

"No, General. We don't need him."

Arthur shook his head. He turned and walked towards the crowd, pointing to a thin young man wearing thick glasses.

"You, step forward."

He was a National Guard clerk who looked like he couldn't even lift a Boyce rifle. He walked out timidly, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Will you pull the trigger?" Arthur asked.

"Chairman."

"Very good. Carry this on your shoulder."

Arthur instructed the clerk to carry the steel pipe on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about recoil. This thing has almost no recoil. You just need to aim, target that tank, and pull the trigger."

The firing range fell silent again.

This time, the target was a German Panzer III tank that Arthur had captured and brought back from the French battlefield.

.

Its frontal armor was reinforced with additional steel plates, exceeding 40 millimeters in thickness. The Boyce rifle was completely ineffective against it.

Distance: 100 meters.

The thin clerk trembled as he stared at the steel monster through a makeshift scope.

At Arthur's prompting, the engineer activated the battery circuit on the grip.

"Fire!"

There was no impact sound like the Boyce rifle we just heard.

Only a sharp, tearing sound, like cloth being ripped apart—Whoosh—!!

A burst of flame shot out from behind the steel pipe, startling the observer behind it despite the flame deflector.

An 88mm rocket with tail fins trailed a white smoke trail as it steadily flew toward its target. Its speed was slow, visible to the naked eye, but extremely stable.

A fraction of a second later.

boom!

There was no earth-shattering explosion or fireball like when an 88mm gun hits; instead, a dazzling, pale white flash instantly pierced the upper glacis armor of the Panzer III.

The feeling was like God extending a hot finger and gently poking a piece of butter.

A few seconds of deathly silence.

Then, the turret hatch of the Panzer III was suddenly flung open.

A thick plume of black smoke mixed with dark red flames, accompanied by a piercing whistle, billowed out from inside the tank.

"Detonate!" General Brooke blurted out.

Although the internal ammunition had been emptied, they had placed some accelerant inside for testing purposes, and this current phenomenon means that the ammunition inside the tank has been ignited.

The group quickly ran towards the target vehicle.

When General Brooke and Prime Minister Churchill stood before the still-smoking Panzer III tank, they were both stunned by what they saw.

A hole was left in that thick armor plating that had driven British infantry to despair.

It was only as thick as a finger, with even somewhat smooth edges, and a ring of bluish-purple marks from high-temperature burning around it.

This is the signature left by the Monroe effect.

Brooke leaned closer to the small hole and could feel the heat emanating from it.

Through the small hole, one could see that the inside of the tank had become a charred inferno. The dummies originally used to simulate the crew had disappeared, or rather, had been completely vaporized by the high-temperature metal jet and the subsequent explosion.

"My God—"

General Brooke slowly straightened up and looked at the thin clerk who was still standing in the distance, lost in thought.

If it had been a Boyce rifle, the clerk might have had his collarbone broken by the recoil. But now, he's completely unharmed.

A clerk who couldn't even lift a flour sack used a steel pipe to kill a German main battle tank worth tens of thousands of pounds from 100 meters away.

"How much does this pipe cost?" Brooke's voice was somewhat excited.

"Less than 5 pounds," Arthur replied. "It could be even cheaper with mass production. The rocket is a bit more expensive, but still cheaper than a cannonball."

Churchill excitedly threw away the cigar in his hand.

He strode up to the clerk, grabbed the still-warm "spear" from his hand, just as King Arthur pulled the sword from the stone.

He stroked the rough steel pipe as if stroking a lover's skin.

"This is what I want."

Churchill turned around and stared intently at Arthur.

"Arthur, you gave me more than just weapons. You gave me courage."

"With this, every Englishman, whether in the regular army or the National Guard, whether a farmer or a clerk like him—"

Churchill pointed to the clerk: "They no longer needed to be afraid when faced with the German armored onslaught."

"As long as they hide behind the hedges and pull the trigger, they are tank killers."

Arthur stood in the wind, watching the prime minister wielding a steel pipe at the generals.

"I want to shut down the car production lines at the Nuffield and Austin car plants and put all the production on these pipes."

"I want to put the Sterling Chemical Plant on three shifts to produce RDX."

"I'm going to let the 'spears' grow like wild grass in Kent!"

Churchill's voice echoed across the firing range: "I want every English hedge to conceal a spear that can pierce the heart of a Nazi!"

Arthur lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Amidst the swirling smoke, his self-illumination seemed to pierce through time, revealing a more distant and cruel future.

He knew very well that, in the original historical trajectory, this chemically powered man-portable anti-tank rocket should have been the Third Reich's last desperate roar in the face of the Soviet T-34 armored onslaught amidst the ruins of 1944-1945.

But the true "coronation" of this weapon didn't happen until decades later on the Middle East battlefield. In the rolling yellow sands of the Sinai Peninsula, in that war known as "Yom Kippur," countless expensive and technologically advanced main battle tanks were reduced to burning scrap metal by the cheap pipes and wires in the hands of infantry.

That asymmetrical exchange ratio even plunged military theorists around the world into a huge panic and vortex of "tanks are useless".

Now, Arthur has personally released this ghost ahead of schedule.

He knew that from this day forward, the "age of knights," in which tanks rampaged across the battlefield with impunity, was already over before it even began.

The Pandora's box of asymmetric warfare has been opened, and what flies out is not just jets of metal, but also an eternal curse on armored forces.

Meanwhile, in faraway Berlin, Heinz Guderian suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

Because his proud armored division is about to face not lambs to the slaughter, but a death jungle made of cheap steel pipes and chemical energy that does not belong to this era.