Blood splatter, screams rise.
German soldiers fell like harvested wheat in patches. Despite Colonel Jonas' command at the front, none dared to flee, instead lying on the ground, looking at the colonel with fear and pleading eyes, as if to say: Order a retreat, sir, we cannot handle it!
But Colonel Jonas knew he had no retreat.
At the rear was the Marne River, with the only bridge now surely filled with people, the main force of the First Army was surging over the bridge like a tide.
If he ordered a retreat, the soldiers of the First Regiment would either be blocked on the bridge or forced into the river.
Neither was a good option and would lead to the annihilation of the First Regiment, so Colonel Jonas could only persist, gritting his teeth and ordering in a hoarse voice:
"Hold your ground!"
"Take up your weapons, whatever they are, and fire at it!"
Colonel Jonas could only give this command, it was the only command he could think of.
Since the war started... or rather since he came into this world, he had never felt so desperate, as if there was no way to deal with "it", only waiting here to die!
The German bullets still could not penetrate the "monster", and the machine gun on the "monster's" head was crazily spitting fire at them, cutting down the German soldiers standing and squatting to shoot in rows from all angles.
The "monster's" machine gun was providing covering fire, while the French soldiers peeking from behind the "monster" were providing precise shots, a combination that made the German soldiers suffer unbearably.
Even lying down was of no use, with no place to hide in the nearby open area, and bullets flying in from all directions hitting their legs, bodies, and heads... the German leather helmets offered no protection.
It was almost impossible for German soldiers to hit the French soldiers who were hiding behind the "monster" and using it as a shield, suddenly emerging to shoot and immediately ducking back to reload, giving the Germans only a few seconds to react.
In his desperation, Colonel Jonas suddenly thought of the French defenses along the Marne River, which might provide cover for his soldiers.
Thinking of this, Colonel Jonas shouted, "Retreat, retreat to..."
Before he finished, the German soldiers had quickly scrambled up and started running back.
Colonel Jonas was shocked, his troops had never done this before, retreating before the order was even complete—this was not a retreat, it was a rout!
Colonel Jonas then realized the severity of the situation; if they only heard the word "retreat" and began to flee, it meant that the worst he feared, a collision with the main force surging over the bridge, could happen.
"Stop!" Colonel Jonas shouted in panic, "Everyone stop..."
But no one listened, the German soldiers' "retreat" was now uncontrollable.
Colonel Jonas had overestimated the quality of his men, or rather he had underestimated the power of fear, everyone, including himself, was on the brink of collapse.
At that moment, a single shout of "retreat" from Colonel Jonas was like a flood breaking a dam, unstoppable.
Colonel Jonas had no choice but to retreat with his troops, shouting as he ran:
"Organize defense at the riverside, defense at the..."
"Whoosh!" A bullet whizzed through the air, piercing Colonel Jonas' back.
Colonel Jonas' upper body lunged forward from inertia, his lower body and arms spreading wide and waving to the sides.
The moment seemed to freeze, Colonel Jonas fell face-down slowly, amidst the dirt kicked up by bullets hitting the ground, and the blood spurting from the German soldiers, and the eyes filled with terror of the wounded lying on the ground.
As pain surged through him and his heartbeat struggled one last time, consciousness slowly left Colonel Jonas.
...
Shire was very satisfied with the battle situation, seeing the German rout, he ordered the messenger beside him:
"Order the reserves to attack the Marne Bridge!"
"Yes, sir!" The messenger responded excitedly.
He was so thrilled by the victory before him that he lamented not being able to personally witness this miracle!
He waved his signal flag vigorously, conveying the order to the front line.
Soon, the signal flag at the front responded "Received," and three tanks with three teams of French soldiers accelerated from the flanks towards the Marne Bridge.
Camille did not dare to look at the bloody scene, but she was unwilling to leave Shire's side either. She could only hide behind the building, hugging her arms while shivering in a corner, and from time to time ask:
"Have we won?"
"Are we winning?"
...
Dejoka looked at the battlefield and replied excitedly:
"Yes, we are winning!"
"Our soldiers are brave, over three hundred drove away thousands of Germans..."
"No, it should be the invention of Shire, it successfully helped our soldiers to drive back the Germans!"
"Other soldiers are returning, we are counter-attacking!"
Dejoka was right. The French Army was originally in retreat, but when they turned around, they found the Germans had not chased.
Not only did they not chase, they were beaten and fled in disarray.
The French soldiers hesitated for a moment, not understanding what had happened and without officer command, but they knew it was time to counterattack. After all, no one would refuse victory, glory, and promotion, so they all turned their guns and re-entered the fight.
By now, the outcome was decided, and the German rout was just a matter of time.
Francis made a nonchalant "humph."
He admitted that his initial judgment of Shire was wrong. This kid's military talent was comparable to Napoleon, at least far more reliable than that Major General Gard.
Then a smile appeared on his face, realizing that he had regained everything he had lost.
The family, the two large factories, including a machine gun production line, and countless honors and interests...
Finally, he locked his gaze on Shire, pondering how he should position him.
This kid's capability far exceeded his expectations; could he control this kid?
Shire did not notice the gazes of others, he only walked over to Joseph by the viewing platform and comforted:
"Everything will be fine, the battle is about to end!"
Joseph let out a sigh of relief, his face softened a bit:
"Yes, Young Master Shire!"
Matthew was driving one of the "iron tins" on the battlefield.
Joseph, closely watching the battlefield, sincerely praised Shire:
"This is your doing, Young Master Shire! You commanded them to win this battle!"
"You saved all of us, maybe even France!"
Shire replied calmly:
"It's still too early to say!"
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Group Number: 961296310 Group Name: Steel Wing Iron Riders
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