Chapter 41
Cambrai (2)
November 20.
The British left and right wings successfully achieved coordinated advances and completely shattered the German positions.
And at the very edge, the 326th Light Tank Battalion and the advancing British forces achieved the honor of being the first to enter the Hindenburg Line.
A great victory!
The British had advanced a full 10 kilometers and approached the key objective—the city of Cambrai.
At Passchendaele, how many kilometers had they gained in exchange for burying hundreds of thousands in mud?
In this war, where tens of thousands were buried in the ground just to advance 1 kilometer, a glimmer of hope finally appeared.
All across Britain, people were swept up in the joy of victory. Church bells rang wildly, and citizens poured into the streets to share in the hope of triumph.
A new victory born from new weapons and new tactics! No newspaper could resist such a story.
At the American Expeditionary Forces headquarters in Chaumont, the reaction was much the same.
“Report from the 326th Light Tank Battalion!”
“What’s the situation?”
“Friendly forces have broken through the Hindenburg Line for the first time! Enemy retreating to secondary positions!”
“Waaaaaaah!!”
The staff headquarters erupted into chaos.
An army mocked as second-rate and provincial had accomplished what even the proud British had failed to achieve!
As everyone embraced in celebration, General Pershing approached Colonel Rockenbach.
“Colonel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve done well. I hear you put quite a bit of effort into this.”
“I’ve barely worked the past few days.”
“The training officer told me otherwise. Did you even manage an hour of sleep a day?”
“…If an old man like me, who’s only gotten fatter with age, can’t even handle paperwork for the men heading into battle, then what’s the point?”
“That’s enough. More than enough. Let’s prepare decorations for our young heroes.”
Rockenbach nodded.
“Of course. Shall we prepare a bottle of liquor for each man in the battalion?”
“They’d love that… And perhaps three bottles for Captain Patton.”
“As long as he doesn’t drive drunk,” Pershing muttered quietly.
Amid the chaos and cheers, a single figure quietly entered the headquarters.
“Colonel MacArthur? What brings you here?”
“I have a matter to report to the Commander-in-Chief.”
His face was more rigid than ever—like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Several staff officers nearby tried to approach him, but MacArthur gently pushed past them and stepped before Pershing.
“General.”
“…Aren’t you busy? I hear the 42nd Division has its hands full.”
“I apologize for coming like this, but there is a serious issue concerning my division.”
MacArthur spoke slowly, enunciating every word as if biting them off.
“I’ve heard that headquarters intends to designate the 42nd Division as a reserve replacement unit.”
“That is correct.”
“The 42nd Division is currently more combat-ready and motivated than any other unit. You intend to send less-prepared divisions to the front while holding back a unit in full readiness? That cannot stand.”
“Every commander says the same when they stand before me, Colonel MacArthur.”
“Now, now—let’s all calm down,” Brigadier General James G. Harbord, chief of staff, interjected, raising his hands.
“Sir, it is true that the 42nd Division is exceptionally well-prepared. Perhaps it would be worth reconsidering?”
“If reconsideration is needed, we’ll discuss it in a separate meeting later.”
“With respect, I believe there is a battlefield where the 42nd Division must be deployed immediately.”
Just as the tension was beginning to ease, MacArthur’s words reignited it.
“Oh? And where would that be?”
“Cambrai. We must send combat forces there immediately.”
“Cambrai?”
“What are you talking about?”
Even Harbord, who had spoken with MacArthur earlier, looked bewildered.
MacArthur lifted his head sharply.
“Before the Allied forces on the left and right at Cambrai are annihilated, we must at least extract the American troops that have been committed.”
***
As mentioned earlier, the British left and right wings had successfully crushed the Germans and opened the road to Cambrai.
But the problem lay in the center.
The commander of the British 51st “Highland” Division—the core of the central assault—despised tanks.
“March my men alongside those lumps of metal? Do you want us all dead?”
Ignoring orders from above, he coolly instructed his troops to advance “keeping about 200 meters distance from the tanks.”
Just 200 meters. Perhaps it didn’t seem like a big decision.
But the opposing German 54th Reserve Division commander was highly wary of this increasingly deployed “new weapon” of the islanders.
“The enemy will rely more and more on these tanks. Begin training the artillery with anti-tank fire in mind.”
The moment these two decisions intersected, the first spark of disaster ignited.
The tanks advancing at the very front of the British 51st Division were wiped out almost instantly by artillery positioned on high ground—without any infantry support.
By the time the marching infantry heard the thunder of explosions and rushed forward, the tanks had already been reduced to scrap metal.
With its tanks destroyed, the 51st Division’s advance collapsed.
The planned advance failed, and to make matters worse, even with heavy bombardment, the German barbed wire had not been fully cleared. The cavalry sent in to exploit the breakthrough could not pass the wire and had to withdraw in frustration.
Originally, the Cambrai offensive had been planned to last only 48 hours. The correct decision might have been to reorganize the line and push out the German center.
But gamblers, once they start winning, always become blinded—this truth holds across all ages.
The British did not stop the offensive.
The final duo of the German Empire—Hindenburg and Ludendorff—acted immediately upon receiving reports from Cambrai.
“Their left and right wings are launching wave attacks.”
“There are also reports of American tank units being deployed.”
“And what does Crown Prince Rupprecht say?”
“The 54th Division at the center intends to hold the high ground to the last man. Everything is proceeding in our favor.”
“Then it’s simple. Let’s chew up those arrogant Tommies who’ve pushed in too far. Tell His Highness to raise the stakes.”
With American support, the British had pushed deeper than in the original timeline.
A deeper penetration naturally meant greater exposure of the flanks.
And as soon as the battle began, the Germans gathered 25 divisions and threw them into Cambrai.
Instead of the clean advance the British had envisioned, what awaited them was the latest German tactics refined on the Russian and Italian fronts.
It didn’t take long for the smiles to vanish from British faces.
As if mocking them, it was now the Germans’ turn to collect the price in blood.
***
“Hit! We’ve been hit! No functional damage!”
“Keep moving! If we stop, we’re all dead!”
The tank battalion was now down to 31 operational vehicles. Even after using all reserves, this was the state we were in.
Very few had been destroyed by enemy fire. Most had simply broken down and been abandoned on the battlefield. Still, we had managed to drag the tank crews along on foot, so at least they were alive. That was something.
The Battle of Cambrai, which had begun with a satisfying, overwhelming victory, rapidly lost momentum from the second day onward. After that, it devolved back into the same miserable pattern that had been repeating since 1914.
Our battalion deployed every day as well—but only to probe cautiously.
Pershing hadn’t asked me for glorious achievements, and I had no interest in smashing my head against a wall when I knew it wouldn’t work. The first day had been more than enough. Even now, just thinking about it made me feel like I might wet myself. Patton, too, had set aside his aggressive instincts and was instead listening closely to his ominous gut feeling.
And then, November 30, near Cambrai.
If we had demonstrated an offensive using tanks, the enemy responded with a counterattack combining infantry and artillery.
They hammered the weakest-looking point with intense bombardment, accompanied by gas. Then those terrifying assault troops—the Stoßtruppen—poured into the shattered area, turning the battlefield into chaos in an instant.
The tactics that had proven effective on the Eastern Front and in Italy were now unfolding again at Cambrai.
Limbs were severed, railways cut, couriers killed, bridges blown apart.
Before the staff observing from afar could even make a decision, all means of issuing orders to the limbs were gone.
Now I had to choose.
In truth, I might have needed to choose ten days ago.
But we had already pushed too deep. If fifty tanks had suddenly pulled out from the front with a casual “Well then, we’ll be off,” the catastrophe would have come ten days earlier.
“The most effective force to stop those guys pushing in right now—”
“Is us.”
“Exactly.”
“But didn’t General Pershing tell us to probe and withdraw?”
“More precisely, he left it to our judgment on the field.”
Even Patton seemed deeply conflicted.
The moment we ran out of fuel, we were finished. Bridges were already being destroyed. If either fuel or bridges were completely cut off, we’d be isolated.
Our tank crews weren’t Rangers or paratroopers. If anything, they were less capable in combat than infantry. If we were stranded here on this open plain, our future would be bleak.
“If we want to bring back even one more tanker alive, the right choice is to withdraw now.”
“……”
“But can you accept that? Turning our backs on those poor Tommies?”
“That’s why I’m thinking about it.”
“Damn it. I’m glad I’m not the commander. If someone shoved a choice like this in front of me, I’d be losing my mind over it. Not having to choose is the best.”
Right now, we were the most efficient force to block them.
The German assault troops were well-prepared for anti-tank combat by the standards of this era. But we were armored—and the only unit with even a semblance of mobility.
After discussing it with Patton, I made my decision.
“We’re disengaging from the battlefield.”
“Yeah? Well… that’s not the wrong choice.”
Patton spat on the ground, looking conflicted.
“As we disengage, we’ll take every German head we see with us.”
“Huh?”
“We’ll withdraw in a wide 360-degree arc. We’ve still got plenty of fuel, don’t we?”
“Ha! Hahaha! That’s more like you, junior! Let’s go—time to hunt some Germans!”
General Pershing, I’m sorry.
Looks like we can’t just run.
And on that day, the German stormtrooper units earned themselves two skulls.
***
“Yee—ha!!!”
“Kill them! Kill them all!”
“Run them over! Crush them!! These Germans are mistakes God accidentally spat out! Deliver them back to Him express!!”
The stormtroopers, advancing boldly across the shell-torn terrain, were forced to halt at the thunderous sound of engines approaching from afar.
Then came the wave of steel.
Explosions, bullets, and tons of crushing weight greeted them all at once.
“Argh! Aaaagh!!”
“Uaaah!!”
“Keep scraping them! Every one of these bastards that survives means one of ours dies! Kill them all!”
Germans screamed just like anyone else.
But compassion was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Our own forces were being pushed back, struggling just to hold the existing defensive line.
We fought fiercely, but our rampage couldn’t last long.
Wheeeee—
“That sound—”
“Artillery! Move! Full speed!!”
Boom!!
A violent explosion erupted right beside us.
The tank lurched—but thankfully, the tracks held.
“Faster!”
“I’m already at maximum!”
“Damn it! My sperm could move faster than this!”
“That’s why you’ve got a kid, sir!”
“Then step on it harder so we can make a baby tank too!”
The commander was getting a bit too cheeky. If we survived, I’d deal with him.
The Germans must have really hated us—the artillery was tearing into us, but it was also flinging their own soldiers into the air.
Of course, I knew that was just how it felt. If artillery could be called in instantly in this era, we wouldn’t be suffering like this. The barrage had been planned for this area already, and we had the misfortune of getting tangled up in it—
Boom!!
“That’s enough German hunting! We’re pulling straight back to the rear!”
“Yes, sir!”
A flying stone struck my head, and I felt warmth spreading.
Yeah… definitely bleeding.
Muttering to myself that it wasn’t a brain hemorrhage, we kept moving.
After rampaging for a while and pulling back, we reached a small village.
“Major Kim! Major Kiiim!”
At the tallest building in the village, the Stars and Stripes fluttered. There was no way I could just pass by.
“Colonel, is that you?”
“Good to see you. It’s complete chaos out there.”
Colonel Parsons of the 11th Engineer Regiment looked utterly exhausted after just ten days—as if he had experienced every suffering in the world.
“You’re a terrible man. You said you’d protect us—where have you been?”
“Haha. I’ve come right when you need me most, haven’t I? Must be divine providence.”
“Damn it. Yeah… seems God sent you.”
He led me into the village hall, now being used as a command post.
I first ordered tank maintenance and sent idle men to search the village for fuel, then followed him inside.
And there, I saw unexpected figures.
“Major Yujin Kim, commanding the 326th Light Tank Battalion.”
“Major General Henry de Beauvoir De Lisle, commanding the 29th Infantry Division of the British Empire.”
Why was a division commander here?
My question was quickly answered.
“This place is already surrounded by the Germans. As you can see, even a division commander has ended up isolated. By sheer luck, we managed to link up with them…”
“It’s over. Are the Germans monsters?! How… how can this happen?! My men! Give me back my men!”
General Lisle had clearly lost his composure.
I didn’t hesitate any longer.
“Prepare yourselves.”
“Prepare what?”
“We’re withdrawing. We can’t bury all your regiment here.”
1,400 volunteers.
Men who had volunteered after seeing Europe in crisis.
At the very least, they deserved to go home.
We immediately began preparations.