Chapter 597: The Arrogance of a First-World Power
The thunder of artillery echoed across the battlefield, smoke billowing as chaos engulfed the land.
The British defensive line was established six miles east of the Antwerp fortress.
In truth, it was a poor location for a defensive line—positioned at the very edge of the fortress's heavy artillery range, nearly outside its zone of protection altogether.
Major General Eden had raised concerns about this to Lieutenant General Aves:
"At this distance, the fortress cannot provide effective fire support to British forces. Our shells will fall right on your trenches."
Lieutenant General Aves had replied with confidence:
"Don't worry, General. We don't need the fortress's fire support. We're not thinking about defense in this direction—we're thinking about offense. Our line will keep advancing toward the Germans."
But reality gave Aves a stinging slap in the face.
…
On the German front line, Lieutenant General Nicholas stood atop a hill beside Colonel Erwin, surveying the battlefield.
In this battle, the 21st Corps under Nicholas's command had been designated the main assault force tasked with breaking through Antwerp.
In fact, not just the main assault force—the 53rd Corps, following close behind, was also under Nicholas's command per the orders of the General Staff.
Above, fighter planes screamed through the sky in dense swarms, like buzzing bees pressing down on the enemy.
They were modified Fokker E2s. While their performance didn't match the French Camel fighters, most British and French planes were tied up on the Somme, at Verdun, or along the Namur line, unable to reach Antwerp in time.
After all, Antwerp was under British defense command.
(Above: German Fokker E2 fighter plane. Max speed: 140 km/h. Though not as fast as the Camel's 190 km/h, it was a significant upgrade over the E1's 110 km/h.)
"This is one of the few battles where our air force has gained air superiority," Nicholas said with a touch of sentiment as he looked out over the sky filled with aircraft.
"Yes, General," Erwin replied. "But I believe tanks are more important."
While aircraft mattered, in a single fast-paced engagement, their impact was often limited.
"You mean the LK1?" Nicholas turned toward Erwin, puzzled.
He had never quite understood why the tank expert held such high regard for the lightweight tank—even when it was discovered they were converted from decommissioned cars.
"Yes, General," Erwin replied firmly. "The LK1 may not be exceptional, and it's certainly no match for the Char A1. But we're facing Whippets—and British tactics."
As if on cue, British tanks began appearing behind their defensive lines. A swarm of Whippets—at least 200 of them—rolled forward.
Nicholas's expression tightened. This was not a good sign. The German tank fleet, including the heavy Upper Silesia models, numbered just over 300.
And if one accounted for the crude construction of the LK1s, their capabilities were likely evenly matched. A quick breakthrough might not be feasible.
Yet Erwin showed no concern. Calmly, he said,
"The British tactics differ entirely from ours and the French. Look—no anti-tank ditches, not even widened trenches. That means our tanks can cross their defenses easily."
This was British stubbornness—or the arrogance of a first-world power.
They didn't believe the enemy could breach their lines.
Erwin continued, "Their tactic is to use tanks to stop our tanks."
Nicholas raised his binoculars again and scanned the battlefield. Sure enough, just as Erwin described, the British were positioning their tanks behind infantry trenches to form a mobile defensive wall, trying to use both tanks and foot soldiers to stem the German advance.
Nicholas frowned, voicing his concern:
"But the strength of their armored forces is comparable to ours. Their tactic might actually work."
Erwin shook his head slightly.
"General, the Whippet may have the upper hand against infantry, but in a tank battle—it's just cannon fodder."
Nicholas paused, intrigued, and lowered his binoculars. "Explain."
"Speed, General," Erwin said.
"The Whippet's top speed is only 13 km/h, while our LK1 can reach 18 km/h. This gives us a clear speed advantage for seizing key positions."
"Plus, the Whippet's four-machine-gun setup creates multiple blind spots in its field of fire. If we approach from the front-sides, we hardly need to worry about getting hit."
(Above: Side-front view of a Whippet. Due to its lack of a rotating turret, this angle lies within its blind spot. Additionally, a large expanse of vertical armor is exposed to enemy fire.)
Nicholas now understood. He turned to Erwin with admiration in his eyes.
"So you've been training our tanks to exploit those blind spots?"
Erwin smiled and nodded. "Why wouldn't we?"
Even as they spoke, the armored forces of both sides collided with thunderous force.
Just as Erwin predicted, the outcome was decided almost instantly upon contact.
British Whippets were knocked out one after another by the nimble LK1s, which sustained minimal losses—some only stopped due to mechanical issues.
Through his binoculars, Nicholas saw it all clearly.
LK1 tanks raced to seize tactical positions, then slowed down within enemy blind spots to extend their window of attack.
Armed with powerful K-shells capable of piercing armor, the German tanks set British vehicles ablaze, with thick black smoke rising into the air. Some even burst into flames outright, their engines punctured.
Nicholas silently praised the design.
Though the LK1s were refitted from decommissioned vehicles and far cheaper to build than the Whippets, they were proving vastly superior.
Under tank cover, German infantry stormed into the British trenches, wreaking havoc.
Every now and then, a burst of flame arced across the battlefield—flamethrowers spewing torrents of fire into the enemy lines, igniting panic and screams.
These were newly-developed weapons inspired by the devastating impact of submachine guns and shotguns in French close-quarters combat.
While the Germans had already begun development of their own submachine guns, mass deployment would take time.
In the meantime, these flamethrowers filled the gap—brutally effective and terrifying.
Across the battlefield, men engulfed in flames rolled and staggered, wailing like wolves or screech owls. Even amid the cacophony of gunfire and explosions, their screams pierced the soul—stirring a primal fear in every soldier who heard them.
British troops broke down.
Panicking, they scrambled from the trenches in a mad dash to flee—some even exposing their backs to the German guns in desperation.
They didn't care. They just wanted to escape the living hell around them and never come back.
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