Chapter 596: Supplies Determine Everything
Antwerp was blanketed in a pristine sheet of snow. Soft flakes gently descended from a gray sky, settling quietly onto the ancient rooftops, the winding streets, and clusters of trees throughout the fortress city.
Antwerp was no ordinary town; Belgians proudly called it the "National Fortress," their last line of defense and ultimate refuge. Its designers had long ago constructed an extensive network of underground facilities beneath the city's eastern edge, specifically intended to withstand enemy bombardments.
Currently, this extensive subterranean complex served as a storage depot for Lieutenant General Avis.
General Avis stood silently in the snowy yard, watching a continuous stream of vehicles moving steadily down the road, shuttling supplies from the docks to the underground storage chambers. Right now, supplies were invaluable—indeed, they determined everything.
Avis knew the risks of storing ammunition and other critical supplies in the open-air port warehouses. A single German air raid could ignite a massive explosion, instantly destroying crucial provisions. To safeguard these precious resources, the best strategy was to move them quickly to secure underground bunkers.
Seeing the fully-loaded trucks driving past him, Avis allowed himself a satisfied smile.
"How long can you hold out, Frenchmen?" he thought, smugly. "Charles won't provide you bread or bullets this time. He isn't Moses; he can't wave a staff and conjure supplies from thin air."
"If you don't wish to run out of ammunition or starve," Avis thought bitterly, "you'll have to lower your noble heads and submit to us—especially that arrogant Charles!"
At the mere thought of General Charles, Avis's expression darkened with resentment.
"General," a staff officer approached quietly, interrupting his thoughts, "it's General Eden."
Looking up, Avis noticed Brigadier General Eden striding towards him through the gently drifting snowflakes, accompanied by several guards. Eden's uniform and cap were dusted with fresh snow, suggesting he'd been out in the elements for quite a while.
"Good morning, General," Eden greeted him warmly in fluent English, extending his hand politely.
"Good morning, Brigadier," Avis replied with mild surprise. Belgian generals typically showed little warmth towards their British counterparts, often displaying open disdain. Eden's sudden friendliness puzzled Avis momentarily.
But Avis soon realized the reason—of course, it was because of the supplies. The Belgians had finally understood who truly controlled their fate.
Avis straightened proudly, adopting an air of superiority. "It's been a while, General Eden. Weren't you supposed to be stationed in Namur? What brings you here?"
Eden gestured vaguely towards the fortress line about a kilometer away. "I'm here inspecting our defenses. I've heard rumors the Germans might soon launch a major attack."
"A major attack?" Avis raised an eyebrow dismissively. "You mean against Antwerp?"
"Yes," Eden confirmed quietly. "Haven't you heard?"
"No," Avis shook his head confidently. "Impossible, General Eden. Unless the Germans have completely lost their minds."
This front was held by over 300,000 British troops, well-supplied and heavily fortified. Avis firmly believed any rational German commander would instead target Charles's vulnerable 6th Army, recently weakened by rebellion and now struggling without adequate supplies.
Sensing Avis's thoughts, Eden smiled faintly. "Perhaps the Germans have finally learned to fear Charles."
Avis scowled briefly at the implication but kept his composure. "We'll see, Brigadier," he replied tersely. Avis was certain the Germans wouldn't choose the tougher opponent willingly.
Indeed, the British War Minister Kitchener's own plan relied precisely on this: pressure Charles using German aggression. As Kitchener had said bluntly, "Charles will have two choices—either suffer defeat by the Germans or accept cooperation with Britain."
No one doubted Charles would ultimately choose cooperation—if he wasn't foolish.
Eden casually produced a cigarette, offering it to Avis as he confidently spoke: "Trust me, General. The Germans will attack Antwerp. Everyone knows they always target their enemy's weakest point."
Avis didn't immediately grasp Eden's veiled insult—that Eden was implying the British defense line itself was the weakest point. When it finally clicked, Avis nearly choked on his cigarette, erupting into a coughing fit, eyes watering as Eden waited patiently beside him.
Recovering, Avis shot Eden an irritated look, sighing deeply. "You'll soon see clearly, General Eden," he muttered.
He refrained from open anger, knowing King Albert and the Belgians needed British goodwill.
Just then, heavy artillery explosions echoed distantly. Confused, Avis quickly lifted binoculars towards the source, seeing nothing clearly through the thick snowfall.
Suddenly, a messenger stumbled towards him breathlessly, reporting: "General, our forward positions are under intense artillery bombardment! The Germans seem to be launching an all-out offensive!"
Avis stared, astonished. Could the Germans truly be attacking Antwerp directly?
Eden interrupted at that exact moment, calmly asking, "General, what exactly should I be seeing clearly?"
Avis flushed slightly with embarrassment but stubbornly insisted, "Probably just a small-scale attack, General."
Yet soon afterward, urgent reports poured in rapidly:
"General, German forces are attacking in strength, supported by hundreds of tanks—at least five divisions!"
"The attack seems meticulously planned and coordinated. German submarines have simultaneously begun sinking our ships. We've already lost over ten merchant vessels, and losses continue mounting!"
Avis's face grew paler. A simultaneous land and sea assault suggested this wasn't merely a small attack—it was a full-scale German assault designed to capture Antwerp completely.
…
Meanwhile, about seventy nautical miles off Antwerp, a British merchant convoy comprising over fifty ships was under fierce submarine attack. Thirty-eight German U-boats struck simultaneously, immediately sinking half of the twelve escorting British destroyers. The remaining destroyers, overwhelmed and unable to defend effectively, fled in panic, leaving merchant ships utterly defenseless.
Helpless merchant vessels quickly became easy prey. The sea turned into a horrific scene—ships burning fiercely, tilting dramatically, or exploding violently. Sailors jumped desperately into icy waters, clutching debris, shivering and filled with despair, stranded amidst floating wreckage.
Their situation was utterly hopeless.
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