Chapter 685: Between Ice and Fire
The German tanks did find fuel—and picked up a few extra victories along the way.
British forces had still been transporting newly built tanks and artillery from Dunkirk to Montreuil when Erwin's Panzer Division arrived. German units encountered transport columns along the road and tore through them, leaving a trail of burning vehicles and wreckage.
The Whippet tanks, in British doctrine, were "infantry tanks"—meant to support advancing soldiers by suppressing enemy infantry. But in a tank-on-tank engagement, they were woefully inadequate. Despite being armed with four machine guns, none were powerful enough to punch through German armor.
By late afternoon, after over five hours of continuous fighting and movement, the exhausted but elated German First Panzer Division reached the outskirts of Dunkirk.
In the distance, they could already see the city's iconic Gothic spires and the scattered silhouettes of British soldiers frantically building field fortifications. The sight triggered spontaneous cheers from the German tank crews.
Victory was within reach.
If they could seize Dunkirk, the morale-shattered British Expeditionary Force might collapse entirely.
…
The international press described the situation as "between ice and fire."
On one side: Russia's sweeping victory on the Eastern Front. In just one battle, over 100,000 enemy casualties and 30,000 prisoners. And the Russian momentum was still building.
On the other: Germany's Western Front breakthrough—bypassing Montreuil and reaching the gates of Dunkirk.
Dunkirk was Britain's closest port to the continent. Only about 40 kilometers across the Dover Strait stood the port of Dover. Dunkirk was the main artery for British supplies, reinforcements, and even retreats.
If the Germans took it, the British Expeditionary Force would be completely cut off. Over a million troops north of the Somme would have no path of escape. Starved of ammunition, food, and reinforcements, their only choice would be surrender—or death.
It would be a catastrophe—not just for the army, but for the prestige of the entire British Empire.
And so, The Times of London didn't mention Russia's victory at all. That was irrelevant to the British public.
Instead, its entire front page was devoted to the German push on Dunkirk.
The headline was dire:
"They Are Here."
A blurry black-and-white photo accompanied the article, showing a column of German tanks emerging from the haze in the distance. In the foreground: British soldiers crouching behind makeshift sandbags, their expressions grim and full of panic.
"We weren't ready. No one was.
We all thought the Germans had been stopped at Montreuil.
No one expected them to appear behind us. But here they are—just kilometers from Dunkirk.
There are 50,000 soldiers here, but most are untrained conscripts. They don't know how to fight tanks.
People are fleeing. Tickets for any ship out of Dunkirk are being sold for more than gold."
…
Le Petit Parisien in France was even more direct:
"We cannot allow Dunkirk to fall.
If it does, the British Expeditionary Force will be lost.
And if they fall, Britain may never again send troops or supplies to France. Perhaps not ever again."
French politicians feared that if the British Expeditionary Force were destroyed, Britain might abandon the war entirely.
Yes, Britain hadn't joined the war for France—it had done so to prevent the rise of a dominant European power, be it Germany or France. But if protecting France meant destroying itself, Britain might choose self-preservation.
Meanwhile, Le Petit Journal took a more scathing tone:
"The British continue to surprise us.
When Charles wins decisive victories with minimal losses, the British suffer record casualties at the Somme.
When Russia launches a glorious counterattack, the British begin to collapse.
Every time we gain ground, they seem to lose it.
No offense intended… but is this the world's greatest army?"
…
Paris City Hall, Prime Minister's Office.
The phone lines never stopped ringing. Urgent telegrams poured onto Briand's desk. He was buried in crisis.
When Clemenceau entered the room, Briand was still on the phone—speaking rapidly in a forced tone of calm:
"Yes, Marshal, I understand.
Yes, we will send reinforcements to Dunkirk.
Yes, I understand. This is vital to France's future. Yes."
He hung up with a deep sigh and turned toward Clemenceau.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "The Germans have reached Dunkirk. There are over a million Allied troops in that region, yet the Germans have less than half that—and they're still winning."
Clemenceau's reply was quiet but firm: "It's the same unit that Charles surrounded and defeated at Hasselt. They regrouped and formed the First Panzer Division."
Briand froze midway to sitting down. His expression changed as the implications hit him.
He slowly lowered himself onto the chair as if it were a live mine.
The silence in the room thickened like fog.
Neither man spoke, but both were thinking the same thing.
Charles had encircled and crushed this German unit with just 20,000 men. Now, that same unit was defeating Britain's best troops—outnumbered two to one.
Did that mean no one in the world could stand against Charles anymore?
After a long pause, Clemenceau quietly offered Briand a cigar. They both lit up and smoked in silence, the haze of tobacco swirling through the air like their unsettled thoughts.
At last, Clemenceau broke the silence. "This could be our chance," he said. "We can order Charles to reinforce Dunkirk."
Briand frowned. "But Charles's army is locked in a standoff with the Germans at Liège. Gallieni already argued in Parliament that if we pull Charles away, the Germans there will attack."
Clemenceau said nothing—just stared at him.
Then Briand realized: that was exactly what Clemenceau wanted.
"Britain is more important than Belgium, Prime Minister," Clemenceau said, voice calm and razor-sharp. "If we must choose, we must prioritize Britain's safety. Don't you agree?"
Briand sat silently for a moment—then nodded, slowly, decisively.
"Yes. This is the situation. I believe General Gallieni will make the right choice."
And in that moment, they both smiled—not out of confidence, but calculation.
They would sacrifice Belgium, and Charles's carefully laid plans there.
Because this wasn't just a battlefield decision—it was a political one.
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