noveltune Chapter 31 Strunzsky on the Road
Chapter 31 Strunzsky on the Road
Two sappers who had been waiting by the detonator took a deep breath and pressed down hard on the heavy T-shaped detonator handle.
boom--!!!
A deafening roar instantly drowned out the sound of the morning waves.
The hundreds of kilograms of TNT explosives buried in the key nodes of the main bridge arch and piers released devastating energy in an instant.
The ancient stone arch bridge, which had stood for over two hundred years, groaned in agony and collapsed in the explosion, then turned into a rain of rubble. Huge boulders, carrying smoke and dust, fell into the A River, creating water columns tens of meters high. The turbid river water instantly churned, completely swallowing anything that could connect the two banks.
Several flying stones even hit the tracks of a German Panzer IV tank that had just arrived at the bridgehead on the opposite bank, making a clanging sound.
The physical connection between the two banks of the A River was completely severed.
This not only cut off the German army's rapid pursuit route, but also served as a resounding slap in the face of the German troops who had just returned in formation, full of righteous indignation and ready to take revenge.
……
06:00 AM.
It was completely light.
The post-rain sunlight shone through the thin clouds onto this ravaged land.
Heinz Guderian returned to his command post—or rather, to the still-smoking, ravaged ruins.
He had changed back into his crisp armored general's uniform, the mud on his feet wiped clean, and the knight's medal on his collar gleamed in the morning light.
But anyone who knew him well—such as Colonel Nelin standing behind him—could see the volcano about to erupt deep in the eyes of this famous general.
Guderian stood on the south bank of the Aal River, on the edge of the broken bridge.
The river beneath my feet was murky and swift, and the broken bridge ruins pointed menacingly to the sky like severed limbs, as if silently accusing the atrocities of last night.
On the other side of the river.
The wooden sign that read "No Entry Without Permission" had been blown away. Those arrogant enemies were nowhere to be seen. Only a few deep tire tracks stretched northward, disappearing into the thick morning fog in the distance.
It was a complete vacuum. A deathly silence after everything had been looted.
"General."
Colonel Nelin cautiously approached. He held a piece of paper he had found in the ruins, his expression extremely strange, as if he were suppressing a laugh or in extreme fear.
"This was... found on your command desk." Nellie's voice was soft, almost cautious. "It was under that... that empty cigar box."
Guderian expressionlessly reached out and took the paper.
It was a corner torn from a standard German operational map. The paper had rough tear marks on the edges and was stained with dried red wine or mud.
On the back of the map were several lines of extremely messy and unrestrained English writing, yet exuding an indescribable air of nonchalance and arrogance:
Sorry, Heinz.
I borrowed some cars. The suspension is great.
P.S. The cigars are excellent.
—— AS
Guderian looked at the note.
He read it very slowly, as if he were reviewing a top-secret operational plan in the Supreme Command.
The staff officers, guards, and even the soldiers clearing the rubble in the distance all instinctively held their breath, fearing that the hot-tempered "father of Blitzkrieg" would suddenly pull out a Luger pistol and shoot everything in front of him.
But to everyone's surprise.
Guderian did not lose his temper. He did not roar, throw things, or even twitch a muscle in his face.
He slowly and carefully folded the note along the creases, then solemnly placed it in his inner shirt pocket, close to his heart, as if it were a precious keepsake.
He raised his head and looked once again at the empty north bank.
His eyes changed.
It was no longer just simple anger, but a deep and dangerous gaze. It was the look a hunter would give after wandering the forest for a long time and finally encountering the legendary, cunning wolf that could bite his throat.
That was both approval and murderous intent.
"AS..."
Guderian murmured the abbreviation.
"very good."
"You won this round, Englishman. You've got guts."
He turned around abruptly, the hem of his gray-green overcoat fluttering in the morning breeze like a flag declaring war.
Enjoy your cigar. Because next time we meet...
Guderian's gaze swept over all the officers present, his voice as cold as steel:
"I'll make you spit out everything you've eaten, with interest!"
"Send the order! Contact the engineering corps! Construct a pontoon bridge immediately! Even if you have to fill it with corpses, make a road for me!"
"I'm not waiting for orders from headquarters! To hell with politics!"
"We need to cross the river!!"
"Now!"
……
Downstream of the A River, at a secluded ferry crossing four kilometers west of the Broken Bridge, at 06:45 AM, visibility was less than thirty meters, and the only sound in the damp, cold air was the river lapping against the banks.
Major Heinrich von Stransky stood in the ankle-deep reeds, with only the monotonous sound of flowing water in his ears.
The distance and the thick fog acted as a natural soundproof wall, preventing him from hearing the impotent rage of his highly respected General Guderian, who was roaring like a wounded lion, from the broken bridge four kilometers away.
Of course, this is a good thing for both him and Guderian.
Because if this germaphobic German regimental major knew what had happened in that command tent a few hours earlier—
If he knew that the "father of Blitzkrieg," who was elevated to a godlike status by the propaganda machine, was actually like a hapless victim caught in adultery, unable to even fasten his top button properly, forced to flee in panic through the mud in that ridiculous white pajama...
Then, all his respect for that general would probably vanish in an instant, replaced by a contempt even stronger than that for that AS.
Setting up command post right under the enemy's nose is called "bravery"; but being herded out in pajamas like a duck by the enemy is called "scandal".
Dying on the charge is an honor, but running away naked? That's something only the French would do.
In Stransky's view, this was simply throwing the dignity that the Prussian officer corps had accumulated over two hundred years into the mud pit of France and stomping on it twice.
Fortunately, he is unaware of all this, at least for now.
A shallow beach overgrown with weeds.
A uniquely shaped half-track vehicle was parked in the reeds. It was an Sd.Kfz. 251/6 armored command vehicle, with a conspicuous frame-style antenna mounted on top, resembling a giant mobile clothes rack. The interior was crammed with various frequency radio equipment and an Engelma cipher machine.
His attention was entirely focused on the non-existent "hunting map".
In fact, about an hour and a half earlier, the 19th Armored Corps' public channel had been in an uproar, reporting the discovery of an extremely arrogant British and French armored force equipped with B1 heavy tanks upstream of the A River.
Most German commanders' first reaction was to turn their vehicles around and charge there like a pack of mad dogs.
But Stransky did not.
"Go upstream now? That would just mean inhaling the exhaust fumes of those British guys all the way."
All the fragments of intelligence—the track marks, the looted supplies, and the lingering stench of opportunism—were rapidly pieced together in Strunzsky's mind, ultimately pointing to the only answer.
The ghost unit reported by the 19th Armored Corps as a "British-French Allied Assault Group" was precisely the prey he had been relentlessly pursuing: AS
His half-brother from the Stransky family, who served in the 7th Panzer Division...
"Since you overturned the table upstream like a drunkard and made such a commotion, your only way out now is to head north."
"You want to go to Dunkirk, right?"
"You want to escape into that huge internment camp, like a salted fish lying on the beach, mouth agape in despair, waiting for the Royal Navy's nets to come and haul you in."
"Unfortunately, your vacation has been cancelled."
"And the bridge over the river is broken, and the main road is blocked by our air force."
"You only have one way to go—that's the D916 highway that leads to Borgburg Castle."
So the major arrived early at this only road and quietly ground his teeth.
"Major, should we wait for the main force of the 1st Armored Division to catch up?"
The adjutant glanced upstream, seeing nothing but a thick white fog, then looked at the intelligence report in his hand, his voice filled with barely concealed worry:
"According to the report just given to the entire army, the enemy has at least four Char B1 bis heavy tanks. Those are French monsters with 60mm thick armor, while our forces... are merely a reinforced mechanized company."
The adjutant's concerns were not unfounded.
At this point, Stransky's hand didn't seem particularly impressive: 12 Sd.Kfz. 251 half-track armored personnel carriers, 3 Panzer IV Ausf. C tanks (with short-barreled 75mm guns) that came to support him, and a full-strength Garrison Panzergrenadier Company.
On paper, their anti-tank firepower would have little chance of penetrating the B1's thick skin from the front.
"Wait for them?"
Strunzsky slammed the hatch of the command vehicle shut as if he had heard a joke:
"By the time those slowpokes arrive, the prey will have already swum back to England for afternoon tea."
He turned around and lightly tapped the thin armor plating of the command vehicle with his gloved fingers, his eyes confident:
"Listen, Lieutenant. War isn't a math problem; it's not about who has the thickest armor. If that were the case, the French would have won this war, not us."
"Yes, they have B1s, those steel behemoths known as 'Land Cruisers'."
"But giant beasts are usually blind and slow-moving."
Strunzsky pointed behind him to the GD Regiment engineers who were inspecting magnetic anti-tank mines and cluster grenades, his voice icy:
"And we are grenadiers of the Großdeutschland Regiment. We are the wolf pack."
"Wolves never confront rhinos head-on. We'll circle around to the side, tear at their tendons, break their tracks, and stuff explosives under their bellies."
"On this narrow jungle road, those cumbersome B1s are perfect sitting ducks. Once their flanks are cut off, the rest..."
Sstránsky made a cruel fist gesture, as if crushing the enemy's heart in his palm:
"They will be at our mercy."
"Order the entire company! Don't wait for the main force! We'll cross the river ourselves!"
"I want to personally drag that 'AS' out of that damn turtle shell."
"Order the whole company! We'll cross the river ourselves!"
He looked north towards the fog-shrouded highway, as if he could already smell the exciting engine oil odor emanating from his prey.
"Since he likes playing 'Stronsky' so much, I'll show him..."
"How the real Stronsky hunted."
……
When a regular engineering battalion faces the A River, they would first send out surveyors, then plant red and white markers along the banks, and finally wait for the heavy "B-type pontoon bridge convoy" trucks to slowly arrive from behind.
They would spend a full four hours, accompanied by the sergeant's whistle and curses, erecting a standard pontoon bridge that conformed to dogma and could barely support a 20-ton vehicle.
But Strunzsky didn't have the time, and the engineers of the GD regiment didn't need that procedure either.
They adopted a more radical and dangerous tactical method of crossing the river—"heavy rafting".
"Quick! Push the Großer Floßsack 34 (Type 34 large inflatable boat) down!"
In the silence without any commands, the engineers skillfully pushed the inflatable boat, 5.5 meters long and 1.85 meters wide, made of thick black rubber, into the water.
For infantry, a single boat could easily cross the river. But for those three Panzer IV Ausf. C tanks, each weighing 20 tons, this was an extreme challenge to Archimedes' principle.
Ordinary inflatable boats certainly cannot withstand being run over by a tank.
But the engineers from the GD regiment pulled off a dazzling magic trick in ten minutes: they tied six large inflatable boats together side by side like a bundle of explosives, and laid prefabricated reinforced wooden rutted slabs on top. Instead of building a full bridge, they cobbled together three makeshift 16-ton pontoon bridges.
"A 16-ton pontoon bridge? Sir, the Panzer IV Ausf. C's combat weight is close to 20 tons!" The adjutant looked at the swaying rubber raft, feeling somewhat uneasy. "This doesn't conform to the Engineering Bureau's 'K.Dv. Theoretical Manual'..."
"The manual is written for idiots, to prevent them from driving tanks into the river."
Stransky said coldly, "As long as it's not fully loaded with ammunition, and as long as the driver doesn't slam on the brakes, the buoyancy of the water will forgive the extra few tons of weight."
Boom—
The first Panzer IV tank carefully drove onto the seemingly fragile rubber gantry bridge.
The heavy tracks creaked against the wooden planks with a teeth-grinding sound. The black inflatable boats were instantly pushed into the water, the waterline almost reaching the top of the airbags, and the river water even overflowed the edge of the deck. In that instant, it looked as if the entire tank was about to flip into the river.
But thanks to the engineers' ingenious balancing, it miraculously floated.
It's like an elephant standing on a group of inflatable lifebuoys; it's teetering on the edge, but as stable as a mountain.
This is the difference between GD's group and ordinary people.
Strunzsky watched the Panzer IV tank slowly drifting towards the north shore on the water, a hint of arrogance flashing in his eyes.
Ordinary engineers are building bridges, but these soldiers are risking their lives.
Using this ferry method that pushes the limits of physics, Strunzsky's mechanized company, along with the three precious Panzer IV tanks, crossed the A River swiftly like ghosts in just half an hour, leaving not a single screw behind.
Once ashore, the first thing Sstránsky did was not to rush to give chase, but to stop the convoy.
He leaned against the Sd.Kfz. 251/6 command vehicle, which was still running and spewing white steam from its exhaust pipe, holding an "urgent battle damage report" from the 19th Army headquarters that the communications soldier had just decoded.