Chapter 483: What Will the Rear Fortresses Be Used For?
The German Fifth Army was an elite formation, and the 51st Infantry Regiment was its pride. Comprised mostly of battle-hardened veterans and soldiers returning bravely after recovering from wounds, they represented Germany's very best—seasoned fighters, fiercely motivated and disciplined.
Yet, faced with this strange and terrifying new French tactic, even these seasoned men panicked. Witnessing comrades collapsing in droves, screaming and writhing helplessly on the ground, they broke ranks, abandoning discipline as primal fear overcame them. Those still able stumbled backward, desperately crawling away from the devastating blasts.
But the Germans weren't the only ones stunned; French defenders watched in horrified awe at the gruesome scene unfolding before them. The hillside before their trenches became a nightmarish tableau—men alive but hideously maimed. Some Germans clawed wildly at their shredded faces, others grasped at severed limbs. Many, unmarked externally, convulsed on the ground, tormented by unseen wounds.
Soon, isolated explosions rang out from scattered points—wounded soldiers choosing to end their unbearable pain by detonating their own grenades. Their desperate suicides quickly multiplied, echoing through the night air.
Some surviving Germans tried rallying in captured trenches, only to discover too late that the French had rigged them beforehand. Another series of explosions sent fresh screams echoing from within. Any trench taken was now a deathtrap.
French soldiers waited cautiously, only rising once the explosions had subsided. Carefully, they advanced to finish off survivors mercifully with bayonets, ending the enemy's torment quickly.
Crown Prince Wilhelm remained at VII Corps headquarters, eager to savor the expected triumph. Listening to the artillery barrage roaring outside, Wilhelm's fingers traced the map greedily, landing on Verdun's city center. "I want Verdun captured before dawn," he declared impatiently. "We'll avoid street fighting during daylight, when they're better prepared."
General Bennett privately disagreed, knowing urban fighting at night favored defenders familiar with the terrain. But he merely smiled reassuringly, confidently promising, "Rest assured, Your Highness. By morning, we'll stroll peacefully through Verdun's ruined streets."
Wilhelm laughed heartily, "I look forward to that sight immensely, General!"
Suddenly, the communications officer turned anxiously, reporting urgently: "General, the 23rd Infantry Regiment has been repulsed, suffering heavy casualties!"
Bennett's smile vanished instantly. He cursed sharply, "Get Colonel Elias here immediately! He must explain himself."
"Yes, General."
Bennett assumed it an isolated incident—until more bad news poured in relentlessly:
"The 51st Regiment has lost over half its strength; Colonel Witold is reported killed!"
"The 77th Regiment has collapsed; Colonel Braden seriously wounded, requesting immediate withdrawal!"
Stunned silence gripped Bennett as reports accumulated rapidly. Within mere minutes, his elite assault forces had either collapsed completely or been grievously wounded.
Wilhelm's expression darkened with confusion, "Have the French received reinforcements?"
"No, Your Highness," Bennett shook his head firmly. "We continuously shell the French supply routes. Any reinforcement must be minimal."
"Then what's causing this disaster?"
At that moment, Colonel Elias—commander of the shattered 23rd Regiment—was carried inside on a stretcher, groaning pitifully. Wilhelm aimed his flashlight, recoiling instinctively upon seeing the Colonel's grotesquely torn face, raw flesh hanging raggedly.
"What happened?" Bennett demanded anxiously.
"Bombs…special bombs," Elias gasped, his voice trembling with agony. "Not ordinary shells—they spray metal everywhere."
A German medic hurried forward, slicing open Elias's uniform. Beneath flickering lantern light, everyone recoiled in horror. Elias's body resembled a honeycomb, covered in countless tiny punctures oozing blood. The medic carefully extracted one small metallic object with forceps—it clinked loudly into a steel tray. Another followed immediately after. The observers finally understood: steel balls—small, devastatingly numerous, and brutally effective.
The medic grimly informed Bennett, "It appears the French have filled explosives with steel pellets, vastly increasing lethality."
Bennett glanced questioningly at the medic, who shook his head sorrowfully. Removing all pellets would be impossible. Infection would inevitably claim Elias's life—a fate shared by countless soldiers tonight.
Wilhelm clenched his jaw tightly, murmuring gravely, "New weapons… This must be Shire's doing."
The officers around him fell silent, exchanging fearful glances. Their worst nightmare had arrived—Shire himself was commanding against them, introducing tactics and weaponry they had no answers for.
Meanwhile, Shire and General Lacoste had moved their command center to Fort Saint-Michel, closest to Verdun's city proper. Though no longer actively defended—with artillery, ammunition, and machine guns already relocated forward—it remained crucial for coordinating this night's pivotal defense.
Telephones buzzed continually with good news:
"The 32nd Regiment repulsed the enemy with minimal casualties!"
"The 81st Regiment drove back attackers; thirteen casualties sustained."
Lacoste could barely contain his elation. Turning gratefully toward Shire, he praised, "You were absolutely right, Brigadier General. The directional mines vastly surpassed our expectations. German casualties are undoubtedly tens of times ours!"
Yet Shire showed little interest in casualty reports. Such devastating outcomes were predictable given Verdun's dense infantry assaults and the power of his directional mines.
Instead, Shire studied the map thoughtfully, finger tracing Fort Douaumont, currently held by German forces. Suddenly, he posed a curious question to Lacoste, "General, if the enemy's assault generates significant casualties, how might they use the captured fortresses behind their lines?"
Surprised by this question, Lacoste thought briefly before replying confidently, "Given their numerous wounded, the Germans will likely convert rear fortifications into makeshift field hospitals."
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