"Wait."
"Wait…" Paul squinted his eyes.
"Now!" he shouted into the radio.
His tank fired, the newly loaded shell detonating against the enemy's position and tearing apart its cover beneath the shade of the trees.
The shells cut through the air, arcing briefly before descending again and then—
An explosion. A tank engulfed in flames.
That was the beginning of everything else.
Hundreds of shells followed, screaming through the forest. Some struck trees, splintering wood. Others catapulted up dirt. Some hit metal, steel against steel.
Shrapnel ripped through the greenery, cutting down men who had barely taken cover.
The German side had struck first, firing from a small hillside where they had barely been visible. Now, their cover was gone.
"Move!" Paul ordered, though he knew it was already routine for his tank commanders.
One by one, the German tanks revealed themselves, spreading out as they advanced, maneuvering and evading the incoming French return fire.
A shell struck the ground between two Panzers, throwing dirt and smoke over their hulls.
Then Paul heard something over the radio.
"Tanks!" a commander at the forefront reported.
Paul nodded.
"Full attack. Break through their positions," he ordered, leaning back as his tank vibrated once more from the recoil of another fired shell.
The German tanks thundered across the forest floor, seasoned drivers weaving between trees and explosions alike. Still, casualties were inevitable.
Tracks slipped in the loose soil, engines roared as drivers fought for control.
A Panzer III was struck by an anti-tank shell, the round slamming directly into its side. The metal buckled inward under the violent impact. Those inside met a terrible fate.
Pawns are bound to fall on the path to killing the enemy king. Their bodies become stepping stones.
Paul thought this coldly, his regard for human life having eroded over the long years of war.
"All for the checkmate," he added.
Then, suddenly, several of the French tanks turned their turrets to the side. A Char B1 was struck hard from the flank, its hull erupting into fresh flames.
It was Rommel's tanks, arriving from the side, rolling across the grassland, their turrets already hot from the first barrage.French crews rallied to respond, firing wildly as shells tore through their formation.
More and more French tanks moved in as reinforcements. Above them, the sky had drawn countless aircraft. French and German planes clashed desperately over forest and field alike. Machine-gun fire from above stitched lines across the battlefield, forcing stray soldiers to search for cover-
The ground shook under endless explosions. Trees toppled, sometimes crashing onto tanks, wrecks, or men. Humans in particular were treated like insects on this battlefield.
The former French positions had become nothing more than a cemetery. Bodies were already buried beneath fresh earth, thrown up by the hundreds of craters scattered across the area.
Paul clenched his teeth as a tank beside him was hit. Not fatal, but its track was torn apart, leaving it immobilized.The crew jumped out, sprinting for cover as flames licked at the hull.
"They are focusing on this direction," Paul said coldly, his eyes narrowed as he peered through the viewing slit of the Panzer IV.
"Ready!" a soldier shouted.
The tank fired again, the explosion reverberating through the hull as the shell tore through the air.
Paul allowed himself a faint smile as the round struck a French tank head-on, devastating it in a violent blast that echoed through the forest.
"Good wo—" he began, when the entire tank suddenly lurched.
The soldier laughed.
"They can't penetrate the armor of our great Panzer IV!"
And indeed, the old Renault Char B1 tanks struggled against the far more modern Panzer IVs. Step by step, the French were pushed back, leaving behind twisted metal carcasses across the battlefield. Some soldiers managed to flee from the burning wrecks, only to be cut down moments later by the machine guns of the German tanks.
Roughly two hours after the battle had begun, French whistles finally sounded the retreat. Covered by what remained of their air support and still harried by Messerschmitt fighters, the French pulled back in disorder, tanks and infantry retreating together.
The Germans stood victorious once more.
Rommel and Paul had won their first major engagement, pushing deep into Belgian territory.
The battle, which would later be known as the Battle of Arlon, had turned the once peaceful area near the forest into ruin. The ground was covered in craters, mostly from tank shells, some from bombs dropped by French aircraft, others from grenades thrown by desperate soldiers. In and beside them lay dozens of metal carcasses, some still burning. Some were German, many were French. Inside them lay their crews, many reduced to ash.
The wind moved through the remaining trees, lifting ash and carrying it away. It drifted eastward, toward Berlin, where the first news of Rommel's and Paul's victory reached the ears of the General Staff and other men.
In a large room, the voices of disucssion were loud, when the doors opened.
"Sirs, report from the front!"The soldier shouted, ahndign over the piece of paper towards the nearest General.
It was Witzleben, who received the paper first, skimming over the text.
"So?"Keitel asked.
Witzleben smiled slightly, before handing over the paper.
Keitel grabbed the report and read aloud.
"Guderian has pierced the defenses at Maastricht."
"Mannstein…"
"We have made an advance at Enschede by an SS battalion."
"Rommel and Jeager's 7th and 8th Panzer division have taken Luxembourg, just as planned," Keitel continued, his voice growing tense. "They have engaged a French tank division at Arlon."
He searched for the city on the map and pointed at it. The other generals in the room whispered quietly, nodding as their eyes followed his finger.
"They managed to push the division back, suffering only light casualties. They report that they will continue their advance into the French hinterland."
Keitel read on until the end, then lowered the paper.
"They should wait for the rear guard. Their advance is too hasty."
"No word of praise for their remarkable victories?" Witzleben asked, raising an eyebrow.
Keitel sighed, barely audible, before speaking again.
"Of course they did well. But they must not grow megalomaniacal. Waiting for the rear guard is no disgrace."
Witzleben tilted his head. Not in agreement, not in opposition. He merely observed the reactions of the other generals, who had already begun to murmur among themselves.
"Tell Jeager and Rommel to slow down," Keitel said, gesturing to the soldier who had delivered the message.
The soldier nodded and left the room.
----------------------
Paul sat atop the lookout hatch of his Panzer IV, the minor repairs already completed. Slowly, he tilted his head. Behind him stretched a long column of tanks, rolling along the narrow dirt road. The sun shone brightly on the faces of Paul and his tank commanders.
He looked forward again. A forest line emerged ahead.
"The Ardennes," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the piece of paper held between his gloved fingers.
He chuckled dryly, then pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it, the tip glowing red, and calmly pressed it against the paper. The edge caught fire, flames spreading slowly across the surface.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the burning paper away. It spiraled through the air as the wind caught its light weight, carrying it until it fell to the ground, already half consumed by fire.
A tank track rolled over it moments later, grinding the remains into dust and dirt until nothing was left.
Paul did not look back.
Instead, he exchanged a glance with the tank beside him. The general seated there was none other than Rommel, who had watched everything in silence.
The 7th and 8th Panzer Divisions continued onward, swallowed by the forests of the Ardennes...
-------------------------------------
No chap tomorrow guys
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.