diymy Chapter 106 The 6-inch Can Opener
Chapter 106 The 6-inch Can Opener
Chapter 106 The Six-Inch Can Opener
June 7, 1940, 05:15, France, outer defense line of Le Havre Port, front line of Zone D.
German unit density: 45 armored units per square kilometer (extremely high risk).
Distance to contact: 300 meters. Ambient visibility: Good (dawn breaking through the thin fog).
The earthquake trembled; that is a fact.
When more than two hundred Maybach HL120TRM engines roared at the same frequency, and hundreds of manganese steel tracks rolled over the frozen dirt road at the same time, the low-frequency resonance transmitted from the ground was enough to cause the tin soldier's cup placed at the edge of the trench to shift.
Arthur Sterling stood at the observation window of the command bunker. His black SS leather overcoat was covered with a thick layer of lime powder, a remnant of the recent Stuka bombing.
He didn't look at the approaching steel monsters. His gaze was fixed on the RTS holographic map projected onto his retina.
On that blue grid map, the red blocks representing German armored formations were unfolding in a textbook manner.
Five minutes ago, at the German frontline command post.
The Stuka bomber squadrons had just left, and their "masterpieces" were clearly visible in the footage.
It was no longer a defensive position; it was more like a junkyard.
The concrete pavement of Victor Square was riddled with craters several meters in diameter. The wreckage of several Bedford trucks was still burning fiercely, and black hydrocarbon smoke columns rose vertically, intertwining with the milky white sea fog of the early morning to form a chemically toxic smog.
A section of the breakwater was blown off, and the steel bars were exposed to the air like broken ribs.
Amidst those ruins, no living creatures could be seen; only flames silently twisted in the air.
Rommel adjusted the focus, looking at the sandbags and machine gun positions that had been overturned by the blast wave.
According to his understanding, after being covered by 250 kg bombs of this density, any soft target exposed outside the bunker should have been shattered.
The British troops trapped in the port should have been completely bewildered at this moment, with communications cut off, their organization broken up, and soldiers crying out that they wanted to go home to find their mothers.
My job is to finish up the remaining tasks.
Just then, a major in a black armored uniform walked over—
His collar insignia bore the emblem of the 10th Panzer Division—the elite unit under Heinz Guderianmore.
"General," the major said, giving a crisp military salute, his tone slightly strained, "General Guderian asked me to tell you that he is on his way here and is expected to arrive at the front in an hour."
Rommel's hand holding the telescope paused for a second in mid-air.
"The general is coming?" Rommel's voice suddenly tightened.
"Yes." The major nodded. "The general indicated that, given the remarkable resilience shown by the 51st Hill Division at Abbeyville and the significant political implications of annihilating it, he is concerned that the situation may change. He wishes to personally oversee the operation to ensure the complete annihilation of this British force."
These words were like a slap in the face, landing hard on Rommel's cheek.
He personally supervised the battle.
In other words, this reflects the old man's lack of confidence in his own command abilities.
Rommel looked at the officer from the 10th Panzer Division and felt an unprecedented sense of shame.
He was Rommel, whose 7th Panzer Division was known as the "Ghost Division." He should have annihilated this British force in Abbeyville or cut them off during last night's pursuit.
But now, he has not only let his prey escape into the port, but he also needs the "father of armored warfare" to teach him how to fight.
If we wait until Guderian arrives, and the battle is considered won, who gets the credit? What will the battle report from Berlin say?
Was it "Rommel captured Le Havre" or "Guderian saved Rommel from defeat"?
He could not betray the leader's trust. He could not tolerate having someone else's fingerprints on his medals.
"Tell Admiral Guderian."
Rommel turned around, his face grim, the bloodshot veins in his eyes seeming to burn: "There's no need to trouble him."
"When he arrives, I'll invite him for coffee at the Le Havre town hall."
Rommel patted the armor plating of the "Greyfeld" half-track vehicle next to him, his tone carrying an arrogance that seemed to challenge this authority on armored warfare: "Then, we can sit down and talk about how to drive the Panzer III well."
"After all, theory is theory, and mud is mud. I think he would be happy to hear my driving feedback as a frontline user."
""
The major paused for a moment, then said, "General, you mean—"
"Start the attack now."
Rommel panicked.
This commander, who would later be known as the "Desert Fox," made a fatal mistake at this moment—he was held hostage by honor and arrogance.
There's not enough time.
They were all in the same division. He didn't have time to do anything like infantry infiltration or to gradually eliminate the outer firing points. He absolutely couldn't allow himself to regress to that "turtle tactic" that crawled in the mud and smelled of the Somme.
He needs a heavy blow. A blow that can kill instantly, shattering the bones and concrete of the British.
He saw the British troops with their backs to the sea and the narrow terrain of Le Havre harbor, and his tactical intuition told him: this was a standard "encirclement and annihilation battle".
No infantry probing is needed, no air force cover is needed, only artillery and armor are required.
"Order the main force of the 7th Panzer Division, along with the tank battalion of the 10th Panzer Division, to press forward!" Rommel ordered his communications officer. "Concentrate all tanks on the main road! Use overwhelming numbers and firepower to crush the British lines in one fell swoop!"
"I want to see the results within thirty minutes!"
Thus, on Arthur's RTS map, in the open assembly area codenamed Grid-Zero-Five (coordinate zone 05), the density of German tanks reached an astonishing peak.
In pursuit of so-called "assault momentum," hundreds of Panzer III, Panzer IV, and half-track vehicles were forcibly squeezed into a narrow frontal attack sector.
Their tracks were side by side, their armor against each other, awaiting the final charge.
This is a true torrent of steel, a grand display of power, also known as "a high-density stacking of high-value targets".
On inland plains, setting aside air force, high-quality armored formations are indeed invincible.
But unfortunately—this place is by the sea.
In Arthur's eyes, this was no longer an army. It was just a "target".
"Right here." Arthur tapped his fingers lightly on the windowsill.
Rommel seemed to be in a hurry.
Of course, if the German general really chose a cautious, defensive strategy, it would be exactly what Arthur needed to buy time.
But since he chose to accelerate—
He chose to call in reinforcements.
"Galácticos! Galatea!"
Coordinates: Grid—Zero—Five!
Arthur's voice was no longer suppressed; it roared directly.
There was a moment's hesitation on the other end of the radio before the captain's puzzled voice came through: "Sir, the distance is too far—and there are clouds, we can't confirm it visually—"
"What? It's too far to see?"
Arthur stared out the window at the densely packed German tanks, a vicious grin spreading across his face: "There are hundreds!!"
"You don't need to see them! You just need to fill that damn square with explosives! You can hit a car no matter how you shoot!"
"Don't try to save me ammunition! That's taxpayers' money!"
"Fire all bullets at once! Full power!!"
05:16, under the clouds near the sea, the light cruiser Galatea.
Beneath these leaden-gray cumulonimbus clouds, the Aretosa-class light cruiser, with a displacement of only 5220 tons, had been lying in wait in radio silence for nearly a full hour.
On the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Simon, the captain, listened to the army madman's roar through his headphones. His previously tense lips slowly cracked into a ferocious smile.
-
That was the Royal Navy's arrogance towards land targets.
"This is the Royal Navy." The captain adjusted his cap and gave the order into the megaphone: "As you wish, Captain Sterling."
"Attention all ships! Main gun target locked!"
"Loading armor-piercing high-explosive shells!"
Fire!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Accompanied by thick black smoke, six enormous fireballs instantly rose from the sea.
But this is just the beginning.
HMS Galatea is demonstrating the Royal Navy’s proud “pulse salvo”.
As soon as the ship's A turret began to recover from the recoil, the two raised 6-inch gun barrels of the B turret unleashed a ten-meter-long muzzle storm; and while the B turret was still ejecting its hull, the ship's X turret had already fired.
A, B, X.
The three twin-mounted MkXXI turrets roared in turn, like precision gears meshing together.
This is not just a simple matter of a few cannons firing; it is an entire automated system operating at full power.
Below deck, a hydraulically driven hoist is lifting shells weighing 50.8 kilograms each from the deep ammunition magazine to the gun chamber at a speed of more than three meters per second.
The push rod strikes the breech, the locking device closes, and the circuit is connected.
Six seconds.
In just six seconds, this complex mechanical process completes one cycle.
There was no pause.
A continuous barrage of bullets formed on the sea surface. The firepower density and output of this lone light cruiser at this moment were enough to overwhelm any German field artillery regiment.
This is not violence on a single dimension.
This is neither the British 25-pound field gun that barely scratches the surface of infantry, nor the German Army's proud 150mm sFH.
18 howitzer.
Although both are 150mm, this is a naval gun.
This is a sea monster forged to penetrate the surface carburized armor of enemy ships at a distance of more than ten kilometers and to crush the concrete fortifications of coastal defense fortresses.
Its barrel is longer, reaching 50 times its caliber, and its chamber pressure is also higher. The shells it fires have a much flatter trajectory than those of army artillery, as well as terrifying velocity retention.
Inside that thick projectile body is a high-explosive armor-piercing charge specifically for naval use, with a charge coefficient several times that of army artillery of the same caliber.
When this monster is used to attack tank formations on land, it will be a one-sided massacre.
The shells ripped through the sky. The sound of their flight was no longer a sharp whistle, but a low rumble like a train passing by.
Woo boom! !
They flew a distance of 12 kilometers, like six hammers of judgment thrown down by God, and struck precisely into the German tank attack formation.
05:17, Grid—Zero—Five gathering place.
For the German troops on the ground, death was silent, because the muzzle velocity of the 152mm shells was as high as Mach 2.5, far outpacing sound; destruction arrived before the whistling sound.
The explosion occurred without warning amidst the crowd.
But in Arthur's retinal projection, the sky was not empty.
On that RTS holographic map, the sky was shattered.
He could clearly see the green parabolas representing ballistic calculations stretching densely from the sea to the land, weaving together into a huge, luminous net of death, tightly shrouding the sky above Grid-Zero-Five.
One of the lead Panzer III tanks was unlucky. It was hit directly in the upper glacis armor by a 152mm SAP round.
There is no so-called "penetration" process. Faced with the kinetic energy of this caliber, a 30mm carburized steel armor plate is no different from being naked.
Boom!
The entire tank disintegrated instantly, like a soda can being crushed by a hydraulic press.
Twenty tons of steel were reduced to their most basic, unprocessed state. The turret was thrown fifty meters into the air, tumbling and rolling like a headless knight's helmet. The chassis was reduced to scrap metal, and the four crew members inside didn't even have time to feel the pain.
It evaporated in the milliseconds.
But this is only the beginning.
The shockwave from the explosion swept through the dense group of tanks. The several kilograms of high explosives contained in the 152mm shell created a crater ten meters in diameter on the ground.
The three half-track troop carriers located near the epicenter were overturned by the blast wave. They tumbled through the air like toy cars, throwing the infantrymen out of the vehicles before they crashed to the ground.
It wasn't shrapnel that killed them.
It's overpressure.
The drastic change in air pressure instantly shattered their alveoli and eardrums, turning their internal organs into a complete mess.
"My God—"
A German tank commander even subconsciously prepared to peek out of the command tower, staring blankly at the black cloud that suddenly rose up dozens of meters ahead.
Before he could even react, the second volley had already begun.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
This was a saturation firing. Six bullets exploded in the center of the German assembly area.
The Galatea's six main guns began firing at breakneck speed. At a rate of eight rounds per minute, each gun transformed the light cruiser into a floating volcano. In just one minute, 48 heavy shells slammed into an area of less than one square kilometer.
The dense hail of bullets created an insurmountable wall of fire on the German positions.
The soil was turned upside down, the steel was torn apart, and human bodies were scattered.
For the first time, the once-arrogant and domineering German armored forces felt fear before the brutal and unreasonable heavy artillery of the navy.
This is not a contest of tactics; it's a crushing defeat due to sheer size.
The attack was thwarted, and the iron clamps were broken.
Rommel stood on the command vehicle at the rear and lowered his binoculars.
He was so angry that his hands were trembling.
His prized armored forces lost more than forty tanks in just three minutes.
"Retreat—" Rommel gritted his teeth and forced out the word, "Release smoke! All troops retreat!"
I have something to do today, so I'm posting one chapter early. There will be another chapter around noon.
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