I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 42: After modification - Do you want to try again?

Chapter 42: After modification: Chapter 42 Do you want to try again?

Blood splattered and screams echoed.

Bullets whizzed through the air above the German Army camp with a "whooshing" sound, drawing clearly visible lines in the air like kite strings.

But the end of these lines was not a beautiful pattern, but shattered bodies and glaring crimson.

The unprepared Germans were thrown into chaos under the rain of bullets, many becoming corpses before they even realized what was happening.

Officers shouted loudly amid the crowd, trying to control the situation, but they didn’t know what was happening either, and could only weakly cry out, "Enemy attack, prepare for battle!"

However, where was the enemy?

What preparations should be made?

Where should they aim and fire?

Standing, lying, or collapsed in their own blood, all they saw ahead were their own men, with occasional shadows flashing by amid the roar of engines, followed by terrifying machine gun fire, the bullets mercilessly reaping lives like giant scythes.

Soldiers were panic-stricken, holding their guns but afraid to pull the trigger.

Under such circumstances, the only ones they would hit were their own comrades!

The cavalry’s horses, neatly tied at the other end of the camp, felt the danger and neighed loudly in fear. Soon, they broke free from their reins and galloped wildly, knocking over numerous soldiers and trampling them under their iron hooves.

A horse-drawn cart loaded with ammunition was brought to a frenzy by the frightened horses, running helter-skelter. The ropes securing the ammunition boxes snapped under the intense shaking, and shells spilled along the cart’s path.

Finally, a volley of bullets hit the cart...

With a loud explosion, the detonated ammunition instantly blew the cart and the horses to pieces. Flames and smoke rose, forming a small mushroom cloud in the camp, violently hurling nearby Germans into the air, who then fell back to earth in fragments.

Even Major Brownie, who was firing, was shocked by this scene.

He never knew the Germans were this easy to deal with, as if all they did was point their guns at the enemy and pull the trigger...

The speeding motorcycle with a sidecar was unstable, with bullets flying uncontrollably up and down, swaying horizontally the moment they hit the ground due to the vibration and inertia, lacking any accuracy.

However, they didn’t need accuracy.

Because the enemy was right in front of them, clustered together, it didn’t matter if the bullets hit up or down, left or right, they were all aiming at enemies.

But Major Brownie felt that most of the Germans were not hit by bullets but were injured in the chaos: recklessly shooting and hitting their own men, panicking and running only to be trampled by horses, or blown up by detonated shells, et cetera.

Finally, the motorcycle forces broke through the German camp.

Shire had instructed: "Don’t linger in battle, Major. You must fully utilize the speed advantage. Once you slow down, you’re finished!"

Therefore, Major Brownie did not stay, leading the team back to the highway to continue advancing, like a gang of bikers storming into a market, causing chaos before riding away again.

The motorcycles cruised steadily on the highway, and the soldiers remained silent, seemingly not yet recovered from the combat state, or unable to believe what had just transpired.

After a long moment, someone exclaimed:

"What did we just do? We gave those Germans a thorough beating, didn’t we?"

"Of course, didn’t you see how disheveled they were? My wheels are red, and that’s all German blood!"

"Unbelievable, there are just over two hundred of us, yet we inflicted heavy casualties on over twenty thousand of them, leaving them unable to fight back. How did this happen?!"

Major Brownie gulped, equally surprised by the outcome. He looked around him, noticing that nearly everyone was still there, with minimal losses.

Unbelievable, this tactic actually worked, Shire pulled it off again!

He created another miracle!

Major Brownie paused for a moment, then pulled out a map from his pocket, and shouted to the excited soldiers: "Hey, guys, want to do it again?"

...

Kluck stumbled up from the ground, looking in disbelief at the chaotic scene before him, the previously orderly camp now in utter disarray.

Burning tents, dead bodies strewn all around, wounded men lying on the ground wailing, and the survivors seemed terrified, some sitting dazedly on the ground, unsure of what to do, while others remained lying down, afraid to get up.

Where were the enemies?

Kluck looked around, but there was no sign of the enemies.

If not for the devastation, Kluck would have doubted if the enemy had ever been there.

A staff officer ran over from somewhere, breathing heavily and speaking in a frightened tone, "General, we captured a few enemy soldiers and their... their three-wheeled motorcycles!"

Kluck gritted his teeth and signaled for the staff officer to lead the way with a look.

It was an overturned sidecar motorcycle, the machine gunner’s head smashed in the accident, and the driver was shot in the chest and died on the spot.

Only the soldier in the rear seat was still alive, but his right leg was broken, folded at a strange angle underneath him.

He lay on the ground, trembling in pain, face pale, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, but dared not scream. His eyes were filled with fear as he looked at the approaching German soldiers and the dark, gaping muzzles of their guns.

Kluck had no interest in the surviving prisoner. He turned his attention to the overturned sidecar, its wheels still turning, occasionally bending down to inspect its internal structure.

After a long while, he stood up and commented expressionlessly, "A genius design, combining the Maxim machine gun with a motorcycle, giving it tremendous firepower, excellent passability, and mobility!"

Kluck seemed to understand why the covering troops had not sounded an alarm. These sidecar motorcycles must have come via mountain roads or trails, bypassing the covering troops’ defensive areas to strike directly at the rear.

This very place!

Then, like having an epiphany, Kluck raised his gaze in the direction the motorcycles disappeared, coldly ordering the staff officer: "Order the 9th Corps to organize a defense, the enemy is heading towards them!"

"Yes!"

Kluck then added another order: "There’s a chance they may circle back. We will organize a defense to the north!"

"Yes!"

The troops began organizing defenses to the north as ordered, leaving the cleanup to the support units behind, while the artillery set up in open areas with barrels aimed at the highway. Should those motorcycles reappear, a barrage would blast them into the sky.

"Come on, little mice, let’s see where you can run," Kluck muttered, observing the highway from a hidden position.

But suddenly, the hum of engines came from behind him.

Kluck knew something was wrong. He whirled around, hands trembling as he raised his binoculars—a new enemy convoy?

He quickly realized the truth, seeing through his binoculars a convoy stained with blood, unmistakably the same enemy as before.

Damn it, they circled back along the highway!

As a German General, he had somehow been ambushed twice by the same enemy unit on the same day!

And this time, the vulnerable artillery and support units, along with a stockpile of shells, were under attack!