Chapter 436: Surrounded Again
"Blitzkrieg" at the strategic level is all about "striking the unprepared," while at the tactical level, it means "hitting where the enemy is lazy." The idea is never to attack the enemy's prepared defenses, which would only trap your own forces in a quagmire. Tanks are not meant to be static artillery—they're built for mobility, to bypass fortifications, using their thick armor, cannons, and machine guns to cut down unprotected infantry.
This is what later became known in WWII as the "pincer movement."
In addition, frontline German commanders were given significant freedom; they could choose whether to engage, or pick their own routes of attack as long as the general objective was clear. This led to commands often being issued spontaneously and unpredictably, leaving their opponents constantly scrambling.
Charles applied the same principles here, bypassing Mons entirely—the city for which Falkenhayn had poured so much blood, sweat, and lives into fortifying. Everything Falkenhayn had painstakingly prepared now counted for nothing.
The "gap" in the encirclement?
Charles had already created a new outer ring of containment. Mons was firmly inside it and no longer represented any escape route.
A city is a deathtrap for tanks? Buildings and debris would slow them down?
Charles's tanks never entered the city. There was no graveyard and no issue of movement.
…
Preuilly was a small village practically forgotten by time, with just over a hundred households and around 300 residents. The only structure remotely resembling a "tall building" was a church on the west side, yet it, like the other buildings, was made of wood.
A few days earlier, a surge of German troops had disrupted this village's quiet life.
Positioned roughly ten miles east of Mons, Preuilly served as a potential staging area and supply transfer point for the retreating Germans.
Thousands of wounded German soldiers from Mons had already gathered there, and the number continued to swell. The makeshift field hospitals were overwhelmed, urgently needing any available transport—cars, carts, anything—to evacuate the injured.
The first to occupy the village was an infantry regiment sent from Charleroi. Hastily assembled, mostly from support units, many of these soldiers were seeing the battlefield for the first time. When they learned they were to hold off Charles's forces, their faces turned pale.
"This is a battle we can't win."
"We haven't trained for this—I've never even seen a tank."
"If Charles could smash our tank division, why do they think we can stop him with just a few rifles?"
…
Such was the state of things inside the German lines—under-manned and barely able to muster any coherent defense.
Nevertheless, they constructed a rough defensive line outside the village, intending to repel any pursuing French troops and cover the retreat of the main forces.
Soon, the scattered German forces breaking out of the encirclement converged here, swelling their numbers to over 20,000. These troops were immediately set to reinforcing the defenses.
After days of preparation, their line extended from a small river to the north, reaching an unnamed hill to the south. They dug layers of trenches, laid barbed wire, and widened ditches to prevent tanks from crossing.
With little else to do, they kept digging.
Major General Johannes, who commanded these troops, looked exhausted and disheveled. Days ago, his 109th Infantry Division had been stationed at Cambrai, but under French assault, it was shattered and scattered in multiple directions. What he now led was a patchwork of soldiers cobbled together.
Still, Johannes felt confident in his defenses.
"We don't expect to stop Charles's forces entirely," he told his men. "Our goal is simple—to slow them down and cover the main force's retreat. Just to cover the retreat!"
Since more comrades would be retreating this way, Johannes had even left a pathway through the barbed wire wide enough for foot soldiers to pass through, though it was too narrow for tanks.
He also had wooden planks placed across the widened ditches to serve as bridges. These planks were carefully selected to support soldiers and vehicles but not the weight of a tank.
Nearby, he stationed demolition teams who, if necessary, could detonate the wooden bridges to halt any tanks attempting to cross.
Johannes had set up his command post in the village's church—the only elevated spot in the area, providing a clear view of the surroundings. The church's roof allowed his sentries to survey the countryside for miles, at least during the day.
But not at night.
…
It was early morning, and Johannes had fallen asleep slumped over his desk.
Ever since taking command of the line, he had been restlessly searching for any additional defensive measures to stop Charles's inevitable attack.
They had no artillery to bring from within the encirclement, but they could plant explosives. Or perhaps a demolition team could use clustered grenades to disable the tanks.
Damn it, where was the tank unit? Or the planes?
Why were they never there when needed?
As Johannes drifted in and out of sleep, he was suddenly roused by the sound of barking dogs. He rubbed his eyes, peering into the dark outside the window, where he could barely make out moving figures.
"What's going on?" he asked the radio operator.
"Villagers," the operator replied. "They say they're here for Sunday service. Since we took over the church, they've been gathering elsewhere."
Johannes nodded, murmuring, "It's Sunday."
He looked at the candle flickering beside him and made a small, quiet sign of the cross over his chest.
Necessity had forced them into the church; God would forgive them for just wanting to stay alive.
Soon, the village settled back into silence, eerily empty, with only a few birds chirping on the branches.
Then Johannes felt something was off. Checking his watch, he noted the time—5:30 a.m.
"Do the villagers normally go to church this early?" he asked.
The radio operator shrugged, looking puzzled. "I'm not sure, sir. Maybe they had a long walk ahead—perhaps to the neighboring village's chapel?"
It seemed plausible enough; they couldn't gather outdoors, after all.
Dismissive of the strange feeling, Johannes lay down again, deciding he would move to one of the church pews to make himself more comfortable.
That was when he heard a low rumble in the distance.
At first, Johannes thought he'd imagined it, but the sound grew louder and louder.
He bolted upright, listening intently. And as the realization hit, his face turned pale.
"Damn it—it's Charles's forces, they're tanks!" he shouted.
"We've been fooled! Those villagers weren't attending service; they were withdrawing from the battlefield!"
"Get ready! Everyone into the trenches!"
…
Before he even finished, the lookout stationed on the church roof yelled down, "But General! The enemy isn't coming from the front—they're behind us!"
"What?"
Johannes froze, staring in disbelief.
The enemy was behind them?
They were surrounded again.
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