Trying to wipe out enemy tanks with artillery alone was a pipe dream. For one, the battlefield was way too wide, and the shell density just wasn’t enough to cover everything. Two, the accuracy of arcing artillery against moving targets was downright pathetic—they could only rely on saturation fire and pray for a lucky hit.
So, even though they’d taken a beating from the German guns and suffered heavy losses, most of the American tanks still punched through the German lines and kept closing in on the defenses.
Luckily, Wilhelm never expected the artillery to solo the enemy’s tank force anyway. That barrage was just a stall tactic—to throw off the enemy’s attack rhythm and buy time for the anti-tank crews to get set up!
Using that window, German soldiers hauled out every anti-tank weapon they had, planted them on their positions, and swung the barrels and muzzles toward the incoming tanks.
In just a few minutes, the well-drilled Germans were locked and loaded. All they needed was the order, and they’d blast the targets in their sights to pieces.
But Wilhelm held his fire:
"Hold your horses. Don’t shoot. Let them get closer!"
The Germans didn’t have many anti-tank guns. Their main weapon was the Mauser 1918 T-G anti-tank rifle.
This beast fired a massive 13.2mm round, measured nearly 5’7" long, and weighed a whopping 40 pounds. It was a real hog to lug around.
But that extra-long barrel and huge caliber delivered insane kinetic energy and stopping power!
At 100 yards, this anti-tank rifle could punch through 20mm of armor—enough to handle pretty much any tank from WWI.
However, the round lost its punch fast. Past 150 yards, its armor-piercing capability dropped off a cliff.
So, to take the bastards out, they had to let them get nice and close.
The charging American troops had no clue they were already locked in the Germans’ sights. Seeing the enemy lines dead silent, they figured the Krauts had chickened out and bolted at the sight of their tank spearhead.
Hell, if they were on the receiving end of that many tanks, they’d probably have crapped their pants too.
"See? Told you. The enemy’s a bunch of pushovers!"
The American commander watching from the rear let out a sigh of relief and started feeling himself again.
Yeah, right. "World’s strongest army," my ass.
From where I’m standing, the German Second Empire’s forces ain’t all that!
But man, these tanks are something else. Gotta report this to HQ and tell ’em to crank out more back home.
In the Americans’ eyes, the only reason the Brits and French had held their own against the Germans on the Western Front was because they had tanks in spades.
During WWI, the Entente had deployed thousands of tanks on the Western Front, while the Germans only had a few dozen.
The gap in armored strength was night and day, giving the Entente a seriously lopsided advantage.
While the Americans were busy patting themselves on the back, the British and French military observers on the sidelines frowned.
Something felt off about the German positions. It set off alarm bells in their guts.
The Germans might not have many tanks, but they sure as hell weren’t short on ways to kill them.
If it weren’t for the earlier battle, they might’ve bought the "scared shitless and running" theory.
But after watching the Germans fight tooth and nail earlier, the odds of them bugging out were practically zero.
If they weren’t running, then all that silence could only mean one thing: they were cooking up something nasty.
Just as the two observers were debating whether to give the Yanks a heads-up, the Germans opened fire.
BOOM!
A shell screamed out of a hidden underground bunker and nailed the lead American tank dead-on.
The tank’s frontal armor melted away like butter. The shell punched a hole right through the front hull and detonated inside.
The driver bought the farm instantly. Shrapnel tore apart the other crewman.
One second, the tank was a steel behemoth. The next, it was a dead hunk of junk, dead in its tracks.
That single gunshot was the starting pistol. In an instant, the German lines erupted in a storm of lead and steel.
Mauser anti-tank rifles, Rheinmetall 37mm anti-tank guns, and Augsburg-Nuremberg 13.2mm anti-tank heavy machine guns all opened up on the enemy armor.
At point-blank range, with firing solutions already dialed in, the Germans’ accuracy was insane.
The lead American tanks took hit after hit, turning into smoldering piles of scrap.
The lucky tankers who weren’t turned into pink mist scrambled out of their hatches and hauled ass in the opposite direction.
Without tank cover, the infantry were sitting ducks. German machine guns mowed them down in droves.
The tankers in the rear, seeing the writing on the wall, jerked their steering and tried to flee—completely forgetting their own infantry were right behind them. The panic caused a bloodbath. Plenty of GIs who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough were flattened under their own tanks’ treads.
Fear spread through the ranks like wildfire. When the infantry saw their own armor couldn’t protect them—and was actually trying to run—morale, which was already in the gutter, completely shattered. The men broke ranks and ran for their lives, bolting back to their own lines even faster than they’d come.
The tankers hauling ass in their steel coffins soon realized their rides couldn’t outrun a man on foot.
When they saw the Germans had sent out their elite Stormtroopers to give chase, they bailed on their tanks entirely and joined the infantry’s mad dash.
It was a sight that left even the Germans stunned.
Since when were the Americans such a bunch of glass jaws?
How the hell did they crack so fast?
Back in the day, at Verdun, the French and Germans had slugged it out for nearly a year. The fighting was so brutal it turned the place into a charnel house, but neither side broke.
General Liggett’s face turned an ugly shade of red. He could practically feel the Brits and French laughing at him without making a sound.
He was about to order the military police to shoot every single retreating soldier on the spot.
Thank God his staff talked him down. Otherwise, more of their own men would’ve died from American bullets than from German fire!
"Your Highness, the enemy’s morale is broken. This is our chance—send in the counterattack!"
Seeing the enemy fall apart, the commander of the 7th Army, General Max von Boehn, was itching to go. He wanted to lead the charge and take back the ground they’d lost the month before.
"Negative. The enemy’s numbers are still too strong. A counterattack now would be a bloodbath for nothing. German boys have already spilled enough blood in this war. We can’t afford more pointless casualties. We need to save what’s left of our fighting men for Germany’s future!"
"I apologize, Your Highness. I spoke out of turn."
At Wilhelm’s words, General Boehn lowered his head in shame.
But the Crown Prince’s next sentence rekindled the fire in his eyes:
"Daytime counterattacks would get torn apart by their artillery and machine guns. But we can hit them at night. Get your men ready. Tonight, we’re delivering a present the Americans won’t forget!"