During World War I, when the entrenchment of both sides led to a stalemate, the Allies turned to tanks or opened new fronts. However, the German strategy focused on whether a highly trained infantry unit could breach the enemy's defensive line and expand the breakthrough to achieve victory. This "highly trained infantry" unit was the Storm Assault Battalion.
At this moment, the Storm Assault Battalion had only recently been formed, with Major Willy Rohr, the visionary behind the concept, as its lead instructor. He had handpicked over 500 elite soldiers from across the German forces, forming them into a battalion that underwent three weeks of training in Berlin.
When the combat order arrived, Major Willy was momentarily surprised, handing the telegram to Battalion Commander Major Rico. "What's your take on this?"
Major Rico glanced at the telegram, a hint of worry in his eyes. "We're not ready. Many of them don't even know each other yet."
"That's irrelevant," Willy replied firmly. "As long as we know how this battle should be fought, the battlefield will be our best training ground."
This was Willy's genuine belief—training grounds were only for theoretical exploration. Real combat was practice, verification, and results. Only in real battles could theory be refined and provide experience for future Storm Assault units.
"There will never be a moment when we're 'ready,' Rico," Willy said. "Not if we stay confined to the training grounds."
With a resigned nod, Rico acknowledged Willy's point. After all, as battalion commander, his responsibility was executing the combat strategy, not deciding when and where they engaged. That was for Willy, their head instructor, to decide.
At 3 a.m. the following day, the First Storm Assault Battalion, fully armed, arrived at Cambrai by train.
Major General Nikolaus, commander of the First Tank Division, personally welcomed them at the station.
As they rode toward the front in a truck, Nikolaus urgently illuminated a map with his flashlight, addressing Major Willy.
"The situation is dire, Major. Charles' First Tank Brigade is already en route as reinforcements. I don't know exactly when they'll arrive, but we must break through the enemy lines as soon as possible to give ourselves more time to prepare for battle."
Willy barely glanced at the map before replying, "In two hours."
Moving carefully, Willy led his troops across the battlefield, advancing in bursts and pauses—sometimes pausing in craters, other times crawling. He would occasionally gesture for snipers to occupy high ground and cover the team.
The infiltration took almost twenty minutes, including cutting through barbed wire and slipping through the gaps, finally arriving just before dawn at the edge of the French trench line.
The French were completely unaware of their approach. Willy, lying low in front of the trenches, could even overhear the French guards chatting.
"Thank God, it's almost dawn. They say Charles' reinforcements will arrive today. It should be any time now, right?"
"As long as Charles' forces get here, we'll be safe."
"Charles is a good man. It's hard to believe he's fighting alongside us against the Germans. I mean, he's truly on our side!"
"Yes, if those bombers had been even a second later yesterday, we might have been finished!"
Willy didn't linger to listen further. He turned and signaled to his men.
The German soldiers understood, pulling grenades from their belts and carefully unscrewing the safety caps.
Willy waited a moment longer before giving the signal to attack. His men pulled the pins and lobbed the smoking grenades into the trenches ahead.
The French soldiers' shouts of panic were quickly drowned by the explosive blasts.
Without waiting for an order, the German troops leapt up, rifles in hand, and sprinted forward, each racing to jump into the trench.
Gunfire echoed almost continuously, with barely a scream in between.
The Storm Assault Battalion preferred not to use bayonets. Not only was the confined space of the trenches ill-suited for the maneuverability of a rifle with a bayonet, but Willy believed speed was essential. The battalion needed to carve out a secure foothold—a stretch of trench they could control, enough space to house an entire battalion.
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