plumnovel Chapter 85 SS 999 Special Operations Battalion
Chapter 85 SS 999 Special Operations Battalion
Chapter 85 SS 999th Special Operations Battalion (Large Chapter)
June 5, 1940, 10:15 AM. Picardy Region, France, 12 km south of Abbeyville, D928
Highway No. 1
The world after the adrenaline subsides is usually gray.
The passion and cheers from that epic air battle had quickly cooled in the humid air, as everyone was forced to confront a harsh reality known as "logistics."
Although the rain has stopped, a low-pressure trough still hangs over this plain in France.
With humidity reaching 95%, the muddy road resembled a black intestine soaked in grease, struggling to digest this severely overloaded convoy.
The "Sterling Battle Group"—or, according to the rigid organizational chart of the Imperial General Staff, it should now be called the "Sterling Independent Brigade."
In the British Army system of 1940, this was actually a very awkward and confusing definition.
Unlike the German or American armies, a "regiment"—such as Arthur's Coldstream Guards—was more of an administrative "tribe" with a shared bloodline, insignia, and traditions in Britain than a tactical unit directly deployed on the battlefield.
On the battlefield, the actual combat unit is the "brigade," and a standard infantry brigade usually consists of three infantry battalions from different "regiments."
Coldstream Guards Regiment was originally part of the 1st Guards Brigade, but now, the rules have been broken.
The force under Arthur's command was a complete freak: with the Coldstream Guards as its absolute core, it forcibly absorbed a large number of remnants of the Black Watch and Seaforth Highlanders that had been scattered from the 1st Army, as well as the few hundred survivors of the Royal Norfolk Regiment under Major Ryder's command, plus the stragglers it had gathered along the way, bringing its total strength to nearly four thousand men.
This is far beyond the scope of a "regiment" in terms of organization; in fact, it is equivalent to a reinforced brigade with weak firepower but an overstaffed number of personnel.
However, compared to the title of "Brigadier General," which sounded like someone sitting in an office filling out forms, or the rigid "Temporary Mixed Brigade Breakthrough" in official documents, Arthur preferred to call it by the name that carried a strong sense of aggression and even a touch of German style.
"Sterling Assault Group".
But this "assault group," on which Arthur and his London crew had placed their hopes, was now crawling painfully southward at a snail's pace of less than 8 kilometers per hour.
This doesn't resemble an army at all; it's more like a mobile, collapsing refugee camp, or a sardine can crammed together to burst.
Sixty-three vehicles and nearly four thousand soldiers.
This was a simple arithmetic problem, but the result was disastrous.
Looking back from the turret of the lead Matilda portal tank, one would see a sight that would drive any logistics officer to despair:
Each Bedford 0Y truck was crammed with at least forty soldiers, many more forced to sit on the cab roof, cling to the side steps, or even risk sitting on the mudguards. The overloaded suspension groaned as the leaf springs were compressed into a completely inelastic straight line.
The Renault AGR heavy trucks captured from the French army were in even worse condition.
The roof of the vehicle was piled high with Bren machine guns, ammunition boxes, and medical stretchers salvaged from Nieuport and Flöhrne, looking like mobile illegal structures—not the kind of illegal structures built by the Japanese Navy, of course.
The exaggerated sight of people hanging all over the fenders and hood reminded Arthur of the British Far East colonies—India—where overburdened narrow-gauge trains looked ready to overturn at any moment on the next bend, burying all the passengers and their hopes in the mud of France.
On either side of the convoy, two thousand infantrymen who couldn't squeeze onto the vehicles were trudging through the mud.
They pulled on the tow rope of the vehicle in front, or helped each other, moving forward with uneven steps, their mud-covered military boots having to overcome tremendous suction with each lift.
"Sizzle—"
A sharp hiss of steam broke the monotony of the march.
That was a Matilda II infantry tank at the rear of the column. Its two old AEC diesel engines finally could not withstand the long-term low-speed, high-load operation. The coolant was boiling in the radiator, and white steam was shooting out from the gaps in the engine cover like a fountain.
The convoy had to stop again.
Arthur remained seated in the 251 half-track vehicle without getting off.
He looked through the observation window at the disabled tank behind him, his brow furrowed.
The car door was opened, and a damp, musty smell rushed in.
Major Ryder crawled in, looking exhausted. The battalion commander of the Norfolk Regiment, now the interim deputy commander of the Sterling Assault Group, looked as if he had been pulled out of a mud pit. His uniform was soaked, his face was covered in grease, and his dull eyes were bloodshot.
"Colonel, no matter what you say, we must rest."
1
Ryder took off his helmet, revealing a head of messy, wet hair, his voice full of complaints: "It's that Matilda at the back of the line. The driveshaft overheated, and the radiator blew out. Miller said it'll take at least three hours to fix."
He pulled a flattened cigarette pack from his pocket, turned it over, and found it contained only tobacco scraps. He gave a wry smile and tossed the empty pack at his feet. "There are still men. Look outside, sir. The soldiers are at their physical limit. We've been fighting for three days straight, then run fifty kilometers. Some of them are even sleeping on their feet."
"If we were to encounter an ambush by even a company of German soldiers now, these infantrymen wouldn't even be able to pull back their rifle bolts."
Arthur did not answer immediately.
He remained seated comfortably in the passenger seat, fiddling with the empty silver cigarette case in his hand, his knuckles twitching rhythmically.
"If you're here to complain, Major, you've come to the wrong place. You should complain to the French government about their road conditions, or to London about why Bedford trucks only have a 3-ton load capacity."
Arthur's voice was calm and even: "Any other bad news? Tell me all at once."
At that moment, Captain Henry, who was sitting at the radio in the back of the truck, took off his headset and interjected, his tone somewhat anxious: "Yes, sir. And it's big trouble."
Henry pointed to the still-humming transformer: "That auxiliary generator we took off the truck is almost out of fuel. Our Type-X encrypted radio and this high-powered transceiver are both power guzzlers. If we don't refuel soon, we'll have to cut off contact with London in twenty minutes."
"In addition, the fleet is running low on fuel. Those heavily overloaded heavy trucks are now consuming three times the usual amount of fuel."
Henry traced a long, despairing line on the map with his finger: "Sir, it's a full 140 kilometers from here to Le Havre. And that's just the ideal distance on the map."
"At this snail's pace and fuel consumption, our tank will be completely empty before we even reach the Berthene River."
"Not to mention that Rommel's armored reconnaissance company is frantically advancing towards the coast along the way. If we run out of fuel and stop halfway, it won't just be a simple matter of being stranded; it will be like sending prisoners of war to the Germans."
Ryder spread his hands, looking at Arthur, as if to say: See, this is reality.
"We're no different from sardines in a can, and the can's even leaking oil," Ryder sighed. "Sir, Master Sterling, my suggestion is to find some woods to hide in, repair the vehicles, and send a supply convoy to the nearby villages to find fuel and wagons—"
"A grain requisition team?"
Arthur suddenly laughed, staring intently at Ryder, making Ryder feel uneasy. "Go find those barrels of cheap diesel in the French farmers' cellars? Or steal their wagons to haul our wounded?"
"Ryder, this beggar-like marching method won't save these three thousand people."
Arthur slammed the cigarette pack shut with a sharp "snap".
He turned around and looked at McTavish behind him.
"We don't need to beg. We don't need to fix that damn Matilda."
Arthur raised a finger and gently tapped his temple: "We're going to rob someone. And we're going to rob a big one."
God's-eye view.
On Arthur's retina, the pale blue RTS holographic interface was silently unfolding.
Although the "strategic early warning" system that could detect the dynamics of airports hundreds of kilometers away had been shut down with the end of the air raids, the system seemed to have unlocked some new functions for him as a commander with "colonel" privileges.
The edge of the fog is receding.
Arthur did not follow Ryder's advice to search for a safe "escape route" or a hidden "campsite".
He was searching for "prey".
On this vast RTS map, the blue dots representing the Sterling battle group appear so small and vulnerable. And within the red fog surrounding them, countless deadly threats lurk.
-
Those are all Boss-level units.
But he wasn't bothered by the threats. He was looking for resources.
His fingers slid through the air as Arthur's gaze swept over Abbeville (which had fallen), over Amiens (where fierce fighting was taking place), and finally settled on a railway line between the two places.
[Regional Scan: Northwest Quadrant of Amiens]
[Target identified: Saint-Roch railway marshalling yard]
[Intelligence source: Combined interception of German logistics frequencies and aerial reconnaissance fragments]
On the map, a huge resource icon, shimmering with an alluring golden light, suddenly appeared amidst a gray fog.
That wasn't an ordinary supply point. That was a gold mine.
Arthur quickly zoomed out to check the detailed intelligence annotations provided by the RTS.
[Target Analysis: German Army Group A Strategic Transportation Group (Stuck)]
Location: Turnouts 3, 4, and 5 at the Saint-Roch railway marshalling yard.
Status: Severe congestion (Due to the Somme railway bridge being destroyed by French engineers, multiple trains have been forced to stop, causing congestion)
[Defending force: Logistics and guard company of the German 296th Infantry Division (approximately 120 men, equipped with light weapons and a small number of machine guns)]
Without looking at the freight manifest, it would just appear as a lifeless railway transfer station.
But when Arthur opened the long Manifest, his pupils contracted sharply, and his heart began to pound uncontrollably.
The system no longer displayed a train manifest, but a massive "treasure trove" created by the traffic paralysis. Due to the broken bridge ahead, the Deutsche Reichsbahn was forced to cram three high-priority military trains into this area.
This is a gift that could drive any Allied commander mad.
These trains were originally intended to supply additional equipment to the Kleist armored group advancing south, and to provide heavy weapons to the SS Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler.
[Train Number: Zug402 (Heavy Armored Transport Train)]
Platform: 24 sections of SSy/SSys type 50-ton heavy flatbed trucks; Loading contents: 24 Panzer IV Ausf. D tanks.
Condition: Brand new from the factory, short-barreled 75mm KwK37 gun, full fuel and ammunition.
Note: Each flatbed truck carries one vehicle, and the vehicle body has been sealed to prevent rust.
[Train Number: Zug405 (Special Mobile Support Train)]
承载平台：SSy重型平板车×6节/0mm型车×20节装载内容1：三号突击炮A型（StuGIIIAusf.A）×6
Note: This is an extremely rare early trial production model. According to the order, these six assault guns were specifically allocated to the LSSAH (Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler) for the formation of a directly subordinate assault gun battery.
Seed equipment for LSSAH.
Loadout 2: 20 Sd.Kfz.251/1 half-track armored personnel carriers
Note: Mounted on a regular flatcar.
[Train Number: Zug411 (Logistics Supply Train)]
Platform: Mixed train formation (approximately 50 carriages)
Loading contents: 80 Opel Lightning 3-ton trucks (some equipped with canvas covers, directly secured to the flatcar as cargo carriers)
Supply items: 800 standard 200-liter fuel drums (diesel/gasoline) / military rations / medical kits (dispersed in truck beds and boxcars).
And, at the rear of train Zug405, there was a special boxcar sealed with red lead:
[Cargo Hold 21 (Sealed Storage): Supplies Directly Under the Supreme SS Command (SS-FHA)]
Recipient: Logistics Department of LSSAH (Guards Flagstaff).
Contents: M38/M40 "Platanenmuster" camouflage smock, M35 steel helmet and matching camouflage helmet cover, SS uniform and military police equipment (for all personnel).
Arthur stared at the last line of text, a dangerous smile slowly curving his lips.
God closed one door, but opened a window to hell for the Germans.
He not only wanted to steal the car, but also the clothes.
The Sterling battle group now resembles a mobile refugee camp more than an army.
On the battlefield, refugees have only one fate—death.
Arthur then abruptly looked up and shouted at the driver and communications officer in the front row, "Stop the car! Gather all officers! Even those who still have diarrhea, bring them over! Meeting now!"
Five minutes later. Inside an abandoned barn by the roadside.
A wooden table riddled with wormholes was placed in the center, upon which lay a 1:50000 scale sheet, which had been obtained from Major Ryder.
Tactical map.
A few kerosene lamps illuminated the faces gathered around the table.
Besides Arthur, there were Major Ryder, Major Mackenzie, Sergeant McTavish—this guy, although not high-ranking, represented the core of the Scots' fighting force and was granted special permission to participate—Lieutenant Jeanne, Captain Henry, and two battalion commanders recruited from the French 12th Motorized Division.
The atmosphere was somewhat somber. Everyone knew the current state of the convoy.
Arthur is in the main seat.
Instead of wearing his usual mud-stained overcoat, he had deliberately changed into a relatively clean officer's jacket. His riding boots were polished to a shine by McTavish, reflecting a faint light in the dim lamplight.
This attention to appearance, at such a moment, is not for vanity, but to establish an absolute and unshakable sense of authority belonging to the commander.
"Gentlemen."
Arthur tapped the map with his riding crop: "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking about how to get those damned Matildas moving, how to steal French farmers' wagons, or how to hide in the woods from German reconnaissance planes."
He looked around: "Forget about that. That's the mindset of losers."
"We're not getting the car repaired. Nor are we looking for a horse-drawn carriage."
Arthur's riding crop slashed across the map, veering off the main retreat route to the south and pointing to a black dot northwest of Amiens: "We're going here. St. Roc marshalling yard."
Major Ryder leaned closer to examine the map, his brow furrowing instantly. "Amiens direction? Sir, that's the main German attack direction! We're trying to get away from there! And what's the point of going to a railway marshalling yard? We don't have any trains to take."
"Who said we were going to take the train?"
Arthur smiled, a smile tinged with cunning: "We're going shopping."
"According to my unique intelligence channels, there is a German military train parked there. It is full of gifts that Mr. Adolf gave to us."
Arthur held up his fingers and counted them one by one. With each item he counted, the eyes of the surrounding officers widened: "Twenty-four brand-new Panzer IV tanks. Twelve StuG III assault guns. Eighty brand-new Opel trucks."
Twenty half-track vehicles. And two whole train cars full of oil and canned meat.
A deathly silence.
Everyone gaped, as if listening to a fantastical tale.
"This—this is impossible—" Major Ryder stammered, "How could the Germans keep equipment of this caliber in a place like this?"
"Because they didn't expect us to rob them," Arthur replied coldly. "The bridge is broken, and the cars have stopped."
This is the element of chance in war.
"But—" Ryder swallowed hard. Reason told him it was crazy, but the temptation was too great. "Even if we could shoot it down, how would we drive it away? Those are German tanks; they operate completely differently from ours. And four thousand men riding in German vehicles, swaggering along the highway? Would the German Air Force consider us one of their own?"
"Good question, Major."
Arthur turned around and looked at Lieutenant Jeanne, who was standing in the corner.
This former liaison officer of the French First Army changed into an ill-fitting British military uniform, cut her hair short, and looked like a handsome young staff officer.
"Jeanne, do you remember those twelve tanks we borrowed from Rommel's 7th Panzer Division?"
Jeanne paused for a moment, then understood Arthur's intention.
"Of course I remember, sir." Jeanne's lips curled up, as if the thrill of dancing on the edge of a knife had returned. "Back then, you used just your words to teach that German military policeman a lesson he was like a grandson."
"Your German accent at the time—very arrogant, with the accent of Berlin high society, like a real Prussian bastard," Jeanne said in a slightly teasing tone. "And I was responsible for playing your Alsatian adjutant with the strange accent."
"very good."
Arthur snapped his fingers: "Back then we only had about a hundred men and twelve vehicles. Now we have four thousand men, tanks, and artillery."
"We're not just going to steal their cars, we're going to steal their skin too."
Arthur's gaze swept over everyone present, finally settling on Ryder: "Ryder, do you speak German? I mean, besides 'hello' and 'goodbye'?"
Ryder paused for a moment, then scratched his head somewhat awkwardly: "Uh—I studied a little at Eton College. You know, I memorized a few Goethe poems and read *The Sorrows of Young Werther*. That's about the level."
"I know a few phrases: Händehoch (raise your hand!) and WoistderBahnhof (Where's the station?), but if you ask me to discuss philosophy or tactics with a German—I'm a mute."
"That's enough."
Arthur nodded. They didn't need to communicate with the Germans: "As long as you can yell, curse, and put on an arrogant air, that's enough. There are plenty of roughnecks in the German army who aren't very good at talking either."
"This is my painted skin" project.
Arthur slammed his riding crop on the St. Roc train station on the map: "Tonight, we will complete a complete transformation."
"We're going to throw away all the Matildas, throw away those lousy Bedford trucks. We're going to put on German tanks, drive German trucks, and wear German clothes."
"From the moment the sun rises tomorrow, there will be no more Sterling Battle Group in this world."
"Starting tomorrow, we will be called the 'SS 999th Special Operations Battalion'."
"We'll drive brazenly on the highways, have the German military police salute us, and have the German air force escort us. We'll use their fuel, eat their flesh, and then put guns to their heads."
After he finished speaking, only heavy breathing could be heard throughout the barn.
This is crazy.
This is dancing on the edge of a knife, gambling with the lives of four thousand people.
But looking into Arthur's determined eyes, and at the confidence emanating from him that seemed to allow him to control everything, everyone couldn't help but have the illusion that this might really work.
"Gentlemen."
Arthur straightened his collar, resuming his elegant tone, as if inviting them to a dinner party: "Mr. Adolf has already paid the bill for us, and it would be very impolite not to sign for it."
"Now, assign tasks."
Night falls. 22:30 PM. Northwest of Amiens, outside the Saint-Roque railway marshalling yard.
The rain has started again.
Fine raindrops danced in the beams of the searchlight, like a silver veil.
Arthur did not personally lead the charge. His current role was that of a "brigade commander" and the operator of the RTS system.
He sat on a small hill about a kilometer away from the marshalling yard, the Sd.Kfz.251 command vehicle hidden behind a thicket of bushes.
Inside the carriage, red tactical lights illuminated his cold, stern profile.
"Report your readiness status, all units," Arthur whispered into the throat microphone.
Through the headset came McTavish's deliberately lowered voice, thick with a Scottish accent: "Butcher, in position. Two hundred of us have reached the edge of the barbed wire. The German sentries are smoking, looking relaxed."
"Very good, McTavish." Arthur looked at the few red dots slowly moving on the RTS interface. "Remember, the Scotsman's knife must be fast. I don't want to hear a single gunshot."
"Don't worry, sir. Our knives are still dripping blood."
Then came Ryder's voice, sounding tense but steady. He was leading the remnants of his Norfolk Regiment, lying in ambush at the station exit: "Anvil in position. Outer intersections are blocked. Machine guns are set up. If any trucks try to break through, we'll riddle them with bullets."
Finally, it was Jeanne's voice. She and several French scouts had made their way to the vicinity of the signal tower: "6..."
"Eyes in position. I've confirmed the signal tower's location. The telephone lines have been cut. Besides that train, there are no other heavy weapons on the platform. And—"
Jeanne paused for a moment: "I saw the markings on the trucks through my binoculars. There really was that key mark you mentioned. The containers were marked 'Waffen-SS' (Waffen-SS)."
Arthur looked at the RTS interface.
From that ethereal blue overhead view, the entire marshalling yard looked like a transparent glass house. The position of every German sentry, the firing arc of every machine gun, and even the movement route of the patrols were clearly presented to him as red dots.
This is asymmetric warfare.
What was a pitch-black rainy night to the Germans was daytime to Arthur.
"very good."
Arthur gave his final order: "Listen, McTavish. I want that train intact. Those tanks and trucks are our lifeline. Don't throw grenades into the cargo hold."
"Whether it's a German or a rat, don't let a single one escape."
"Operation begins."
There will be another chapter tonight.