The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943-Chapter 140 - 150: Racing Forward

The task force’s offensive was exceptionally swift—practically a reenactment of a blitzkrieg.

No, it was a bolt of lightning.

They encountered almost no resistance along the way; it was a relentless, high-speed charge.

It wasn’t that the German troops refused to fight back, but by the time they realized the incoming Panthers weren’t their own tanks, the armor was already upon them. What else could they do but drop their weapons?

Some of these guys even had two Tiger tanks!

An Allied force made up entirely of German tanks—even the paint and those useless anti-magnetic coatings were authentically German.

Who wouldn’t be caught off guard by this? No one could react in time!

So, after this wild charge, not only did the task force smash through the unprepared German defensive line without breaking a sweat, they even captured several thousand German soldiers. Some of the prisoners were still in shock—these were supposed to be friendly forces, so how did they suddenly become the enemy?

Especially with that red flag and black insignia on the tanks—it really was misleading!

"Faster, faster..."

Qian Shangqin, half-emerged from the commander’s hatch of a Tiger tank, directed the advance. There was nothing left ahead that could stop them; at this point, their only goal was to keep up the momentum.

In fact, this so-called blitz was all about shattering the German lines before they could react.

Tiger tanks, Panther tanks—these were naturally deceptive. Many Germans were disarmed before they even realized what had happened.

As Qian Shangqin led his armored battlegroup in a relentless charge, Major Harrison was also commanding his armored group toward Bastogne. With air cover and heavy artillery support, their advance was going exceptionally smoothly—their fierce attacks repeatedly sent the Germans fleeing in panic.

"Bastogne is just ahead..."

Just as Harrison shouted this, his voice suddenly tightened, as if someone was choking him, turning sharp with alarm.

"Tiger tanks!"

The next instant, his battlegroup’s radio was filled with terrified screams.

"Damn it, there are actually two Tigers—"

"And Panthers—"

"They even have fuel? My God..."

Amid the shouts, the leading M4s, taking advantage of their vertical stabilizers, fired first. At nearly two thousand yards, they opened up on one of the Tigers.

But at that range, firing took courage and hitting the target took divine intervention.

Today, it seemed, God was on their side. One of the M4s actually managed to hit the Tiger with an armor-piercing capped shell.

"Bang—"

The moment the tank was struck, a loud metallic clang echoed across the battlefield, like a giant bell being struck. But that was all—the shell ricocheted off and exploded harmlessly in the distance.

"It’s an ambush!"

The sudden attack startled Qian Shangqin. Ears ringing from the impact, he immediately stomped on the turret traverse pedal. The gunner quickly adjusted the aim, and as the enemy tank came into the gunsight, Qian instantly recognized it as an American M4. But in times like these—if they could use German tanks, the Germans could just as well use American ones.

"Fire!"

As soon as he pressed the firing pedal, the Tiger’s 88mm main gun thundered. The Panther joined in, both tanks firing as they maneuvered to find suitable slopes for hull-down positions.

Though these tank crews were still green, they had learned how to use the hilly terrain to protect themselves. Soon, they reached a spot just a meter from the crest, exposing only half their turrets. From there, it was just like target practice.

By contrast, Harrison’s battlegroup, having just crossed a ridge, was completely exposed.

For a moment, the battlefield was filled with the roar of cannons. Several Sherman tanks were hit in quick succession.

"Damn it, these must be elite German armored troops. How do they still have gasoline? That bastard must have handed over the fuel to these Germans..."

Major Harrison cursed his incompetent colleagues for losing the fuel, while almost instinctively calling for air support over the radio. The weather was good; their planes had to be up there.

"German armored battlegroup at..."

Harrison wasn’t the only one calling for air support—Qian Shangqin was doing the same. Then, almost simultaneously, they heard each other’s voices over the radio.

Same channel.

Same model radios.

The only difference was... the tanks!

"Cease fire, cease fire..." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

At Qian Shangqin’s shout, the armored battlegroups stopped firing. Major Harrison also ordered a halt.

"This is the US Third Army, 4th Armored Division! Identify yourselves!"

"Is this General Hugh Gaffey’s 4th Armored? We’re the Bastogne garrison—we’ve already broken through the German lines!"

The voices on the radio left Major Harrison dumbfounded. Everyone in the battlegroup looked at each other in disbelief. Friendly fire was inevitable in war, but right now, they all had the same thought—Damn it, who said the Bastogne garrison only had...

The Rifle in Hand!

Weren’t we supposed to wait for them—the ones fighting tanks with rifles—to come save us?

And just like that, a farcical encounter came to an end.

News of this bizarre skirmish quickly reached Patton. At that moment, he was commanding his troops to cut off the German forces and deliver a fatal blow. At first, he was stunned, then he roared:

"Good men! Good men! Not only did they hold Bastogne, but they also captured so many German tanks. Truly, what a bunch of fine fellows!"

Unlike other American generals, Patton was straightforward to the extreme. In his eyes, a case of friendly fire was hardly worth mentioning. Instead, he was far more interested in the men defending Bastogne.

"Hurry, get me to Bastogne! I want to see the man who made the Germans look like fools with my own eyes!"

Just a few hours earlier, Patton had sent a telegram to General Hugh Gaffey that read, "We must do everything we can to save that man who’s making fools out of the Germans."

Now, Patton had confirmed one thing directly—the defenders of Bastogne had broken the encirclement on their own!

He, at most, was just lending a hand.

On the afternoon of December 14th, hundreds of American trucks rolled into Bastogne, bringing not only vast amounts of supplies but also reinforcements. The reinforcements were none other than the 101st Airborne Division, who, in history, should have become famous for their defense of Bastogne. But because most of its soldiers were busy enjoying themselves in the bars, brothels, and women’s houses of Reims, it took the military police a whole day to round them up. As a result, the 101st set out two days late and missed the opportunity to make history in Bastogne.

Now, they had finally arrived, but only as reinforcements.

However, the defenders of the "Bastogne Fortress" didn’t need their rescue at all. In fact, before the reinforcements even arrived, they had already given the Germans a thorough beating, broken through the encirclement, and linked up with the relief forces.

Even so, the task force and the reinforcements embraced each other warmly, celebrating this hard-won victory.

"Now, it’s time for our counterattack!"

While the American officers and soldiers were vowing to teach the Germans a lesson, Pierre spoke calmly:

"From now on, none of this has anything to do with us."

Indeed, whether the Americans were steamrolled by the Germans or the Germans were cut in half by Patton, it no longer had anything to do with him. Now, it was time for his brothers to rest.

He couldn’t let only the Americans enjoy the passion of French women, could he?

During the handover with the American forces, Pierre met a legendary figure—Patton himself. When Patton stepped off his jeep, he looked as if he’d walked straight out of a movie: wearing a cotton jacket, sunglasses, and two ivory-handled Colt revolvers at his waist. Upon seeing Pierre, Patton burst into laughter.

"Good lad, you fought a hell of a battle!"

Then Patton looked him over seriously and said,

"I originally came to bring you back, but I didn’t expect you to break through the German encirclement on your own. You’re truly remarkable."

"It wasn’t me, General,"

Pierre replied, pointing to the soldiers beside him.

"The real heroes are them. They’re the ones who defeated those Germans."

Then Pierre said to Patton,

"Well, General, I’m handing this city over to you now. Our mission is complete."

"You’ve done well,"

Patton replied.

Everything that followed was straightforward—handing over the city’s defenses to the Americans. Three days after the handover, the task force finally withdrew from that hellhole called Bastogne. But before leaving, Patton "borrowed" 2,000 tactical vests from them.

Of course, "borrowed" in this case meant they’d never see them again.

Patton even said, quite brazenly, "I’m not borrowing for nothing. I promise that from now on, the task force can just follow behind me and clean up the battlefield. Any supplies we capture, even a single dagger, will go to the task force."

Well, that was exactly Patton’s style. You couldn’t expect much else from him.

In fact, it wasn’t a bad deal. After all, Patton’s Third Army would be the main spearhead in the coming offensive into Germany, sweeping across the Western Front.

Following behind him would surely mean plenty of spoils to pick up. Favors, after all, are always useful.

"Sir, where are we headed now?"

The adjutant asked as they got into the vehicle.

"To Paris!"

Pierre replied.

As the jeep withdrew with the main force, Pierre glanced back at the small town. Now that he was leaving this place of trouble, what awaited him next?

He thought about how the Borneo Security Force had stepped into the spotlight because of this battle, and the potential ripple effects it might cause.

Naturally, Pierre thought of another group of people.

The British!

Or rather, Churchill. What kind of response would that man come up with?

Churchill and Britain were the biggest obstacles and stumbling blocks Pierre faced in returning to Borneo.

Even with American support, the British could not be ignored. After all, to some extent, North Borneo was their territory.

Churchill...

He wondered...

When it came to that guy with the cigar in his mouth, Pierre’s expression grew even more grave—it was now his turn to play his hand.