Charles's forces were split into two units of around a thousand men each, commanded by Estini and Broni. They had indeed departed from Charles's tractor factory, with tanks, motorcycles, troops, and supplies loaded onto a train bound for Paris.
The spies hadn't accounted for one key factor: train cars could easily be switched. When the train reached the Paris station, the cars were quietly divided into two sections and attached to different engines. One train headed north to Andelusi, while the other went south to Tamon. The "train carrying Charles's tanks and troops" that spies reported on was actually far behind, filled only with food supplies for the front.
The landslide was staged to make everyone, including Joffre's command post, believe that the unit would be delayed. With this, there'd be no interference from Joffre's staff, and all eyes remained fixed on the stalled train while Charles's troops arrived at their positions, deploying into the battlefield with precision.
Estini led the assault on Andelusi. Racing ahead on motorcycles, he arrived at the front, raised his binoculars, and scanned the German defenses. There were barely any visible fortifications—just a few thin strands of barbed wire and flimsy wooden fences. Not a soul in sight. Estini guessed that the enemy was huddled in their trenches, waiting out the rain.
A rain-soaked infantry colonel hurried over to Estini, studying his artillery officer's uniform with confusion. "Colonel, who do you belong to?" he asked, clearly puzzled by the unexpected arrival of artillery.
Estini simply stood silently for a moment. Soon, a phone rang at the guard post. The sentry called out, "Colonel, it's the Paris Defense Command for you!"
The infantry colonel took the call, and his expression shifted to astonishment as he realized who Estini was. Emerging from the post, he was nearly stammering as he spoke to Estini, who met his gaze coolly.
"You're…Charles's troops?" he asked, then corrected himself, flustered. "I mean, I'm Colonel Klopp—pleased to meet you, sir!"
Estini shook his hand politely and introduced himself.
"Colonel Estini!" Klopp drew himself up. "How can we assist? What are your orders?"
"You're here to observe, Colonel Klopp," Estini replied coldly. "Just watch. Do nothing else. Keep that in mind."
Klopp bristled at what felt like an insult, but he soon realized the reason behind it. Estini wasn't being arrogant; he knew that involving untrained units would only disrupt their coordinated operation.
Tank after tank rolled up, their engines rumbling through the rain as they lined up in a wedge formation, preparing for the assault. There were 36 tanks in total, one regiment's worth. Two companies advanced on either side, with a third held in reserve.
Wasting no time, Estini ordered the attack. To catch the enemy off guard, speed was crucial—every second gave the Germans time to prepare. With tracks grinding and engines roaring, the tanks rolled forward through the muddy terrain, sending waves of muck splattering over the soldiers following closely behind.
The battlefield was littered with shell craters that had crippled CA-1 and Saint-Chamond tanks in the past. But for the all-terrain tracks of the Mark I tanks, the obstacles were manageable. Each tank climbed over the craters with ease, occasionally tipping and spraying mud over the soldiers, who pressed on without breaking formation.
At 500 meters, the tanks plowed over decaying corpses littering the field, releasing a foul stench that nearly overwhelmed the soldiers. Yet, with steely resolve, they marched on, knowing that survival demanded unwavering focus.
At 400 meters, muffled by the rain, the Germans still hadn't detected the approaching tanks. With rifles clenched tight and breath quickening, the soldiers sensed the battle drawing near.
At 300 meters, German soldiers finally noticed the noise. A few heads popped up from the trenches, peering out through binoculars.
"Fire!" Estini commanded softly.
French soldiers lifted their rifles and fired, sending bullets across the open ground. The Germans fell back into the trenches in splashes of red.
The gunfire alerted the German troops, who soon emerged along the trench line, rifles ready. When they caught sight of the tanks, a few froze in shock before unleashing a hesitant volley of gunfire.
Bullets pinged off the tank armor with bright sparks, some with a distinctive ringing that reverberated like a bell. Estini knew these were the German K-bullets—too weak to pierce the front armor.
"Speed up!" Estini shouted.
A soldier waved signal flags near the tanks' observation ports, relaying the order. Engines revved, and the tanks surged forward. Soon, German artillery shells began to fall, most landing behind the tanks with only a few hitting close by.
Estini noted, with relief, that the German 105mm howitzers were stationed at Lafaux, a result of Charles's ruse, sparing them from heavier losses. Seeing a few soldiers go down from shrapnel, he ordered, "Stay behind the tanks and hold the line!"
Now was not the time to break cover—the open space ahead was far too exposed to German fire.
As the tanks ground the barbed wire beneath their treads, reducing it to a mangled heap, they closed in to just over thirty meters from the German defenses. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt
"Grenades!" Estini shouted, blowing his whistle so everyone could hear.
The soldiers swiftly pulled grenades from their belts, expertly ignited them, and threw them over the tanks toward the trenches. Some took short, running starts to launch them further, each grenade arcing gracefully into the German line.
Seeing the flying objects, German soldiers scattered in panic.
BOOM! BOOM! A row of explosions tore through the trenches, sending up plumes of smoke. French troops gave a resounding battle cry, bayonets fixed on their rifles, and charged forward, leaping over the tanks as they stormed the German defenses.
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