Chapter 668: Paying a Debt

A four-wheeled armored car drove over a pile of rubble and slowly came to a stop on the side of the road. A German officer stuck his upper body out of the turret and saw a group of his paratrooper comrades sitting on the roadside, their faces weary and numb. Opposite them sat a large group of American soldiers. The slight difference was that all these Americans had been disarmed.

“Hey, is this the way to the 1st Paratrooper Division’s headquarters?” the German armored officer asked. However, he clearly did not see Borol, who was sitting with his rifle and with Donner, whose hand was wrapped in a thick bandage.

“If you’re asking us a question, I’ve never introduced myself as ‘Hey’,” a German paratrooper stood up, patted the dust off his backside, and walked over to the wheel of the armored car, sneering, “If you think having a beat-up car is such a big deal, we came by plane.”

His words made the paratroopers behind him roar with laughter. The brutal battle had kept everyone on edge. Now that the fighting was over, everyone had relaxed, and for a moment, the sound of whistles and applause made the place lively.

Unnoticed, a high-powered luxury sedan produced by the Mercedes-Benz company had driven up and stopped not far away. It was called a luxury car, but most of its luxurious parts were now gone. The corners of the car were piled with sand and dirt, and the vibration of the engine could even shake some sand loose, making it look almost like a burial good just unearthed from a pharaoh’s tomb.

The paratroopers’ mockery clearly angered the young armored reconnaissance soldier. He stood on his armored car, staring at the group of paratroopers who were dressed no better than beggars. These men were no different from demons who had crawled out of hell. They were covered in blood and grime, their faces ferocious. In the eyes of the American soldiers, they were even more terrifying. It was rumored that some German paratroopers could tear tanks apart with their bare hands—much like tearing apart lamb.

It was no wonder the Americans were scared of them. In Damanhur, a previously unknown small city, the wrecks of at least 200 tanks were scattered among the ruins. The paratroopers under General Student had proven a fact with their combat record: German paratroopers would not be defeated by enemy tanks.

“Is that how you talk to your superior officer?” With no good excuse to lose his temper, this corporal started to pull rank. After all, he thought, in a group of soldiers who looked no different from refugees, there probably weren’t any important figures. “You salute a superior officer. Haven’t you seen my rank insignia?”

“Forget it. We’re waiting here for the troops behind us to bring water and supplies. We’ve been tired for so long. The division headquarters is further up this main road. We’re not sure of the exact location, since they’ve moved several times,” Borol said, walking over. He pushed aside his own man, who was glaring at the corporal, and pointed down the road with a smile.

“Alright, since you’re not willing to talk, I’ll go and ask someone else,” the corporal said with a sneer, preparing to leave. He thought these paratroopers were clearly unwilling to tell him the truth, so he decided to go ahead and ask others.

“You! Come back! Get out of the car!” Suddenly a voice sounded from behind him. He then saw a general standing at the rear of his armored car, his face already scowling from the black smoke spewing from the exhaust. But he still recognized the huge goggles that the entire Afrika Korps knew, and the dilapidated car that was not much different from an excavated artifact.

“General!” The corporal quickly jumped down from his armored car, stood beside Rommel, and snapped to attention. “Heil Führer!”

Rommel ignored him and walked over to the paratroopers, saluting them. “Thank you for coming thousands of miles to support the Afrika Korps in battle. I am General Erwin Rommel, commander of the Afrika Korps. It is a great honor to meet you. As a German general, to be able to fight alongside such brave soldiers as you is truly something to be celebrated.”

“Heil Führer! General, it’s great to see you,” Borol said, saluting. He was not deliberately flattering him. Rommel was already one of the most well-known generals in Germany. His string of victories in Africa had been propagandized by Fanny into an undefeated myth. The name “Desert Fox” was extremely popular among the fanatical German people. Even the American media had lamented: “Rommel, that damn Rommel, no price is too high to defeat him.”

“I am nothing special. War depends more on you soldiers to fight,” Rommel said, pulling the armored corps corporal over to Borol. He then used his other hand to pull open the yellow raincoat Borol was wearing, revealing several medals underneath. “You guys always think you’re the greatest combat heroes. Now take a look at what a real combat hero looks like!”

Only then did the corporal from the armored car see that the person he had been talking to was a battalion commander, and a battalion commander with many medals at that. Even though he was just a soldier who hadn’t participated in many battles and had only been fighting in Africa for a few months, he had seen some of the medals his veteran comrades boasted about—at the very least, the British assault badge proved that the veteran in front of him must have fought in the Battle of Britain.

“I-I’m sorry! Sir! I didn’t mean to offend you,” the corporal quickly saluted. He also had a Tobruk assault badge on his chest. At this moment, he puffed out his chest, clearly proud of this medal as well.

“Sir! Did you catch Patton?” “General, you must catch that bastard!” By this time, all the paratroopers had stood up. They formed neat ranks. Although their clothes were a mess, although their bodies were still stained with blood and grime, although every one of their faces was etched with fatigue, they were still the most powerful warriors of this era, the kind of warriors that every general admired.

“A few hours ago, we captured a lot of American and British soldiers. There were just too many, and we didn’t have time to count them in detail,” Rommel said proudly. “About a few dozen acres of officers, and roughly a few hundred acres of soldiers. We left all those prisoners behind and started to attack here with all the soldiers we could find.”

His words were no exaggeration. Just an hour ago, the German armored forces were still engaged in a fierce battle with Patton’s rear guard. The two sides were in a chaotic mess in the desert. Patton’s army was truly in chaos, and Rommel’s army was also in a jumble because the attack was too hasty.

In the chaos, almost everyone made mistakes. One tank fired on its own men who were running ahead, and was only stopped by reinforcements who were rushing forward to help the troops “under enemy attack” after it had fired two shells. They had all thought the others were the enemy, and only after seeing the Iron Cross on the tank did they realize their mistake.

What was even more incredible was that in the chaos, a group of German soldiers found a German armored command vehicle. They asked which direction they should attack, and the person inside pointed to a man not far away who was directing a tank to turn around and gave them an idea: “Go and ask General Rommel, he’s over there!”

This chaotic battle lasted for a full hour. By the time Rommel and the dozen or so tanks he had with him had broken through the American lines, the chaotic battle was declared over. About 10,000 American soldiers were captured or routed by the Germans, and dozens of tanks were destroyed. The entire rear guard of the 8th Army Group was almost wiped out.

Then Rommel began a relentless pursuit. The soldiers of the 8th Army Group and some of the 9th Army Group on the flank who were coming to join Patton saw in horror the German tanks pushing through the sea of people towards the east. These soldiers, who didn’t know what to do, were then overtaken by the advancing German army and became prisoners squatting on both sides of the road.

If anyone still remembered the 7th Panzer Division that had once advanced 100 kilometers in one day on the soil of France, if anyone still remembered the general who was called a demon in the French campaign, Erwin Rommel, then they would not be shocked by the desperate speed of the German attack today.

Perhaps the days in the desert had been too long. Perhaps the fleet’s surprise attack on Tobruk and the steady advance on the Alexandria front had made people forget the man who moved like the wind. But this time, he had once again struck his most fatal blow, as fast as lightning.

A general who only knew how to fight a steady, methodical battle could not bring people surprises; in the end, such generals were undoubtedly labeled as mediocre. And a reckless general who only knew how to advance and attack could not maintain his momentum of victory. After Akado’s persistence and training, the Desert Fox had now transformed, becoming far superior to the half-finished fox of another timeline. The current Rommel was absolutely an opponent who would make anyone fear. At least now, all of Egypt was trembling under the tracks of his war chariot.

He waved his hand, smiled at the German paratroopers staring at him, and said words that made everyone cheer: “Rest assured. The soldiers of the Empire will not die in vain. I will make them pay back what they owe us, as fast as I can!”

He then pointed his hand towards the desert not far from Damanhur and said firmly, “I am Rommel. When it comes to speed of attack, only one person can keep up with me—and it’s a pity for them that his name is Guderian, a German… not Patton!”

Published: 2025-09-16T09:40:47.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-14T17:02:59.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c668-paying-139012870

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