CHAPTER 416: AFTER MODIFICATION: CHAPTER 416 FUEL DILEMMA

Mechelen is a medium-sized town in northern Belgium with a population of over seventy thousand. It is 22 kilometers from Brussels and 13 kilometers from Antwerp.

Mr. Minyole ran a gas station at the southwestern entrance of the town, and recently he was reluctantly planning to close his business.

After the Germans occupied Belgium, they drove cars and motorcycles to the gas station every other day, refueled, but never paid a penny.

"At least they didn’t cause us trouble," his wife said with a tone of relief, "I thought they would loot everything we have."

"Do you think that’s a good thing?" Mr. Minyole replied, "They just don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. They are using our supply chain to provide them with gasoline in the long term!"

Mr. Minyole, who was concerned about international affairs, knew that Germany was under the blockade of the Royal Navy, and Britain intended to "starve" Germany in trade.

However, outside of the blockade were the Belgian merchants, and the Germans ingeniously used this to acquire their valuable war resources.

"Unimaginable!" Mr. Minyole complained softly, "We are actually funding the Germans, you could even say we are helping the Germans occupy and control Belgium!"

"But what else can we do?" his wife replied with a look of horror, "What will we do after ending the business? Starve to death?"

After a pause, his wife added, "Besides, do you think we have the power to end the business?"

Mr. Minyole was stunned. He realized his wife was right. The reason they were safe now was that they were providing benefits to the Germans.

If they really wanted to end it, the Germans would come for them.

But, should they continue like this forever?

Just as Mr. Minyole was torn, a convoy of tanks rumbled down the road, followed by a long string of vehicles. They slowed down in front of the gas station and finally pulled over to the side.

Mr. Minyole looked at the large number of troops, and his eyes filled with fear: "Look, Danna, the time to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs has come!"

His wife and all the employees in the shop looked at the vehicles in bewilderment. If they filled them all up for free, the gas station would go bankrupt.

At this moment, the tank hatch opened, and a moustached captain with a helmet poked out, looking exhausted, with oil stains on his face.

The helmet was something Mr. Minyole had never seen before, and so was the uniform.

This must be the Germans’ new uniform, Mr. Minyole thought.

The moustached captain shouted in French, "Hey, sir, do you have gasoline? Give us some!"

Mr. Minyole was stunned for a moment, looking at the long convoy behind him, and replied, "Sorry, officer, we don’t have that much gasoline."

"Give as much as you have," the moustached captain urged, "We are in a hurry!"

"Okay, officer," Mr. Minyole replied, thinking, that sentence is enough.

Then he winked at his wife and employees and whispered, "Give them some gasoline, just to get rid of them!"

His wife and employees understood and got busy. A few people rolled the oil barrels to the tanks, set them up, opened the caps, and connected the oil pumps.

Mr. Minyole personally went to greet the captain, fearing the employees might accidentally reveal the truth.

The moustached captain jumped off the tank, glanced at the small town ahead, and casually asked, "Are there any Germans here?"

"What?" Mr. Minyole was stunned, then his eyes lit up. They were speaking French, French!

"You are French?" Mr. Minyole asked, half-doubting, as he looked at the tank soldiers.

The employees also stopped their actions, looking at the strange soldiers in front of them in astonishment.

"What? Do we look like Germans?" the moustached captain had a faint smile on his face.

The surrounding soldiers laughed.

"But!" Mr. Minyole felt a tingling sensation on his scalp, "How did you get here? I mean, where are the Germans?"

The moustached captain calmly asked in return, "Isn’t that what I should be asking you?"

The soldiers laughed even harder.

Then someone provided the answer, "We are Shire’s troops, sir. Have you heard of Shire?"

"Of course, of course!" Mr. Minyole was so excited that he couldn’t speak coherently, "Shire, who hasn’t heard of Shire? You are actually his troops, but I, I didn’t even hear gunfire..."

Mr. Minyole looked around, wondering if he had missed something.

"Do not doubt," the moustached captain said lightly, "We moved so fast that the main German forces were left far behind. You only need to tell me, are there any Germans in the town, and if so, where are they?"

"Yes, officer," Mr. Minyole nodded repeatedly, "There are two teams of Germans. They are stationed in the government building and the police station, and they use this to control the whole town."

"Hmm." The moustached captain spread the map on the tank, "Government building and police station..."

Mr. Minyole immediately pointed out the locations on the map, "Here and here. There are not many of them, the total strength is probably less than a hundred men."

The moustached captain’s face showed a hint of disappointment, and he turned and shouted to the rear, "Luca, let Jerome take his troops and deal with them!"

"Yes, captain."

Then two tanks with a team of armored vehicles bypassed the convoy and headed towards the town. On the armored vehicles were squads of heavily armed French soldiers, ready for battle.

Mr. Minyole then confirmed that they were the French army, here to liberate Belgium. He hurriedly turned and shouted to his wife, "Danna, bring out all the gasoline, all of it!"

The moustached captain joked, "It seemed you just said you had very little gasoline left."

"That was for the Germans, officer," Mr. Minyole replied, eyes shining with excitement.

...

Shire’s troops were resting in Mechelen, or rather, preparing for battle.

The biggest issue for the armored and mechanized divisions is the need for a massive amount of fuel, especially tanks, which consume an astonishing two hundred liters per hundred kilometers.

When the troops reached Mechelen, the fuel they had brought was nearly exhausted, and the rear fuel couldn’t be delivered because the main German forces had bombed the roads and railways.

Furthermore, although the "Shire A1" had been modified several times and could maneuver on roads, it needed a maintenance check after a hundred kilometers, or else few would be operational when they reached Antwerp.

But the fuel dilemma was soon solved.

The Belgians in Mechelen, upon hearing that Shire’s troops needed gasoline, spontaneously organized to transport gasoline from nearby areas, even emptying their cars’ tanks.

"There are 13 kilometers left." Shire looked at the sky gradually darkening and had a new idea in mind.

The Germans knew that tanks had no night fighting capability, so they would naturally assume that the French army would launch an attack at dawn the next day.

Should we give them a surprise now?