Section 1: Introduction and Context: The Belgian Campaign in 1940 – Setting the Scene
Ah, 1940. A year that promised little more than rain, damp
shoes, and the occasional overcooked Brussels sprout — but fate, ever the
cheeky jester, had far grander plans. Belgium, that modest patch of turf best
known for its waffles, chocolates, and the perennial debate over whether fries
should be dipped in mayonnaise or ketchup, found itself once again at the very
epicentre of European turmoil. The great powers, having had a tiff in 1914 that
left much of the continent rather worse for wear, were now at it again, and
Belgium — by a mixture of geography, history, and sheer bad luck — was squarely
in the firing line.
For the Belgians, neutrality was the cherished family
heirloom, the pearl in their diplomatic oyster. Declared repeatedly after the
First World War, Belgium was determined to avoid another devastating conflict
on its soil. Alas, history rarely respects such polite intentions. Come May
1940, the well-oiled German war machine, affectionately known to the Allies as
the Wehrmacht (and to Belgians as “that bloody nuisance next door”), decided to treat
Belgium not as a neutral bystander, but as a rather inconvenient obstacle on
the road to Paris.
The Belgian campaign, though often overshadowed by the larger and flashier battles of France and Britain, was no mere footnote. It was a crucible, testing the mettle of a military force that, while not the largest or best equipped, had a stubborn streak wider than the Meuse River itself. It was a story of courage, chaos, and, let’s be honest, a fair bit of befuddlement in the face of blitzkrieg tactics that were as bewildering as a fox in a henhouse.
So, dear reader, prepare to dive into this tale of valour
tinged with a touch of farce, of heroes who fought bravely armed with a mix of
determination and equipment that had seen better days. For this is the Belgian
Campaign of 1940 a.k.a. the 18 Day War! — a story well worth telling, if only to remind the world that
even the smallest players in history’s grand game can make a most interesting
racket.
Section
2: The Belgian Armed Forces: An Overview of the Plucky but Underwhelming
Defenders
If one were to describe the Belgian armed forces of 1940 in
a single phrase, it might well be: “bravely enthusiastic, occasionally
effective, and somewhat quaintly outdated.” Now, before any proud
Belgian veterans—or their descendants—chime in, it must be noted that the
Belgian army faced a somewhat unenviable position. Sandwiched between the
ever-ambitious Germans and the equally hopeful French and British, Belgium’s military
resources were less “modern war machine” and more “endearing relic with a stiff
upper lip.”
To start with the numbers: the Belgian army in 1940 fielded
roughly 600,000 troops, which, on paper, looks rather respectable for a country
roughly the size of Wales (although we have a dragon on our flag so we win!).
However, quantity was only half the tale. Quality, equipment, and training left
something to be desired — and here, one might think of the Belgian forces as
the plucky underdog who turned up to a gun fight with a butter knife and a
cheeky wink.
Their arsenal, charmingly antique, was a mixture of leftover
First World War relics, some newer but barely tested gear, and a handful of
surprisingly decent weapons. The pièce de résistance was undoubtedly
the FN Model 1930 rifle — a dependable little number if you
could get it to work without misfiring. Belgian machine guns and artillery,
meanwhile, were a curious medley of models, some borrowed, some homegrown, and
some that had clearly been cobbled together with the kind of optimism usually
reserved for holiday DIY projects.
Training, too, was a patchwork affair. The Belgian army was
largely conscript-based, with many recruits receiving only minimal training
before being tossed into the thick of things. Officer corps were competent but
could hardly be described as inspiring — more ‘dutiful schoolmaster’ than
‘dashing cavalry captain’. Morale, however, was generally high. Belgians were
well aware that their homeland was on the line and, despite the odds, were
determined to give a good account of themselves.
Belgium’s defensive posture was built around a series of
forts and fortified lines, such as the famous Fort Eben-Emael — a massive
concrete bastion that was considered state-of-the-art in the 1930s. The forts
were meant to blunt any German assault long enough for the Allies to come to
Belgium’s rescue. Unfortunately, as history would later show, even the most
impressive fortifications can have their Achilles’ heel (or rather, their Achilles’
glider-borne assault).
It’s worth mentioning the Belgian air force here, though it
was a modest affair by any standard. Lacking in numbers and modern aircraft,
the Aviation Militaire Belge was little more than a polite nod
in the direction of air power. Still, its pilots flew bravely, often
outnumbered and outgunned, earning a respectable if not headline-grabbing
reputation.
In essence, the Belgian armed forces were a determined and
capable bunch, hampered by geography, funding, and the sheer unpredictability
of modern warfare. They were the quintessential plucky underdogs: not always
prepared, not always equipped, but ever ready to face the music — even if the
tune was better suited to a sci-fi moon shaped space station.
Section
3: The Invasion: German Blitzkrieg and Belgian Response
The morning of 10th May 1940 dawned crisp and clear, though
for the Belgians, there was little comfort in the spring air. At precisely
04:35 AM, the quietude was shattered by the thunderous roar of German engines,
and the invasion commenced with a precision and speed that left the Belgian
defenders blinking in disbelief. The Wehrmacht’s Blitzkrieg was not merely a
tactic; it was a brutal ballet of mechanised forces, and Belgium—unprepared and
somewhat outgunned—was its unwitting stage.
The German plan was elegant in its ruthlessness: sweep
through the Ardennes Forest, deemed by many (including the Belgians) to be an
impenetrable natural barrier, and strike swiftly at the heart of Belgium and
northern France. This decision alone sent the Belgian High Command into a mild
panic, as their defensive preparations had focused on the more obvious
flatlands, rather than the supposedly “safe” Ardennes.
One cannot discuss the invasion without giving due credit to
the Belgians who manned the K-W Line — a hastily prepared defensive belt
stretching roughly 60 miles from Koningshooikt to Wavre. This was the backbone
of Belgian hopes to hold the German advance at bay. The infantry battalions
stationed here were mostly young conscripts, armed with a motley assortment of
rifles, light machine guns, and artillery pieces that were often relics from
the Great War. Despite this, they dug in with commendable resolve.
Bodange Brouhaha: When the Chasseurs Ardennais Said ‘Not
Today, Danke Schön’ (10th May 1940)
It was the crisp morning of 10th May 1940, the very day the
Wehrmacht chose to launch their ambitious invasion of Belgium, the Netherlands,
and France. In the deep and tangled Ardennes forest near the sleepy village of
Bodange, the famed Chasseurs Ardennais were bracing themselves. These rugged
light infantry, experts at woodland warfare, had been entrusted with the task
of holding this crucial bottleneck on the road from Bastogne to Neufchâteau — a
job requiring guile, grit, and a healthy dose of stubbornness.
The Cast of Characters: Units and Command
The 1st Battalion of the Chasseurs Ardennais, under the
steady hand of Major Joseph Romeo, was dispersed along a narrow ridge
overlooking the main road at Bodange. Romeo was a man of quiet determination,
who valued cunning ambushes and the clever use of terrain over headlong
charges. His battalion consisted of roughly 600 men — a lean, mean fighting
force armed with FN Model 1930 rifles, Bren-like light machine guns, a
sprinkling of 47mm anti-tank guns, and an admirable collection of grenades.
Dawn Patrols and The First Skirmishes
At 05:45, as the first pale light sifted through the trees,
Lieutenant Pierre Dupont led a forward reconnaissance patrol along the eastern
forest edge. Their orders were clear: identify any sign of German troop
movement, no matter how subtle.
By 06:10, Dupont’s patrol had spotted the initial vanguard
of German scouts — motorcyclists and bicycle troops from the 5th Panzer
Division’s reconnaissance battalion — tentatively probing the road. Dupont’s
men fell back carefully, avoiding premature engagement but transmitting urgent
signals back to Romeo’s HQ.
Within minutes, Romeo deployed a series of ambushes. The
first was orchestrated by Sergeant Lucien Dufour, a veteran marksman famed for
his patience and steady hand. Dufour’s squad concealed themselves behind a
dense thicket beside a small stream, with Browning light machine guns
positioned to rake the road.
At 06:45, as a German motorcyclist and his courier rounded a
bend, Dufour gave the order to fire. The sudden burst of gunfire startled the
Germans — the courier’s motorcycle went skidding off the road into the
underbrush, and the riders hastily sought cover. This brief but sharp
engagement cost the Germans two men killed and several more wounded, sowing
confusion in their forward elements.
Mid-Morning — Anti-Tank Tactics in Practice
By 09:00, larger formations of the 5th Panzer Division had
advanced, the clatter of their Panzer IIs and IIIs echoing ominously through
the forest.
Major Romeo had anticipated this and deployed his 47mm
anti-tank guns at key choke points — one team under Corporal André Lambert
concealed near a bend in the road by the ruined farmhouse of La Fontaine,
another positioned on a slight rise overlooking the main thoroughfare.
At 09:25, the first German Panzer II approached Lambert’s
position, unwittingly sliding into a carefully plotted kill zone. The anti-tank
gunner took a deep breath, aimed, and fired a single, piercing shot that struck
the tank’s side armour near the engine compartment. The tank shuddered
violently and belched smoke as the crew scrambled out, their faces etched with
surprise and irritation.
Lambert’s men sprang from cover to engage with rifle and machine gun fire, forcing the crew to abandon their vehicle entirely.
Infantry Engagements and Skirmishes
While the tanks were delayed, German infantry attempted to
flank the Chasseurs’ positions by manoeuvring through dense thickets and rocky
outcrops. Here, the true mettle of the Ardennais was displayed.
At 10:15, Lieutenant Marcel Lefèvre, commanding a rifle
platoon, orchestrated a textbook ambush near a ruined chapel at the forest’s
edge. His men lay in wait behind boulders and fallen logs, their rifles trained
on a narrow forest trail the Germans must use.
When a squad of Wehrmacht infantry emerged, Lefèvre gave the
word. Rifle fire and bursts from the light machine guns shredded the quiet of
the woods. German soldiers dived for cover or fled, some caught in swift
bayonet charges launched by the nimble Chasseurs.
In this small but fierce engagement, the Belgian platoon
inflicted approximately a dozen casualties, further slowing the German advance.
The Afternoon’s Toll — Artillery and Withdrawal
By 14:00, the Germans had brought up light artillery pieces —
75mm guns firing sporadic rounds into the forest, hoping to flush the defenders
out. The wooded terrain muffled many of the explosions, but casualties among
the Chasseurs were mounting.
Major Romeo, ever pragmatic, ordered a gradual withdrawal at
15:30, mindful that their mission was to delay, not to be pinned and destroyed.
Rear-guard units executed a skilful retreat, laying down
booby traps and mines on the roads, and deploying smoke grenades to obscure
their movements. The Chasseurs disappeared back into the dense Ardennes with
the efficiency of well-practised shadows.
In Conclusion
The Battle of Bodange on 10th May 1940 was a sterling
example of the Chasseurs Ardennais’ unique brand of woodland warfare:
intelligent, scrappy, and stubborn as a mule in a thistle patch. Their actions
disrupted the German timetable and contributed to the wider delaying efforts
that characterised Belgium’s early campaign.
And while the day ended with their withdrawal, it was clear
that the Chasseurs had earned a reputation for turning the dense Ardennes woods
into a very unpleasant maze for the unsuspecting Wehrmacht.
Splash and Dash: How the Germans Took a Dip at the Albert
Canal and Meuse (10th-11th May 1940)
The sun had barely risen on the 10th of May 1940, and
already the Belgians were well aware that the day was not going to be quite
like the usual leisurely affairs of tea and biscuits. No, this was business —
the kind that involved bullets, bombs, and a good deal of running about with
rifles while wondering how on earth things had gone so dreadfully pear-shaped.
At the Albert Canal, a fine, if somewhat muddy, waterway
that the Belgian High Command hoped would act as an insurmountable moat, the
7th Infantry Division had pitched themselves like a badger in its sett — firmly
and with a fair bit of grumbling. They were not about to let Herr Hitler’s
troops waltz over their bridges without a fuss.
Now, picture the scene at Veldwezelt, where the canal was
crossed by a fine steel bridge, gleaming somewhat forlornly in the morning
light, rigged with explosives that would have made a demolition expert
positively giddy. The Belgian machine gunners were settled into snug nests
among the hedgerows, looking like rather serious gardeners who had taken their
pruning shears a tad too far and replaced them with machine guns.
On the far side, the Germans arrived — not exactly with the
delicacy of a foxhunt but more like a bull charging through a china shop. Their
infantry advanced under a hailstorm of artillery shells, the rumble of which
shook the very earth and made the local cows reconsider their allegiance. Smoke
and dust filled the air, blurring the landscape into something resembling a
rather dramatic foggy morning in London.
The Germans’ engineers, those brave souls with wire cutters
and Bangalore torpedoes (no, not a spicy curry, but rather a long tube used to
blow up wire obstacles), set about clearing Belgian defences with the
efficiency of a barber trimming a particularly stubborn moustache.
Belgian gunners, meanwhile, were not about to let the
Germans simply stroll over the bridge like tourists at a stately home. Sergeant
Michel Dupuis, a fellow of indomitable spirit and an uncanny knack for shooting
tin cans from fifty yards, took charge of a 47mm anti-tank gun hidden behind a
hedgerow that looked as though it hadn’t seen a hedge trimmer in a decade. From
his carefully camouflaged post, Dupuis waited.
… And waited.
Then, like a vicar spotting an escaped chicken, he suddenly
spotted a German Panzer II attempting to edge its way across the bridge. With a
calmness that would have made even the Queen’s corgis raise an eyebrow, he
squeezed the trigger. The shell found its mark just behind the turret, causing
the tank’s engine to splutter and die a very undignified death. Not one to rest
on his laurels, Dupuis then quickly adjusted his sights for the next Panzer
attempting a cheeky flank. That too went up in a satisfying puff of smoke and
fire. Two tanks, gone faster than a teapot in a room full of impatient guests.
Meanwhile, German infantrymen stormed the village of
Veldwezelt, ducking and weaving through the narrow streets as Belgian riflemen
and machine gunners met them with a barrage of lead and curses. It was not so
much a battle as a very unpleasant game of hide-and-seek, with the Belgians
proving quite adept at making themselves scarce behind walls and inside houses,
only to leap out and make the enemy regret ever turning up.
Over at Vroenhoven, the scene was rather similar but with a
touch more architectural charm. Belgian troops, ensconced in the stone houses
lining the canal, exchanged fire with the enemy who were just as determined to
take the crossing as a man trying to grab the last sausage at a breakfast
buffet. Anti-tank gunners here had the misfortune (or fortune, depending on how
you look at it) of encountering German tanks that had clearly never been shy
about throwing themselves into battle without so much as a “by your leave.”
The battle raged on with the sound of gunfire interspersed
by the unfortunate whine of Stuka dive-bombers overhead. These flying torpedoes
of terror swooped down with a precision that could make a hawk jealous,
strafing Belgian positions and causing just enough mayhem to complicate
communications. Still, Belgian gunners were a stubborn lot and managed to send
a few of these pesky bombers back to base, albeit a little worse for wear.
By late afternoon, it became clear that holding these
bridges was rather like trying to hold onto a bar of soap in a bath — slippery
and likely to end in a splash. The Belgian commanders, recognising the wisdom
of discretion, gave the order to blow the bridges. With a series of detonations
that sent metal and concrete tumbling into the canal below, the Germans found
themselves with a very inconvenient watery obstacle.
The Belgian troops retreated in good order, covering their
withdrawal with artillery fire that kept the enemy’s heads down, though one
suspects several officers may have muttered something about “sticky wickets”
and “next time, a nicer day for a fight.”
The following day, the battle moved slightly south-east
towards the crossings at Kanne and Lanaye. Here, the Belgian 10th Infantry
Division dug themselves into trenches like well-trained rabbits. The wooded
terrain was perfect for an ambush or two, and the Belgian machine gunners took
full advantage, turning narrow forest paths into lethal gauntlets.
German reconnaissance troops, keen on poking their noses
where they might not be wanted, found themselves suddenly enveloped in a
hailstorm of bullets and Molotov cocktails—because nothing says “welcome” quite
like a flaming bottle hurled in your direction.
The Belgians even got to be a bit creative here, using
anti-tank rifles to poke holes in the armour of the less intimidating Panzer
IIs and making life so miserable that the German commanders began to think
twice about charging headlong into the woods.
Eventually, however, facing the prospect of being encircled
and with their tea (and ammunition) running low, the Belgian forces withdrew to
the main defensive lines around Liège, once again demolishing bridges behind
them with an efficiency that would make any demolition crew proud.
In sum, those two days along the Belgian border were a
masterclass in dogged defence, tactical ingenuity, and making the best of what
was, frankly, a very tricky situation. The Belgians may not have had the most
glamorous equipment or the largest armies, but they fought with a determination
and cleverness that certainly deserves a tip of the hat—and perhaps a stiff
drink or two.
A Fortress, A Glider, and a Very Bad Morning: The Eben
Emael Debacle (10th-11th May)
Ah, the fall of Fort Eben-Emael — a tale so dramatic it
might make even the most staid historian spill their afternoon tea.
Picture this: atop a flat, nondescript plateau stood the
Belgian fortress of Eben-Emael, a fortress so formidable it was meant to be the
cornerstone of Belgium’s border defences. Armed with monstrous artillery
turrets and nestled behind concrete walls thick enough to give an elephant
pause, it seemed about as vulnerable as the Queen’s crown jewels under guard.
Yet, on the morning of 10th May 1940, the Germans pulled off
one of the most audacious coups of the campaign. Instead of the usual battering
ram approach, they sent gliders — yes, gliders! — to silently land on the
fortress’s roof before first light. Out poured elite German commandos armed
with shaped charges and a mission to disable the fort’s guns before the
defenders could even pour their morning coffee.
The Belgian defenders were understandably stunned. In what
felt like mere moments, key artillery positions were blown to smithereens,
communications severed, and the fortress’s formidable guns silenced. Despite
pockets of fierce resistance and some heroic close-quarter fighting in the
tunnels below, the fortress fell with surprising rapidity — a mere 24 hours
after the gliders had landed.
Eben-Emael’s fall was a bitter blow, not least because it
demonstrated that even the sturdiest fortress could be undone by ingenuity,
audacity, and a bit of airborne panache. The fortress went from symbol of
impregnable defence to a lesson in the perils of complacency — and a rather
spectacular example of why sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected.
… but more of this in a closely following blog post… MUCH
more!
Forts, Fuss, and Frustration: Liège and Namur Have a Bit
of a Moment in 1940
The story begins on the 10th of May, 1940. The German
Wehrmacht, with their Blitzkrieg boots firmly laced, launched a coordinated
assault on Belgium, aiming to bypass the Maginot Line by swiftly punching
through Belgium’s eastern frontier. The fortified position around Liège, though
less impregnable than in the Great War, still presented a significant obstacle
to the invaders.
The 3rd and 4th Infantry Divisions of the Belgian Army held
the initial line along the Albert Canal, a 60-kilometre defensive waterway
punctuated by modern bunkers and artillery positions. These divisions,
comprising battalions such as the 7th Line Regiment and the 14th Line Regiment,
had the unenviable task of halting German panzer divisions and mechanised
infantry eager to dash across.
Take the 7th Line Regiment, for example. Stationed near the
fortified sector of Barchon, these lads faced repeated assaults by elements of
the German 18th Infantry Division. Their engagement was marked by intense
firefights, where machine guns and rifles crackled incessantly across the
canals and fields. The Belgians employed their artillery with precision; the
4th Artillery Regiment, positioned just behind the front lines, lobbed shells
into the German assembly areas, attempting to break up the panzers’ momentum
before they could reach the bridges.
Meanwhile, the Chasseurs Ardennais — Belgium’s elite light
infantry renowned for their mountain warfare skills — were deployed near the
southern approaches to Liège, particularly around the village of Jupille. The
1st and 2nd Battalions, led by the resolute Lieutenant Colonel Denis, held
defensive positions along wooded ridges overlooking the Meuse. Their role was
pivotal: preventing German engineers and infantry from securing bridgeheads
across the river.
On the morning of the 11th May, the 1st Battalion found
itself under severe pressure. German pioneers, supported by Stuka dive bombers,
launched attacks aimed at the Meuse bridges near Jupille and Saint-Nicolas. The
Chasseurs, armed with their trusty FN rifles and light machine guns, fought
fiercely. They used the dense woodland to their advantage, setting up ambushes
and sniping positions. At one particularly tense moment, the 3rd Company
repelled an infantry assault with a well-coordinated counterattack, bolstered
by mortar fire from the 2nd Company.
Further north, the 4th Infantry Division held the Meuse
crossings closer to the city centre, notably at the strategic Pont des Arches.
The 12th Line Regiment entrenched themselves here, turning the narrow bridges
into killing zones. As German infantry from the 30th Infantry Division
approached, Belgian engineers had the presence of mind to rig sections of the
bridge with explosives. When the enemy attempted a crossing at dawn on the
12th, the charges were detonated, sending twisted steel and a few unfortunate
soldiers into the river below — a temporary but effective delay.
Artillery duels raged relentlessly. The Belgian 10th
Artillery Regiment, positioned atop the heights near Fléron, bombarded German
assembly points. Despite being outgunned and suffering losses, their fire
disrupted German attempts to mass armour for a decisive thrust.
As the 13th of May dawned, German forces shifted tactics,
seeking to outflank the city by advancing along secondary roads and forest
tracks. The 5th and 6th Battalions of the Chasseurs Ardennais responded
admirably. At the village of Tihange, the 6th Battalion executed a textbook
delaying action. Using hit-and-run tactics, they slowed the German 7th Panzer
Division, inflicting casualties and destroying a few light tanks with anti-tank
rifles and improvised explosives. Their knowledge of the terrain proved invaluable;
winding forest paths and steep ridges offered cover and concealment against the
mechanised enemy.
Meanwhile, the Belgian 9th Infantry Division, positioned
west of Liège, held the line along the Meuse valley. The 23rd and 24th Line
Regiments endured persistent artillery bombardment and probing infantry
attacks. At the Château de Chokier, the 23rd Line set up a forward command
post, coordinating artillery and infantry responses. Their efforts to maintain
cohesion amid chaos were vital in buying time for Belgian and Allied units to
regroup.
Despite these efforts, German numerical superiority and air
dominance gradually wore down the defenders. By late afternoon on the 14th May,
the German 18th Infantry Division had managed to establish a precarious
bridgehead at Saint-Nicolas, supported by elements of the 6th Panzer Division
pushing southward. Belgian command, recognising the risk of encirclement,
ordered a withdrawal to secondary defensive lines around the K-W
(Koningshooikt–Wavre) Line.
The retreat was conducted with typical Belgian discipline
and courage. Units like the 7th Line Regiment and the 1st Battalion Chasseurs
Ardennais covered the withdrawal, engaging in rearguard skirmishes to keep the
Germans at bay. The Chasseurs’ expertise in woodland fighting and rapid
manoeuvre helped prevent a rout, and though fatigued and outnumbered, the
defenders left behind a legacy of stubborn resistance.
Erezée Elegance: When the Chasseurs Ardennais Told the
Germans to Jog On (11th May 1940)
It was now the 11th of May 1940, and the German juggernaut
was advancing with all the unstoppable enthusiasm of a Sunday cricket team on a
half-day outing. The Chasseurs Ardennais — those green beret-clad woodland
warriors — found themselves once again tasked with plugging a crucial gap, this
time near the village of Erezée, a sleepy settlement nestled among the
Ardennes’ rolling hills and dense forests.
Setting the Scene: Troops and Terrain
The 1st Battalion, Chasseurs Ardennais, still under the
unflappable Major Joseph Romeo, were dug into the high ground overlooking the
valley around Erezée. Their numbers were somewhat depleted after recent
skirmishes, but their resolve remained intact.
Opposing them was the German 6th Infantry Division, seasoned
troops equipped with light armour support — notably Panzer IIs and a smattering
of light artillery batteries. The 6th Infantry’s mission was to punch through Erezée
and secure the eastern approaches towards the Meuse.
Dawn — The Calm Before the Storm
At precisely 05:30, Major Romeo’s men were already alert,
their positions camouflaged amid the undergrowth, machine guns balanced on
sturdy tree stumps, and anti-tank guns meticulously concealed.
The village itself, with its narrow streets and stone
houses, offered natural choke points, and the Chasseurs made excellent use of
them, ready to spring ambushes on any advancing German patrols.
Morning Engagement — Ambushes and Counter-Attacks
Around 07:45, the first German reconnaissance patrols
clattered into the outskirts of Erezée. A well-planned ambush by Lieutenant
Henri Laurent’s platoon awaited them.
Hidden behind a ruined mill, Laurent’s men waited patiently.
When the lead German scout car came into range, the order was given. The
Chasseurs’ FM light machine guns erupted in a staccato burst, and riflemen poured accurate
fire into the confused enemy.
Within minutes, the Germans were forced back with several
casualties and their patrol disrupted.
Mid-Morning — Armour and Infantry Clash
By 09:00, the main body of the German 6th Infantry Division
was pushing forward, supported by two companies of Panzer IIs.
The Chasseurs had positioned their 47mm anti-tank guns at
critical junctions: one team, under Sergeant Marcel Dupuis, was concealed near
the crossroads by the Saint-Remacle chapel, another behind a ruined farmhouse
on the eastern slope.
At 09:15, a German Panzer II rolled into view near the
chapel crossroads. Dupuis’s crew, calm and efficient, fired a single round that
penetrated the tank’s armour just behind the turret, igniting an engine fire.
The tank halted abruptly, and its crew hastily abandoned it, only to be met
with a hail of rifle fire from Chasseur snipers hidden nearby.
Afternoon — Intense Fighting and Tactical Withdrawal
The fighting grew more desperate as the afternoon wore on.
German infantry tried to flank the Chasseurs by manoeuvring through the
forested hills to the south. Lieutenant Marcel Lefèvre, leading a light
infantry company, anticipated this and set up defensive lines with overlapping
fields of fire.
At 14:30, a coordinated German assault aimed at breaking the
Belgian lines commenced. Machine guns clattered, grenades exploded, and the air
was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of spent gunpowder.
Despite being outnumbered, the Chasseurs Ardennais’
disciplined firepower and intimate knowledge of the terrain blunted the German
attacks repeatedly.
However, with increasing pressure and the threat of
encirclement, Major Romeo ordered a withdrawal shortly after 16:00. The retreat
was conducted with typical Ardennais finesse — booby traps and mines were laid
behind the lines, and smoke screens covered their movements.
Final Thoughts
The Battle of Erezée exemplified the Chasseurs Ardennais’
tenacity and tactical acumen. Their skilful use of terrain, combined with
precision ambushes and staunch defence, made the German advance through the
Ardennes notably costly and slow.
Though ultimately forced to yield ground, the Chasseurs’
stubborn stand was a significant delaying action, one that undoubtedly
complicated the Wehrmacht’s timetable and bought valuable hours for the Allies.
Hotton Hysteria: How the Ardennais Made the Germans Sweat
(12th May 1940)
By the time the 12th of May 1940 dawned over the
mist-shrouded Ardennes, the situation was growing increasingly fraught. The
German juggernaut had pushed deep into Belgium, but at Hotton — a small town
perched on the banks of the River Ourthe — the Belgian defenders, including the
ever-resourceful Chasseurs Ardennais, were preparing a resolute stand. This was
no mere skirmish; it was a vital clash to block the German advance and prevent
the complete envelopment of Allied forces further east.
The Cast and Terrain
The defending force comprised the 1st Battalion of the
Chasseurs Ardennais, reinforced by elements of the Belgian 2nd Infantry
Division. Their commanding officer, Major Joseph Romeo, had once again
orchestrated the deployment, favouring the steep ridges overlooking the River
Ourthe and the surrounding wooded hills — terrain perfect for defence, ambush,
and generally making life difficult for anyone trying to cross a river under
fire.
Opposing them was the German 4th Panzer Division, with
formidable armour and mechanised infantry poised to exploit any weakness. The
Germans aimed to seize Hotton and secure the crossings over the Ourthe to
facilitate a rapid push toward Bastogne and beyond.
Early Morning — Preparing the Defences
At 05:30, the Chasseurs were in position, their foxholes and
trenches dug deep into the hillside. Anti-tank guns—those ever-important 47mm
models—were placed strategically on the approaches to the town, especially the
road bridges over the Ourthe. Machine gun nests peppered the ridges, and
riflemen were hidden amid the thick undergrowth.
Major Romeo took a moment to survey the morning mist,
perhaps musing that war in the Ardennes was rather like trying to navigate a
particularly unpleasant Sunday stroll — if the Sunday stroll involved
armour-piercing shells and the odd machine gun burst.
Mid-Morning — The First Clashes
Around 09:00, German scouts pushed forward, cautiously
probing the Belgian defences along the river’s edge. A German reconnaissance
unit, consisting of Sd.Kfz. 222 armoured cars and a contingent of motorcycle
troops, attempted to cross a minor bridge at Wéris, just east of Hotton.
Here, Lieutenant Pierre Dupont’s rifle platoon lay in wait,
concealed behind natural banks and fallen trees. When the German armoured cars
came into range, Dupont gave the order to open fire.
The 47mm anti-tank guns promptly engaged, knocking out the
lead armoured car with a precision shot to its lightly armoured flank. Belgian
rifle and machine gun fire swept the area, forcing the rest of the German
patrol back in some haste, their wheels spinning on wet ground.
Noon — Armoured Assault and Countermeasures
By 12:30, the main thrust of the German 4th Panzer Division
arrived — with tanks rolling grimly along the main road toward Hotton.
Major Romeo’s anti-tank teams, particularly those led by
Sergeant André Lambert, were prepared. As the lead Panzer IIIs crested a ridge
near Bomal, Lambert’s crew fired coordinated volleys.
One Panzer III was hit squarely in the frontal armour,
engine smoking and crew scrambling for cover. The second tank was caught in a
well-timed crossfire from infantry armed with anti-tank rifles, forcing it to
withdraw.
The German infantry followed closely, attempting to seize
the town and the crucial bridges. However, the Chasseurs’ riflemen and machine
gunners had prepared overlapping fields of fire. Lieutenant Henri Laurent’s men
expertly used the stone houses and narrow streets of Hotton as natural
strongpoints, ambushing German infantry in the twisty alleys.
Afternoon — Fierce Fighting and Tactical Withdrawal
The battle raged into the afternoon with sporadic artillery
bombardments supplementing the German attacks. The Chasseurs Ardennais, while
outnumbered, fought with remarkable tenacity. They laid booby traps, destroyed
bridges, and made use of the dense forests for hit-and-run tactics.
By 15:30, Major Romeo recognised the untenable position and
ordered a fighting withdrawal across the Ourthe to secondary defensive lines
near Marche-en-Famenne. Rear-guard units, including a small contingent of
engineers, set charges on the bridges to deny German armour an easy crossing.
The withdrawal was conducted with remarkable discipline;
Belgian troops melted back into the forests, leaving behind a tangled mess of
mines and burnt-out vehicles that caused the advancing Germans no small amount
of consternation.
Summing Up the Battle of Hotton
Though ultimately forced to relinquish Hotton, the Chasseurs
Ardennais’ spirited defence was a textbook delaying action — their woodland
skills, combined arms co-ordination, and sheer obstinacy slowed the German
advance and bought precious time for the embattled Belgian and Allied forces.
In short, the Battle of Hotton was less a grand set-piece
and more a gritty, grimy contest of wills — and in that contest, the Chasseurs
Ardennais showed themselves worthy adversaries, proving that even a small,
determined force can make a significant dent in the German war machine.
Namur Knockabout: Belgium’s Brief but Brave Stand Against
Blitzkrieg (12th-15th May)
It was the 12th of May, 1940, and the Belgian defenders
found themselves at the cusp of what would become a gruelling contest for the
fortress city of Namur. Nestled at the confluence of the Meuse and Sambre
rivers, Namur’s fortifications—some dating back to the late 19th century—were
manned by the stalwart 4th and 6th Fortress Infantry Regiments, bolstered by
elements of the 5th Infantry Division under the watchful eye of
Lieutenant-General Jean-Baptiste Piron.
The German offensive, spearheaded by the 36th Infantry
Division, was tasked with breaking these defences swiftly. Their armour,
including Panzer IIs and IIIs, prepared to support the infantry’s assault. The
Luftwaffe promised to deliver precise air strikes to soften Belgian resolve.
Morning of 12 May — The Opening Artillery Barrage
At 0800 hours, the German 36th Infantry Division unleashed a
concentrated artillery bombardment targeting Fort Maizeret, Fort Andoy, and
Fort Dave—Namur’s most significant bastions.
German 105mm and 150mm guns, firing from concealed positions
in the Bois de la Vecquée and the hills south of the Meuse, sent over 2,000
shells raining on the forts in a relentless four-hour barrage. The Belgian
gunners of the 6th Artillery Regiment, manning their 75mm field guns in dug-in
positions near Flawinne, responded with counter-battery fire aimed at
identified German artillery emplacements. Forward observers, using field
telephones and signal flares, directed fire with admirable precision despite the
chaos.
The forts, though somewhat antiquated compared to the more
modern Liège ring, had thick concrete walls and cleverly designed casemates
that absorbed much of the shelling. Still, windows shattered, observation posts
were blinded by dust and debris, and the defenders suffered casualties,
particularly in the less-protected barracks areas.
Mid-Morning — German Infantry Attempt River Crossings
By 1100 hours, German infantry began their first attempts to
cross the Meuse River near the town of Jambes. Engineers laid pontoon bridges
while infantrymen clambered onto hastily assembled rafts and barges.
The Belgian 5th Infantry Division, including the 2nd
Battalion of the 5th Infantry Regiment under Captain André Gossuin, was
stationed along the north bank of the Meuse. These men were not merely passive
observers; they had prepared trenches and firing positions and were armed with
an assortment of weapons ranging from the standard Belgian FN Model 1930 rifles
to the more potent 47mm anti-tank guns and machine guns.
German troops pushing across in small boats came under
devastating enfilade fire. Machine-gun nests raked the riverbanks with lethal
accuracy, and artillery observers called in concentrated fire on likely
crossing points. The first German assault wave was repulsed with heavy
casualties; at least 150 soldiers were either killed or forced to retreat.
Early Afternoon — The Luftwaffe’s Arrival
At around 1330 hours, Luftwaffe Ju87 Stuka dive-bombers
appeared, their ominous sirens heralding destruction. Their targets: Belgian
artillery positions near Flawinne and command posts at Fort Maizeret.
Belgian anti-aircraft crews, manning the Bofors C40 DTCA anti-aircraft guns,
immediately engaged, creating a dense curtain of flak. Several Stukas were hit
and forced to abort their runs; nonetheless, a number managed to score direct
hits on artillery batteries, causing casualties and disrupting communications.
Despite the air assault, Belgian artillery continued firing
intermittently, switching to dispersed positions to avoid counter-battery fire.
Late Afternoon, 14 May — The Defiant Stand at Saint-Servais
The Germans redoubled their efforts, intent on breaking the
Belgian line at Saint-Servais, a critical crossroads north of Namur.
Captain Gossuin’s 2nd Battalion was now dug in along the
ridges overlooking the Meuse, with trenches reinforced by barbed wire and
anti-tank obstacles. German infantry, supported by a handful of Panzer IIIs,
launched a series of frontal assaults beginning at 1400 hours.
Using combined arms tactics, the Germans hoped to punch
through the Belgian lines and open a path into Namur itself. However, the
defenders were prepared.
Belgian artillery observers called in fire missions on the
advancing tanks. The 47mm anti-tank guns, carefully concealed in forest edges
and behind ruined buildings, opened fire at ranges of 300 to 500 metres.
Reports indicate at least four German tanks were hit and disabled in rapid
succession, their crews abandoning their vehicles under heavy small-arms fire.
Infantry assaults were met with withering machine-gun fire
and well-aimed rifle shots from snipers hidden in the ruins. Despite several
German attempts, the Belgian line held firm until dusk.
Evening, 15 May — Withdrawal and Demolition
By 1700 hours on 15 May, the strategic situation had
deteriorated. The fall of Liège and Eben-Emael meant the Germans could soon
encircle Namur, threatening the defenders with annihilation.
The Belgian high command ordered a withdrawal to avoid
encirclement. The retreat was conducted in good order, with rear-guard units
maintaining contact with the enemy.
In a masterstroke of military prudence, engineers demolished
key bridges over the Meuse and Sambre rivers—particularly the Charleroi Bridge
and the Jambes Bridge—slowing the German advance.
The defenders melted away into the Ardennes, leaving behind
battered forts but having bought precious time for their French and British
allies to regroup.
Epilogue
Though Namur eventually fell, the Belgian defenders’
tactical resilience during those harrowing days was exemplary. Their judicious
use of terrain, combined arms coordination, and sheer tenacity delayed the
Wehrmacht’s timetable considerably.
In the annals of 1940’s frantic fighting, the Battle of
Namur remains a testament to the often overlooked bravery and skill of the
Belgian armed forces
In summary, the Belgian defenders of Liège and Namur fought
a valiant delaying action. Their resistance was marked not by glory or grand
victories, but by steadfastness and tactical acumen under fire—a noble effort
often overshadowed by the greater calamities of the campaign, yet deserving of
our respect and a touch of wry admiration.
Concrete, Courage, and Quite a Few Cups of Tea: The K-W
Line Story (12th-14th May 1940)
Setting the Stage
After the fall of the Ardennes and the rapid German advance
through Belgium, the Belgian army fell back to the K-W Line
(Koningshooikt–Wavre Line), a defensive position intended to shield Brussels
and delay the enemy. This line traced roughly 60 kilometres from Koningshooikt,
near Antwerp, southeast to Wavre, crossing several rivers and natural
obstacles.
Belgian forces assigned to defend the line included the 7th
Infantry Division, parts of the 1st Chasseurs Ardennais Regiment, and the 9th
Infantry Division. Artillery support was provided by several field batteries
armed with the 75mm and 105mm guns, complemented by small anti-tank
detachments.
Opposing them was the formidable German 18th Panzer Division,
backed by infantry elements from the 6th Infantry Division and engineer
detachments.
Day 1: 12 May 1940 — Initial Clashes and Defensive
Preparations
The battle commenced in earnest at dawn, just hours after
the dramatic fall of Eben-Emael.
At 05:30, German patrols began probing Belgian positions
near Haacht in the northern sector. The 2nd Company of the 7th Infantry
Division was deployed here, tasked with early warning and delaying actions.
Around 06:15, German infantry attempted to seize forward
outposts along the Haacht-Wavre road, but were met with precise rifle and
machine gun fire, forcing a retreat. Belgian soldiers skillfully utilized small
arms and the natural hedgerows to blunt German advances.
By 08:00, the Germans escalated with artillery shelling
targeted at key pillboxes, particularly Pillbox 17, defended by Lieutenant
Henri Dubois’s platoon.
Despite a withering bombardment, Dubois’s men held firm,
employing their Bren guns and rifle volleys to break up repeated infantry
assaults. Multiple German infantry rushes were repelled before Dubois received
orders to withdraw at 10:30, to avoid encirclement.
Meanwhile, near Wavre, Belgian engineers began demolishing
bridges to slow the German advance, while anti-tank units under Sergeant Marcel
Dupont concealed themselves along the approaches to the Dyle River crossings at
Ottenburg and Limal.
At 11:20, the first German armour, a column of nine Panzer
IIIs from the 18th Panzer Division, attempted to force the river crossing at
Ottenburg. Dupont’s teams waited until the tanks clustered, then opened fire.
Two tanks were knocked out rapidly — one immobilised by a
track hit, the other a direct engine hit — forcing the Germans to temporarily
withdraw their armour and rely on infantry.
Throughout the afternoon, intense fighting erupted in and
around Wavre. Captain René Fontaine’s company, stationed in a series of
farmhouses and hedgerows, repulsed repeated infantry assaults supported by
engineer squads attempting to clear barricades and minefields.
At 13:00, Fontaine’s men famously employed a mix of
grenades, rifle fire, and even Molotov cocktails to disrupt German engineers
clearing the roadblocks, buying critical time.
By evening, German reconnaissance discovered a vulnerable
flank south of Wavre near dense woods. The 6th Infantry Division moved to
outflank Belgian positions through this terrain.
Belgian command reacted swiftly. Units of the 9th Infantry
Division and Chasseurs Ardennais detachments were dispatched to contest this
advance, engaging in close-quarters combat among the forest.
Skirmishes throughout the late afternoon and evening delayed
the Germans but resulted in heavy Belgian casualties.
Day 2: 13 May 1940 — German Offensive Intensifies, Belgian
Resistance Stiffens
At dawn on 13 May, the German artillery resumed bombardment
with renewed vigour, focusing on the northern sector around Haacht and the
critical crossroads at Koningshooikt.
The thunder of 105mm and 150mm shells rattled the pillboxes
and defensive trenches, inflicting damage but failing to knock out all key
positions.
Lieutenant Dubois, now regrouped with reserve forces,
returned to strengthen the northern defences.
From 07:00, waves of German infantry advanced behind
creeping artillery barrages, attempting to seize the positions piecemeal.
Belgian troops responded with disciplined small arms fire,
supported by field artillery batteries firing in counter-battery roles.
At 10:30, the German armour renewed their assault on the Dyle
River crossings near Ottenburg and Limal.
Sergeant Marcel Dupont’s anti-tank teams, having replenished
ammunition during the night, took advantage of natural bottlenecks to
concentrate fire.
During a fierce half-hour engagement, Dupont’s men knocked
out four Panzer IIIs and one Panzer IV attempting to cross narrow causeways.
These losses delayed the German advance considerably and
forced a tactical withdrawal.
In the urban outskirts of Wavre, Captain Fontaine’s company
continued their dogged defence.
Between 12:00 and 15:00, repeated German infantry assaults
were repulsed. Belgian forces used farmhouses and stone walls for cover,
exchanging fire at close quarters.
German engineers, attempting to clear obstacles to allow
armour passage, were frustrated by effective Belgian sniper fire and small-unit
ambushes.
Late afternoon saw German efforts to outflank the K-W Line
via wooded areas south of Wavre intensify.
Belgian Chasseurs Ardennais units, experts in forest
fighting, engaged German infantry in hit-and-run tactics, harassing supply
lines and slowing their advance.
These woodland skirmishes were brutal, with bayonet charges
and hand grenade exchanges under tangled foliage.
By 18:00, the Germans had made some inroads but were far
from breaking the line.
Day 3: 14 May 1940 — Withdrawal and Rearguard Heroics
By the morning of 14 May, the strategic situation for
Belgium and its allies had worsened markedly.
With Allied forces collapsing elsewhere, Belgian High
Command ordered a phased withdrawal from the K-W Line to avoid encirclement.
Between 06:00 and 09:00, Belgian units began pulling back
from forward positions.
Sergeant Lucien Martens was assigned command of a rearguard
tasked with holding the Wavre crossroads to cover the retreat.
From 06:30 until nightfall, Martens’s squad fought repeated
delaying actions, setting ambushes along narrow lanes and using roadblocks to
slow German armour and infantry.
Despite heavy losses and dwindling ammunition, the
rearguard’s efforts allowed the main Belgian formations to disengage in good
order.
Meanwhile, engineers conducted a scorched earth campaign,
demolishing bridges over the Dyle River and adjacent canals.
These demolitions forced German engineers into lengthy
bridging operations under fire, further buying time for the Belgian retreat.
Tactical Takeaways from the K-W Line
- Belgian
defences were characterised by tenacious infantry fighting, effective use
of natural terrain, and the judicious placement of anti-tank guns at key
choke points.
- Artillery
support, while limited, was well-coordinated and effective in
counter-battery fire and interdiction of German infantry.
- The
Chasseurs Ardennais excelled in delaying flanking attempts in the wooded
southern sectors, using guerrilla-like tactics.
- Despite
shortages in equipment and manpower, Belgian troops exhibited high morale
and discipline, especially during withdrawal phases.
Epilogue
The K-W Line was ultimately a delaying action—a valiant, if
doomed, attempt to check the German juggernaut. While the line was broken after
three days of fierce combat, the Belgian defence bought vital time for the
British and French to regroup.
As history often notes with a sigh, the Belgian forces
fought bravely in a situation few could have wished for, demonstrating that
courage and tactical skill often shine brightest in adversity.
The Battle of Hannut: A Most Gallant Scramble in the
Belgian Countryside (12th-14th May)
Picture the gentle rolling farmland of eastern Belgium,
around the sleepy town of Hannut. The sort of place where farmers might expect
to see nothing more exciting than a stray cow or two but, instead, found
themselves amidst roaring engines, choking smoke, and an abundance of very
grumpy men shouting orders in three different languages.
When May 1940 arrived, the Belgians found themselves rather
unexpectedly cast in a starring role in what would become one of the largest
tank battles of the early Second World War. The stage was set in and around the
small town of Hannut, where the Belgian 1st and 2nd Cavalry Divisions—largely
mounted on good old-fashioned horses but increasingly supplemented by armoured
cars and light tanks—prepared to do what Belgians do best: hold the line with
pluck, precision, and an endearing stubbornness that occasionally veered into
delightful daftness.
Belgian Forces: The Unsung Heroes with Horses, Artillery,
and Heart
Now, before we dive into the meat of the battle, it’s only
fair to mention that the Belgian army in 1940 was something of a mixed bag. The
cavalry divisions still included mounted troops (horses versus Panzers—one
might say the odds were a bit like bringing a butter knife to a gunfight), but
they also had armoured reconnaissance units armed with the venerable T-13 tank
destroyers, armoured cars, and a smattering of outdated light tanks like the
Renault AMC 35.
Artillery was one area where the Belgians shone: their 75mm
and 105mm field guns were well handled, and the crews had an intimate knowledge
of the local terrain, which they used to devastating effect against advancing
German armour. Belgian infantry—often overlooked in the grand armoured
narrative—fought fiercely, defending hedgerows, villages, and farmhouses with
machine guns, rifles, and an unshakable will not to be pushed off their soil
without a fight.
The Opening Act: 12 May — Belgians Brace and Fire
As dawn broke on 12 May, the German Panzer
divisions—primarily the 3rd and 4th, commanded by the notoriously efficient
General Kleist—rumbled forward, engines growling like a particularly angry
badger disturbed from its den. Their aim was to smash through Belgian lines
quickly and create a corridor for the deeper German advance.
The Belgians, fully aware that they were facing a mechanized
juggernaut, dug in with admirable speed and determination. The 1st Cavalry
Division held the northern approaches near Hannut itself, deploying their
machine guns and anti-tank weapons at key chokepoints: narrow roads, stone
walls, and the ubiquitous Belgian hedgerows.
A standout moment came near the village of Crehen, where a
company of Belgian infantry, led by Captain Van den Broeck, transformed a
modest farmstead into a veritable fortress. Using a combination of small arms
fire and well-directed mortar rounds, they repelled multiple attempts by German
motorized infantry to seize the position. The Germans, caught in a hailstorm of
bullets, reportedly muttered something that might loosely translate as “This is
more troublesome than anticipated,” before withdrawing temporarily.
Belgian Artillery: The Unseen Guardians
Meanwhile, the Belgian artillery batteries were working
overtime. The 75mm guns of the 2nd Cavalry Division’s artillery regiment were
positioned in well-concealed pits behind hedgerows and ridges. When German
tanks and infantry attempted to exploit gaps in the line, these guns opened
fire with commendable accuracy.
One particularly memorable episode occurred near Veldwezelt,
where a German column of Panzer IIIs advanced along a country lane. Belgian
artillery spotters—stationed atop a crumbling church tower, no less—directed
fire that pinned down the column and knocked out the lead tank. The rest of the
German formation was forced to halt under heavy fire, giving the Belgians
precious time to reinforce their positions.
Armoured Cars and Tank Destroyers: The Belgian Cavalry’s
Modern Horses
Now, it would be a disservice not to mention the T-13 tank
destroyers, the Belgian cavalry’s pride and joy, though modest in armour and
armament compared to their French cousins. These vehicles, armed with 47mm
guns, were deployed in support of infantry, particularly around Jandrenouille
and Crehen, where they engaged German Panzer IIs and IIIs at close range.
Lieutenant Huyghe’s troop of T-13s, stationed near the
crossroads at Jandrenouille, famously ambushed a German Panzer II platoon
attempting to outflank the Belgian positions. Using the element of surprise and
the cover of a thick hedge row, they managed to disable three tanks in quick
succession before German infantry counterattacked.
Infantry Stalwarts: Belgian Riflemen in the Thick of It
The Belgian infantry were no less heroic. Throughout the
engagements, they held the narrow lanes and villages with a doggedness that
frustrated the German advance. Machine gun nests in the woods around Hannut
inflicted heavy casualties on motorized infantry attempting to seize bridges
and crossroads.
One platoon under Sergeant Lefevre reportedly fought off
three German assaults on the village of Odenval, repelling each attack with a
combination of rifle fire, grenades, and well-aimed mortar rounds. Their
resilience was such that German commanders considered bypassing Odenval
altogether, lest they become bogged down—a rare compliment indeed.
Coordination with the French: A Sometimes Bumpy Partnership
Of course, the Belgians were not alone, and their French
allies brought the heavy armour and bigger guns to the party. The 3rd and 4th
DLM brought their SOMUA S35s and Hotchkiss tanks to bear, engaging German
Panzers in a series of armoured duels that would become the stuff of legend.
Belgian infantry and T-13s often worked in concert with
French tank squadrons, holding flanks and clearing anti-tank positions,
allowing the French armour to concentrate fire on German tanks. While
communication between the allies was sometimes less than perfect—partly due to
language barriers and partly because war rarely lends itself to smooth
coordination—the mutual respect and shared objective kept the line intact.
The German Reaction: Pressing the Assault
As the battle progressed, German commanders adapted by
employing combined arms tactics with increasing effectiveness. Motorized
infantry supported their tanks more closely, and air support from the Luftwaffe
harried Belgian and French positions.
Despite this, Belgian artillery and infantry repeatedly
blunted German advances. The fields and hedgerows around Hannut echoed with the
crack of rifle fire, the boom of artillery, and the rumble of tank engines,
with Belgian troops displaying a tenacity that earned grudging admiration from
their adversaries.
The Final Days: Fighting Withdrawal and Legacy
By 14 May, it was clear that the German main effort was
aiming elsewhere—the Ardennes—and the Belgians and French began an orderly
withdrawal. Belgian units covered the retreat with disciplined rearguard
actions, artillery continuing to pound German formations, and infantry delaying
the enemy as best they could.
Though outnumbered and outgunned, the Belgian forces had
contributed significantly to slowing the German advance. Their determination,
intimate knowledge of the terrain, and courageous fighting gave the French
armour time and space to maneuver, and the Germans a far less easy ride than
they had anticipated.
In Summary
The Battle of Hannut was no mere footnote for the Belgians.
It was a stage on which they displayed courage, ingenuity, and the kind of
stubborn refusal to be overwhelmed that only a nation with a proud military
tradition (and rather excellent beer) could muster. Far from being mere
bystanders to the French tank spectacle, Belgian troops held key positions,
fired crucial artillery barrages, and took the fight to the Germans with a
combination of old-school grit and modern armoured warfare.
The Battle of Gembloux: Belgian Steel, Sweat, and
Stubbornness (14th–15th May 1940)
Picture the rolling fields and quaint villages near
Gembloux, nestled in Wallonia, which on 14 May 1940 suddenly became less a
pastoral idyll and more the centre of a very noisy and decidedly deadly game of
cat-and-mouse. The Belgian Army Group Namur, primarily the 1st and 2nd Infantry
Divisions—resplendent in their blue-grey uniforms, with rifles primed and
bayonets gleaming—stood poised behind well-prepared defensive lines. They were
ready to show the German onslaught exactly why Belgium, though small, was not a
nation to be pushed about.
The Stage Is Set: Belgian Preparations and Positions
The Belgians had spent the preceding days setting up a
sturdy defensive belt along the Gembloux–Leval–Lonzée axis. Trenches were dug,
machine gun nests sited with a keen eye on the undulating terrain, and
artillery batteries carefully emplaced on commanding ridges. The 9th Artillery
Regiment, known for its impeccable aim and stubborn refusal to let off a round
before noon, took up positions on the high ground overlooking the fields and
roads.
Belgian infantry companies were scattered along the front,
well aware that this was likely to be the spot where the German Army would
attempt to punch through to the Meuse. Each platoon was ordered to hold their
ground with vigour, using the natural defensive advantages of hedgerows, farm
buildings, and woodland copses.
Day One: 14 May — The Germans Arrive and Meet Belgian Steel
At first light on 14 May, the German 6th Panzer Division,
part of the larger Army Group B’s push westwards, advanced with all the panache
and precision one might expect of an invading mechanized force. Tanks and
motorized infantry roared across the countryside, keen to break the Belgian
line with speed and overwhelming firepower.
However, the Belgians were not to be trifled with. From the
outset, the 1st Infantry Division’s 3rd Regiment took a firm grip on the
defensive. They had the advantage of terrain: low stone walls and thick
hedgerows created natural choke points. The infantry laid down withering
machine gun fire, their Vickers and Browning guns cracking like whipcracks over
the fields, while riflemen trained on every likely avenue of approach.
One notable clash took place near the village of Lonzée.
Here, Lieutenant-Colonel François Delvaux’s battalion managed to hold a
critical crossroads despite repeated German attempts to seize it. The Germans,
attempting to use a combined arms approach with tanks and infantry, found
themselves stymied by well-placed Belgian 75mm field guns and the stubborn
rifle fire of entrenched defenders. Delvaux’s men frequently jumped from
foxhole to foxhole, adjusting positions and coordinating with artillery observers
to keep German armour at bay.
Artillery: The Belgian Orchestra of Destruction
Belgian artillery proved to be the pièce de résistance of
the defensive effort. The 4th and 9th Artillery Regiments, equipped with 75mm
and 105mm guns, were nestled on hilltops and behind villages, and their gunners
showed remarkable discipline under fire. When German tanks tried to advance in
formation, the Belgian batteries delivered well-coordinated salvos that turned
columns of gleaming steel into smoking wreckage.
.jpg)
A particularly vivid incident occurred when a battery
commander, Captain Van der Meersch, directing fire from a concealed observation
post in a church tower, ordered his men to concentrate on a German tank column
crossing an open field near Gembloux. His precise timing and excellent map
reading meant the German Panzers were caught completely exposed, resulting in
the destruction of four tanks and scattering the remainder in disarray.
Infantry: Grit, Determination, and a Touch of Belgian
Stubbornness
Belgian infantrymen, armed mainly with Mauser rifles and
supported by Bren and Hotchkiss machine guns, fought tenaciously. Their task
was to hold the line long enough for French reinforcements to arrive and
reinforce the defenses.
Near the hamlet of Sart, a company under Captain Lucien
Moreau made an extraordinary stand. The Germans launched repeated infantry
assaults supported by close artillery barrages. Moreau’s men, with a mixture of
well-placed grenades, enfilade machine gun fire, and a not-insignificant amount
of swearing, repelled assault after assault, often resorting to bayonet charges
when ammunition ran low. They even improvised by using captured German weapons
found on the battlefield.
Coordination and Communication: The Belgian-French Pas de
Deux
The Belgians fought alongside French units of the 7th and
10th Motorized Divisions, whose heavy tanks and mechanized infantry were eager
to support the beleaguered defenders. While coordination was sometimes hampered
by the language barrier and the typical confusion of battle, liaison officers
worked diligently to keep artillery fire from landing on friendly positions—a
challenge as tricky as trying to teach a cat to dance the waltz.
Belgian artillery forward observers and French tank
commanders developed a rhythm: the French would engage German armour at long
range, while Belgian infantry and artillery swept German infantry and lighter
vehicles attempting to exploit any gaps.
German Attempts and Belgian Resistance: A See-Saw of Fire
and Steel
The German commanders were not to be outdone and repeatedly
probed the Belgian lines with infantry supported by tanks. However, Belgian
riflemen, artillerymen, and engineers (who were busy laying mines and repairing
wire obstacles under fire) made every inch costly.
One anecdote worth noting: a Belgian sapper unit, under
Lieutenant Fontaine, detected a German attempt to outflank the Belgian right
near the village of Perwez. Acting swiftly, Fontaine’s men laid a field of
anti-tank mines overnight, forcing the German armoured cars to retreat with
more than a little embarrassment.
Day Two: 15 May — Holding Firm and Slowing the Inevitable
By the second day, the battle had turned into a desperate holding action. German units had regrouped and pressed harder, but the Belgians, refusing to budge, maintained their positions. Communications were frayed, and ammunition was running low, but morale remained surprisingly high.
Belgian artillery continued to hammer German assembly areas,
while infantrymen dug in deeper, sometimes even reinforcing trenches with
furniture and other handy bits pilfered from farmhouses. One company commander
was heard to remark, “If we can’t beat them with rifles and shells, perhaps a
well-thrown chair will do the trick.”
In Summation: The Belgian Contribution at Gembloux
While the battle ultimately saw the Belgian lines give way
as the strategic situation deteriorated, the Battle of Gembloux stands as a
proud testament to Belgian professionalism and tenacity. They bought time for
French forces to regroup and reinforced the broader allied defensive effort,
complicating German plans and inflicting significant losses.
Far from being passive or hapless, Belgian troops were the
linchpin of the defence, demonstrating courage, tactical savvy, and a
willingness to dig in and endure. The battle was a showcase of how a smaller
army, well-led and determined, could still give a mechanized giant a bloody
nose.
The Final Curtain: Belgium’s Brave Retreat from K-W to
the Lys (14th–28th May 1940)
As the sun rose on 14 May 1940, the grim reality facing the
Belgian High Command was as plain as the morning fog over the fields: the K-W
Line, that much-vaunted defensive bulwark, was crumbling under the relentless
German onslaught. Orders came down with an unmistakable finality — “Retreat,
but do so in good order.” It was a command that tested the mettle of every
Belgian soldier, from the grizzled officers to the greenest conscript.
The retreat was no mere saunter across the countryside. No,
it was a carefully choreographed dance of death and delay, as the Belgian army
sought to avoid being overwhelmed or encircled. The 7th Infantry Division,
assigned the unenviable task of covering the northern sector near the town of
Tienen, sprang into action at the crack of dawn. Lieutenant-Colonel Pierre
Moreau’s 2nd Battalion quickly dug in along the banks of the Demer River,
turning sleepy bridges into potential death traps.
At roughly 8 o’clock, the first rattling sounds of German
reconnaissance vehicles echoed down the road. The vanguard of the 6th Panzer
Division, those terrible mechanised beasts, approached in eager confidence,
only to be greeted by a hailstorm of machine-gun fire and the deadly bite of
47mm anti-tank guns expertly handled by Sergeant Marcel Dupont and his gunners.
One by one, the Panzers found their advances halted as the Belgian guns scored
direct hits, sending fiery wrecks tumbling into the river. Dupont, who later
admitted he never fancied a career in cooking but found himself quite adept at
“frying German tanks,” helped buy crucial time.
Meanwhile, in the dense Ardennes-like forests south of
Leuven, the Chasseurs Ardennais—Belgium’s elite mountain infantry—were weaving
a different kind of defensive tapestry. Major André Lefèvre’s 3rd Battalion
launched ambushes near the village of Egenhoven, taking full advantage of the
woodland’s natural concealment. They greeted German engineers attempting to
clear roadblocks with well-timed grenades and volleyed rifle fire, turning the
quiet countryside into a maelstrom of explosions and shouted orders. Lefèvre’s
men, with their trademark green berets cocked at jaunty angles, held the enemy
at bay with a grin and an irrepressible sense of mischief.
By 15 May, the day’s toil escalated. Captain René Fontaine’s
company of the 1st Infantry Division manned positions around Wavre with the
grim determination of a butcher defending his cleaver. They fortified the N25
road, a critical artery for both friend and foe. German infantry of the 27th
Division, under cover of smoke and artillery barrages, attempted to cross the
Dyle River near Limal. Fontaine’s men, however, proved less than cooperative.
With light mortars and rifles they transformed the riverbanks into a veritable
shooting gallery, sinking the first raft of German troops before it even
touched water.
The morning thundered with artillery fire from the 12th
Field Artillery Regiment, whose shells arced overhead to devastating effect on
German assembly areas. Bridges blew at precisely timed intervals, forcing the
Germans into awkward, time-consuming crossings downstream. Orders to withdraw
came mid-afternoon, but not before Sergeant Lucien Martens orchestrated a
masterclass in rear-guard action at the Demer River crossing near Tienen. With
a motley company drawn from the 7th Infantry and the Chasseurs Ardennais,
Martens held firm against waves of German infantry and armour, destroying two
Panzer IIIs with Molotov cocktails and concealed 47mm guns before slipping away
at dusk to evade encirclement.
.jpg)
Come 17 May, the Germans were back, with the infamous IX
Corps under General Hermann Geyer leading the charge. Their infantry divisions,
backed by the 6th Panzer Division and the dreaded Stuka dive bombers, struck at
dawn near Roeselare. Captain François Leclerc’s company of the 1st Infantry
Division manned the bridge over the Leie River with admirable resolve. The
German infantry attempted to storm the crossing through orchards and small
farms, but Leclerc’s men met them with a brutal mix of rifle fire, mortars, and
snipers positioned with expert patience.
German engineers tried, and failed, to construct pontoon
bridges under a storm of Belgian bullets and grenades. For two days the battle
raged, Leclerc’s company refusing to yield even an inch, buying valuable time
for the rest of the Belgian army to fortify secondary positions.
The following days saw a furious back-and-forth. The Belgian
4th Infantry Division launched a counterattack near Bissegem on 18 May, driving
the Germans back half a kilometre, only to be halted moments later by a
pounding counterstrike from German armour.
By 20 May, German commanders were growing impatient. Massed
artillery barrages and tank assaults battered the Lys line. The 26th Infantry
Division pressed a large-scale attack near Kuurne, forcing the 4th Infantry’s
2nd Battalion into a gruelling defensive struggle. Ammunition ran low, and
despite grievous losses, the Belgians held on as long as humanly possible.
Luftwaffe bombing raids added to the chaos, with Stukas
painting retreating columns and supply lines with fire and smoke. Medical units
scrambled valiantly to treat the wounded amid the cacophony, though many
soldiers ended up tending their own bruises, scrapes, and worse.
By the dawn of 20 May, the Belgian Army was a tired and
battered force clinging grimly to the Lys River line. The once-proud defensive
positions were now pocked with craters and shattered trees, the remnants of
relentless German artillery barrages and Luftwaffe dive-bombing runs.
General Henri Dupont's 4th Infantry Division, tasked with
holding the central sector around Kuurne and Bissegem, faced the brunt of the
next major German assault.
20 May — The Prelude to Crisis
The morning mist barely lifted before the first sounds of
German movement were heard. Around 05:30, reconnaissance units of the German 26th
Infantry Division began probing Belgian forward outposts near Kuurne.
Belgian sentries from the 8th Infantry Regiment, posted near
the village of Marke, quickly alerted their battalion headquarters. Captain
Léon Dubois dispatched a patrol to assess the enemy strength and found German
infantry formations massing just beyond the woods.
At 07:00, the German infantry advanced under the cover of
intense artillery fire. German 105mm howitzers pounded Belgian trenches,
disrupting communications and causing numerous casualties. Belgian artillery,
mainly the 14th Field Artillery Regiment, responded with counter-battery fire,
but ammunition was in dangerously short supply.
Captain Dubois’ men, dug in behind hastily constructed
foxholes and anti-tank obstacles, faced repeated waves of infantry attacks, all
under the watchful eyes of German reconnaissance tanks probing for
weaknesses.
Despite the pounding, the Belgian defenders repelled the
attacks throughout the morning, expertly employing their 47mm anti-tank guns
and machine gun nests to break up infantry concentrations.
21 May — The Major Assault
The following day saw a significant escalation.
At 04:45, the German IX Corps initiated a full-scale attack
along the Lys sector. The 26th Infantry Division, now reinforced by elements of
the 6th Panzer Division, advanced with the express aim of breaching the Belgian
lines and forcing a crossing near Kuurne.
Belgian intelligence had detected increased enemy activity
during the night, and General Dupont ordered all units to full combat
readiness.
Around 06:00, German Stuka dive bombers began their assault,
their infamous screech cutting through the dawn air as they dive-bombed Belgian
forward positions, supply dumps, and artillery batteries.
Captain Dubois’ 8th Regiment took heavy losses as the bombs
rained down, disrupting their defensive lines.
At 07:30, the German infantry stormed forward behind the
bombardment. The first wave met fierce resistance from Belgian riflemen and
Chasseurs Ardennais units stationed in support positions.
The 3rd Battalion of the Chasseurs Ardennais, under Major
André Lefèvre, played a crucial role here, launching a timely counterattack on
the German left flank near the village of Rollegem. Using their knowledge of
the local terrain, they ambushed German units advancing through hedgerows,
inflicting severe casualties.
Despite these heroic efforts, by mid-morning German tanks
had forded the river at a lightly defended point near the village of Bissegem,
exploiting a small gap in Belgian wire defences.
The Belgian 4th Infantry’s 2nd Battalion, commanded by
Lieutenant-Colonel Emile Vandenberghe, mounted an immediate counterattack with
what little was left of their mobile reserves, including a handful of
antiquated T-13 tank destroyers.
The counterattack slowed the German advance, but the
numerical superiority of the enemy was overwhelming.
22 May — Defensive Fighting and Attrition
By the 22nd, the Lys line was in jeopardy.
Belgian troops held firm in villages such as Kuurne,
Harelbeke, and Kortrijk, fighting house-to-house where necessary.
One particularly grim engagement occurred in Kortrijk, where
the Belgian 1st Infantry Division’s 5th Regiment, supported by engineers and
artillery, fought for control of the main railway station.
Fighting began at 08:00 with German infantry supported by
armour attempting to seize the strategic point to facilitate further river
crossings.
Belgian defenders, entrenched in cellars and fortified
buildings, repelled several direct assaults throughout the day, employing
grenades and small arms in brutal close-quarters combat.
Meanwhile, Belgian artillery batteries, despite being under
constant threat from German air attacks, continued to shell German assembly
areas and supply routes, buying time and frustrating the enemy’s logistics.
23–25 May — Encirclement Tightens
The days from 23 to 25 May saw German forces gradually
tightening the noose.
The 6th Panzer Division, reinforced by fresh infantry and
supported by heavy artillery, probed for weak spots all along the line.
Belgian units, particularly the Chasseurs Ardennais and the
7th Infantry Division, conducted skilful delaying actions, destroying bridges
and employing mines to slow the mechanised advance.
On 24 May, Major Lefèvre’s Chasseurs launched a daring night
raid near the village of Lendelede, targeting German supply columns. The
operation was risky but managed to destroy several trucks and cause chaos in
enemy lines.
At 06:00 on 24 May, the German 56th Infantry Division,
supported by the 5th Panzer Division, launched an assault on Menen. The
Belgians, dug in behind makeshift barricades of sandbags and overturned carts,
held with grim determination. Mortars screamed down, and Belgian 75mm field
guns barked back, firing over open sights.
The 2nd Grenadiers Regiment, positioned in Rekkem, held
their sector until ammunition ran out in the late afternoon. It was said they
resorted to using captured German weapons and even flung bricks from upper
windows before falling back yard-by-yard.
Meanwhile, the Chasseurs Ardennais, who had little love for
static defence, launched a daring local counterattack at Ingelmunster,
ambushing a German motorised column in the narrow village streets, destroying
at least two armoured cars with well-placed grenades and ruses involving
chickens (yes, really—reportedly to distract drivers at a key moment).
Despite such valiant efforts, the sheer weight of German
forces began to tell. Supplies dwindled sharply, with food and medical stores
running low. Ammunition, especially anti-tank rounds, became critically scarce.
On 25 May, the Belgian 1st Infantry Division, supported by
remnants of the 4th Division, tried a last-ditch effort to reclaim lost ground
at Deinze. At 04:15, in pouring rain (naturally), two battalions surged forward
under cover of darkness. Machine-gun teams laid down suppressing fire from
hedgerows, and engineers attempted to cross a small tributary on inflatable
boats, which—owing to some unfortunate procurement decisions—resembled
children’s paddling pools.
The advance was met with withering fire from entrenched
German positions and Stuka dive-bombers strafing the roads. One battalion, the 3rd
of the Line, managed to capture the railway station at Deinze and held it until
noon before being forced back. A Belgian lieutenant reportedly stood on the
roof with a flare pistol and declared, “Tell them we are still here!”—before
being promptly shelled off the roof.
Throughout this frantic week, the Belgian forces found
themselves increasingly entwined with the British Expeditionary Force. While
high command liaison was strained (the Belgians had, regrettably, not been told
the British were pulling back to Dunkirk), on the ground, camaraderie bloomed
in the most unlikely places.
At Tielt, for instance, a mixed group of Royal Engineers and
Belgian Gendarmerie blew a bridge jointly, arguing mid-fuse about who’d pay for
the dynamite. At Oostrozebeke, a platoon of Belgian Chasseurs came under attack
and were saved by a timely Vickers machine-gun team—one Brit allegedly
remarking, “Didn’t think I’d be saving Walloons in Flanders today, but there we
are.”
26–27 May — The Last Bastions
By 26 May, German forces executed multiple crossings of the
Lys River, near Kortrijk and Harelbeke, forcing Belgian units into fighting
retreats.
The 4th Infantry Division’s positions were breached in
places, leading to bitter, close-quarters engagements in the streets of
Harelbeke.
The Belgian 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry Regiment, fought
stubbornly to hold the town’s centre, repelling repeated German attempts to
seize the railway junction.
At the same time, the 1st Infantry Division’s 5th Regiment
was pushed back from Kortrijk railway station after heavy losses.
By 26 May, the Belgian line was beginning to buckle like a
poorly cooked soufflé. German pressure along the entire Lys sector had become
unbearable. The German 30th and 255th Infantry Divisions now surged through Eeklo
and Maldegem, threatening the Belgian right flank.
The 17th Infantry Regiment, holding at Ursel, was
annihilated in a matter of hours. One company fought to the last in a
churchyard, the captain reportedly ordering, “Die well, gentlemen,” before
leading a final bayonet charge into the wheat fields. Their stand delayed the
Germans long enough for thousands of Belgian soldiers and civilians to flee
west.
Communication lines were breaking down, and many units
fought isolated battles without clear orders.
28 May — The Final Act
With Belgian forces exhausted, encircled, and isolated, King
Leopold III made the fateful decision.
At 04:00 on 28 May, after nights of harried retreats,
dwindling ammunition, and mounting civilian deaths, King Leopold III ordered
the unconditional surrender of the Belgian Army. The news filtered to the front
slowly. In Tielt, one officer read the communiqué in stunned silence and then
turned to his men and said, “Well, that’s that, then. Anyone for schnapps?”
British forces were stunned by the news but, perhaps
secretly, a bit grateful—having by then pulled back toward Dunkirk, leaving the
Belgians holding a line that had quite literally ceased to exist.
At approximately 15:00, the formal surrender was
communicated.
Yet, not all soldiers accepted the news immediately.
Scattered detachments of Belgian troops continued to resist,
either unaware of the surrender or choosing defiance over captivity.
In the final hours, many soldiers attempted to slip through
German lines to join the British or French forces still fighting to the west.
Conclusion
The fighting from 20 to 28 May was marked by tactical
ingenuity, stubborn resistance, and increasing desperation.
Despite overwhelming odds, the Belgian Army’s rearguard
actions delayed German plans and exacted a heavy toll, proving that even in
retreat, they remained a force to be reckoned with.
Despite the chaos, the Belgian Army had held for 18
critical days, tying down six German divisions, delaying the northern flank
of the Wehrmacht, and buying precious time for Operation Dynamo—the
evacuation of Dunkirk. It was a doomed fight, yes, but not a wasted one.
As one British colonel later remarked:
“They may have lacked tanks, planes, and proper raincoats,
but by God, the Belgians stood their ground until there was no more ground to
stand on.”
Section
4: The Belgian Air Force in 1940 – Wings, Woes, and Wellingtons of a Sort
Let us now ascend from the muddy trenches and
bullet-spattered villages of the Lys and the Ardennes into the great blue
yonder – or at least attempt to, with whatever aircraft the Belgian Air Force
had at its disposal in that most trying of springs. The story of Belgium’s
aerial defenders in 1940 is one of brave men, outdated machines, organisational
tangle, and a smattering of gallows humour – imagine being asked to hold back a
hurricane with a paper kite and a strongly worded letter.
A Force in the Shadows of Giants
In 1940, the Belgian Air Force – or more properly, the Aéronautique
Militaire – was not so much a ‘force’ as a stout-hearted collection of
squadrons bolted together with good intentions and hope. At the outbreak of
hostilities, it possessed around 180 operational aircraft, of which only a
modest portion could be considered modern even by late-1930s standards.
It was divided into three main components:
- Fighter
units, mostly flying Gloster Gladiators, Fairey Fireflies, and Fiat CR.42s,
the latter of which looked like something one might use to deliver urgent
letters in 1918.
- Reconnaissance
and observation squadrons, using antiquated aircraft like the Renard R-31,
which had the unfortunate aerodynamic properties of a sideboard.
- Bomber
and general-purpose squadrons, with machines such as the Fairey Battle and
the Caproni Ca.310, the latter generously gifted by the Italians, who
presumably didn’t want them back.
Although Belgium had long embraced the principle of strict
neutrality (read: sitting on the geopolitical fence and hoping it didn’t
break), the high command had rather hoped its air force might at least delay
any invader long enough for sterner stuff – such as the British RAF or the
French Armée de l'Air – to arrive.
Training, Tactics, and Turmoil
One can’t fault the gallantry of the Belgian pilots, who
were for the most part well-trained and intensely committed. But gallantry
alone is not a substitute for radar, radios, or indeed functioning aircraft.
Belgian pilots were often trained in open-cockpit biplanes
and then handed frontline duties in single-engine monoplanes whose main
advantage was their paintwork. Operational planning was also something of an
ad-hoc affair. Commanders were frequently in the dark – quite literally, given
the lack of night-flying capability – and aircraft were distributed across a
network of airfields, both operational and improvised, which made coordination
with ground forces a logistical nightmare.
The Luftwaffe Cometh – 10 May 1940
At dawn on 10 May, as the Luftwaffe roared into the skies
above Belgium like a Wagnerian overture played on Messerschmitts, the Belgian
Air Force was caught flat-footed.
The Germans unleashed Operation Niobe, a targeted strike
against Belgian airfields, radar stations (what few there were), and aircraft
on the ground. The results were, unfortunately, predictable.
At Nivelles, Schaffen, and Goetsenhoven, dozens of Belgian
aircraft were destroyed before they even made it to the runway. Entire
squadrons were knocked out in the space of an hour. The antiquated hangars
provided about as much protection as a wet handkerchief in a monsoon.
10 May 1940 – Dawn Skrimish at Schaffen
It was barely 04:20 on the morning of 10 May when the alarm
at Schaffen Air Base shattered the pre-dawn tranquillity. Pilots stumbled into
their Gloster Gladiators and Hawker Hurricanes, only to be met moments later by
German Dornier Do 17s and Me 110s screeching overhead. Within minutes, the
field was aflame, hangars collapsing, four Hurricanes destroyed outright and six
damaged. Only five fighters remained serviceable—three Gladiators and two
Hurricanes—who bolted for Beauvechain as German strafing runs kicked up acres
of burning debris. The day’s first lesson was harsh: Belgian fighter pilots
were living proof that a bad start can get much, much worse.
By the end of the first day, Belgium had lost over half its
air strength, the majority on the ground, with many of its best-trained pilots
reduced to either manning rifles in the trenches or attempting to requisition
bicycles to escape the advancing Wehrmacht.
Meanwhile, the Fairey Foxes, single-seat biplanes employed
for reconnaissance, were also thrown into the grinder. On 10 May, nine Foxes
from Escadrille 5/III/2—piloted by men like Lieutenant Étienne Dufossez—took
off from Schaffen around 04:20 to reconnoitre near Liège. Later that morning,
their return pass brought them into contact with Bf 109s over Diest: three
Foxes were shot down (including Dufossez’s), the remaining six wounded. Dufossez
was later recorded as musing: “He left for an unequal fight… accepting the
sacrifice for the honour of his country”
Against the Odds – The Dogfights and Defence
Despite this calamitous start, Belgian fighter pilots still
managed to take to the skies in those critical first few days. It must be said,
they were plucky. Woefully outnumbered, flying obsolete aircraft, and facing
the full might of the Luftwaffe’s Jagdgeschwader squadrons, they nonetheless
threw themselves into the fight with dashing abandon.
11–13 May – Gladiators on the Offensive and Defensive
Despite their losses, the remaining Gladiators took to the
skies with commendable spirit.
On 11 May, six Gladiators from 1/I/2 Squadron launched a
protective flight over Belgian Fairey Battle bombers striking the bridges at
Maastricht. They ran headlong into a patrol from Jagdgeschwader 1, and within
minutes, four Gladiators were shot down and two severely damaged. A mere two
Gladiators improbably limped home, battered, bruised, but alive.
It is recorded that on 13 May, I./JG 1’s Wilhelm Balthasar
claimed three Belgian Gladiators shooting into the Maastricht vicinity, though
Belgian records suggest only four set out for escort duty, corroborating at
least three fatal losses. Still, in the chaos of aerial combat, bravery often
counts for more than precision.
In one notable action on 11 May, a squadron of Gloster
Gladiators from II Group scrambled to intercept a formation of Do 17 bombers headed
toward Louvain. Though the Gladiators were outgunned and slower than a milk
float, they managed to down three bombers at the cost of two of their own, both
pilots bailing out and returning on foot — one of them commandeering a farm
cart, according to rumour.
Elsewhere, reconnaissance pilots in Renard R-31s flew
low-level observation missions over the Albert Canal line under heavy fire,
providing crucial (if not entirely up-to-date) information to field commanders.
Several such aircraft were shot down, but not before relaying the positions of
advancing German armoured columns.
The Fairey Battles, operated jointly by Belgian and British
crews on occasion, were often sent on suicide missions. With little defensive
armament and poor manoeuvrability, they were utterly unsuited to ground attack.
In one sortie near Wavre on 13 May, three Belgian Battles were sent to
interdict a German motorised column; only one returned, limping in with most of
its fuselage held together by canvas, chewing gum, and sheer force of will.
Fading from the Fight
By 15 May, the Belgian Air Force as an effective fighting
entity was largely grounded, its survivors dispersed, captured, or simply
destroyed.
Sergeant Remy Van Lierde’s Last Reconnaissance — 16 May 1940
By mid-May, Sergeant Remy Van Lierde, a reconnaissance pilot
in 3rd Squadron, 1st Aviation Regiment, was conducting flights in a rather
antiquated Fairey Fox III biplane. These planes weren’t exactly cutting-edge —
more akin to mailing pigeons with wings — yet they flew crucial missions.
On the morning of 16 May, Van Lierde lifted off from
Goetsenhoven, assigned to scout German armoured columns approaching across the
Brabant region. Flying low to avoid radar (which Belgium didn’t have), he
threaded the countryside when his aircraft came under intense 88mm flak fire
from concealed German batteries. His engine shuddered violently as a shell
exploded nearby.
Losing altitude fast, he crash-landed near
Soignies/Braine-le-Comte around 15:20. Wounded but lucid, he exited his flaming
craft and attempted to evade capture. Instead, he was taken prisoner and
hospitalised — though, his indomitable spirit saw him later escape via Spain.
That sortie marked both his final Belgian mission and a
poignant symbol of a nearly defunct reconnaissance force doing its best amid
overwhelming odds.
Some pilots were absorbed into RAF units or made their way
to France, where they would later serve in the Free Belgian forces. Others
joined the resistance, becoming clandestine observers and couriers, trading
cockpits for cellars and codebooks.
But the truth, grim and frustrating though it may be, is
that the Belgian Air Force was simply not equipped to wage war against the
Luftwaffe. Brave it was, stubbornly so – but bravery could not compensate for a
decade of political neutrality, underfunding, and obsolescence.
Legacy and Reflection
In the final analysis, the Belgian Air Force’s 1940 campaign
reads like a tragic novella: short, valiant, and tinged with a sense of 'what
might have been'. Its men performed their duty with courage, even when that
duty was little more than a delaying action in the face of overwhelming might.
They fought in obsolete biplanes against cutting-edge
fighters. They launched counter-bombing raids with aircraft whose maximum speed
was less than that of a German dive-bomber in a nosedive. They died in their
cockpits, bailed out behind enemy lines, and returned to fight another day –
sometimes on foot.
One can hardly ask more of any airman.
Section
5: The Surrender and Occupation
In which the King makes his choice, the army lays down
arms with uncommon dignity, and Belgium finds herself between the boot and the
jackboot
The final act of Belgium’s 18-day tragedy came not with a
bang, but with the faint rustle of maps being folded away and the whisper of
radio sets crackling out a royal communiqué.
By 27 May 1940, it was all but over. The Lys Line had caved
in. Belgian formations, battered and bloodied, were running dangerously low on
ammunition. Rations were gone in many places, and the only reinforcements
arriving were increasingly despairing rumours. German forces—unrelenting,
well-supplied, and enjoying that irritating trait of being both confident and
correct—were advancing almost at leisure.
King Leopold III, commanding the Belgian Army in the field,
was faced with a miserable trinity of options:
- Flee
to France, as the government had done (rather stylishly in motorcades and
railway carriages),
- Fight
on in some dramatic last stand (and likely get his entire army
annihilated), or
- Surrender,
preserving lives but embroiling himself in a political scandal that would
last decades and ruin several dinner parties.
He chose the third.
28 May 1940 – The Formal Surrender
At 04:00 hours, General Derousseaux, acting on Leopold’s
orders, formally signed the unconditional surrender of the Belgian Armed Forces
to the German 18th Army. The document, signed at a villa near Wetteren, was not
accompanied by trumpets, pageantry, or even decent coffee. The German general,
Von Küchler, was reportedly surprised by how civilised the Belgians were—“for
people who had just lost a war,” as he put it.
Belgian units received the order over the wireless, often
with disbelief. In Oostrozebeke, a battalion refused to believe the voice on
the radio, assuming it was a German ruse. Elsewhere, shellfire could still be
heard—many units weren’t even aware the war was officially over until
mid-afternoon.
In Ghent, Colonel Devos of the 2nd Regiment of the Line
reportedly gathered his officers and said:
“Gentlemen, the order is clear. We surrender. But do let us
look like officers while doing it. Anyone caught crying will be shot. Or at
least ridiculed.”
The King’s Gamble
King Leopold’s decision to remain in Belgium and share the
fate of his army was seen by many as gallant. To others—particularly his own
exiled government now enjoying French brandy in Limoges—it was tantamount to
abdication.
Prime Minister Hubert Pierlot, broadcasting from French
soil, denounced the King’s actions as “individualist” (which is Prime
Ministerial code for “a right bloody nuisance”). The government insisted the
King no longer had constitutional authority, a claim the Germans,
unsurprisingly, found quite convenient.
Leopold was placed under house arrest in the Laeken Palace.
Not quite the Bastille, but it did have central heating.
The Soldiers Lay Down Arms
Across Belgium, weary formations lined up, stacked their
rifles, and removed their helmets. Many did so with trembling hands. Some
burned their unit colours rather than see them captured. Others stood at
attention until the last note of the Belgian anthem faded in the air, then
slumped down against walls and wept.
At Kortrijk, the remnants of the 4th Infantry Division
reportedly stood in silence as a German staff car approached. One soldier,
according to a letter later smuggled out to France, muttered:
“Well, that’s the last time I let anyone from Berlin dictate
my holiday plans.”
Prisoners of War and Internment
Roughly 500,000 Belgian soldiers were taken prisoner by the
Germans. Officers were generally treated in accordance with the Geneva
Convention, though enlisted men often found themselves herded into overcrowded
temporary camps, given tasteless ersatz soup, and made to march west or north
into Germany.
Camp life was monotonous, cold, and regulated by a peculiar
combination of Prussian punctuality and Gestapo paranoia. Yet Belgian prisoners
were known for forming orchestras, debating clubs, and even underground
newsletters. One camp choir near Lübeck famously performed Flemish folksongs
and smuggled coded messages in their sheet music.
About 200,000 soldiers would eventually be released before
the end of 1940—mainly older men, or those needed for civilian labour. Many
others would remain in captivity for years, forming what they grimly referred
to as "The King’s Army in Chains."
Life Under Occupation
The German occupation regime was stern but initially tried to appear 'civilised'. After all, they believed the Belgians were merely misguided cousins. (This attitude would not last.)
German troops were billeted in Belgian towns, requisitioning
everything from beer barrels to bicycles. Belgian gendarmes, under occupation
pressure, were ordered to maintain order—often under threat of arrest
themselves.
Censorship began almost immediately. Newspapers printed
under German oversight began with headlines like:
“Reich Generosity to Rebuild Belgium!”
...followed by editorial notes that were suspiciously free of consonant
clusters.
Black markets thrived. So did rumour, quiet defiance,
and—beginning in the autumn of 1940—the earliest stirrings of organised resistance.
Reflections
The surrender of 28 May was not a collapse in discipline. It
was a strategic necessity by a force that had fought tooth and nail for 18
solid days, despite being outgunned, out-tanked, and quite thoroughly
out-airplaned. Belgian soldiers had delayed the German timetable, slowed the
pincer movement, and—most crucially—bought time for the British and French to
dig their heels into Dunkirk.
The King’s reputation would never fully recover. But his
army’s honour remained intact.
As one crusty old Belgian NCO was overheard muttering in a
bar in 1942:
“We surrendered, yes. But by God, we made them earn it.”
Conclusion:
A Most Noble Shambles
In the grand ledger of military affairs, the Belgian
campaign of 1940 is often footnoted as something tragic, brief, and vaguely
chocolate-scented. But such dismissals do a grave disservice to a nation that,
despite having a standing army more accustomed to border patrols and ceremonial
moustaches, found itself thrust headlong into one of the most brutal and
mechanised blitzkriegs in military history. Outnumbered, outgunned, and
decidedly outflanked, Belgium nonetheless held its ground in a number of key battles—some
gallant, some desperate, all entirely too damp.
The Belgian soldier, one must say, acquitted himself with
considerable pluck. From the embattled Chasseurs Ardennais holding mountain
passes with a sort of rustic stubbornness that baffled Panzer crews, to the
infantry brigades dug in along the K-W Line who, despite being shelled daily
and occasionally strafed by every aircraft bearing a swastika, simply refused
to leave until they were very politely told they must. Meanwhile, the air
force—outdated but enthusiastic—gave everything it had (which, tragically,
wasn’t very much) and still managed to cause the odd Luftwaffe pilot to swear
in German.
That the Belgians collapsed was not for lack of courage, but
rather the result of a cruel geographical joke: they had the misfortune of
living precisely where Germany liked to march. And so, they fought their 18
days—not in glorious sweeping counter-offensives or cinematic last stands atop
snowy ridges, but in mud-slicked lanes, beetroot fields, and anonymous hamlets
whose names history barely remembers. Their sacrifice bought time. That it
wasn't enough time is no fault of theirs.
In the end, Belgium’s campaign was like a well-made umbrella
in a hurricane—elegant in construction, admirable in intent, and utterly
overwhelmed by the elements. But it shielded just long enough to make a
difference. And for that, it deserves not just footnotes but fanfare. Or at the
very least, a modest brass band and a stiff drink.
… and of course copious additions to ones pile of shame/pile
of plastic crack (whichever is your poison!)
