Chapter 55
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Devils of Amiens (3)
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369th Regiment headquarters.
Major Eisenhower's mouth was parched dry.
Every officer in the barracks had their eyes fixed on him.
The lives of the regiment's men hung on every word of the orders he was about to give. He felt that truth down to his bones.
"The enemy has launched a frontal assault on the brigade."
"Artillery support is practically nonexistent. Should we send another messenger to the artillery regiment?"
"It's already about time for the Germans to be closing in on the trenches. Requesting fire support now would be too late anyway. And besides... if we call for barrage, we won't be fulfilling the division's orders."
The deliberation didn't last long.
"Is the field telephone network laid to the artillery regiment's battalions?"
"We haven't received word that it's complete yet."
"Hurry them up. We can't fight without that line."
"Yes, sir."
"Regimental Commander, what about requesting artillery fire on our own positions?"
Ike whipped his head around at his subordinate's suggestion.
"Fire on our own lines?"
"To carry out higher command's orders, we may need to consider it."
"Wouldn't that hit the Germans too hard? And what about our own men retreating?"
"But they're bla—"
"That's enough."
The 369th Regiment's orders were to defend the sector.
More precisely... to pretend to defend it.
"Listen up! Our goal isn't to repel or annihilate the enemy! On your first real combat deployment, are you all so hungry for glory that you've lost your heads?"
As he raised his voice slightly, the staff officers bowed their heads in unison.
"What is the purpose handed down from higher command?"
"To deceive the enemy about our combat capabilities and future intentions."
"Then what about fire on our own lines?"
"It risks alerting the enemy or making them hesitate to advance."
"Exactly. That's why we don't need anything as dramatic as that."
He went through each staff suggestion one by one, approving or rejecting them, when suddenly a sharp pain throbbed in his head.
What the hell kind of high-level expectations were they putting on this green unit? Was it trust in the regiment, or had they just lost the plot?
The final briefing before combat flashed back into his mind.
"Major Eisenhower."
"Yes, Division Commander."
Once they shifted to official business, leaving personal friendship aside, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by pure tension.
"The 369th Regiment's role: make the enemy underestimate us, no matter what it takes."
"No matter what it takes... to make them underestimate us—what exactly do you mean by that?"
Eugene's expression seemed utterly calm at a glance, but Ike already had that bastard's psychology figured out. If there'd been a West Point course on Eugene Studies, he'd have aced it with an A+.
That's the face of a con man itching to run a scam. His head was probably already spinning with calculations on how to set the mood to suck every last penny from the Germans' pockets.
"Lure them into misjudging us. Make them think, 'The 370th Regiment needs time to build positions and prepare to face the Germans. But the fool division commander's overestimation of the 369th's capabilities got smashed by the invincible German army, which pressed on relentlessly.' Something exactly like that."
"It'd be far easier if you just ordered us to hold without retreating a single man. Even a head-on slugfest—we wouldn't lose anyway."
Ike trusted the 369th Regiment he'd carefully nurtured.
Their morale overflowed; they were ready to lay down their lives to drive back the enemy.
But Eugene shook his head.
"We don't have time for full defensive preparations anyway. A sector defense would just mean pointless bloodshed. Blunt their momentum and bog them down? That's not the issue."
"Then tell us the exact plan you're envisioning."
"Give them... this whole city, right up to here. The Germans will charge all the way if it means beds to sleep in."
Give up the city?
Without using it as a stronghold?
The orders were growing stranger by the minute.
Eugene was always like this. Talking to the guy sometimes made Ike want to crack open his skull and dissect his brain.
But as always, he rubbed his hands together with a sly, villainous grin.
"What do the Germans think of the U.S. Army?"
"Well—"
"Third-rate troops from a second-rate power. And black soldiers to boot. So probably fourth- or fifth-rate in their eyes."
The amateurs who see opponents as easy marks are the biggest suckers at the poker table.
Eugene chuckled wickedly. Even a Scrooge tallying daily profits wouldn't have such a devilish look.
"Lose so badly they mistake our breaking point. We're in no position to build proper follow-on lines anyway. Fight half-heartedly, then scram. Then, in one stroke!"
Thud!
The 369th and 370th Regiments clamp down tight on the 208th Division's main infantry force.
And Eugene slowly slid the situation board forward like a chess piece.
"With this 'hammer' we've prepared all winter, we smash their heads."
"But that puts the flanks of our breakthrough units at ri—oh."
"We have way more troops available. Why hesitate when I've got deeper pockets?"
If the tanks, Rangers, and finally the 371st Regiment could punch into the enemy's rear in sequence.
The 208th Division would be trapped, clutching the city they'd craved so badly.
"Set the tasty mousetrap, Ike."
"Understood."
And now, Eisenhower had everything in place.
"1st Battalion: retreat after reorganization. Pull back as far as possible."
"Yes, sir."
"2nd Battalion: engage until 1700, then withdraw if the enemy presses. Same if they show fight."
Would the Germans take Eugene's bait?
He asked himself briefly, and the answer came quick.
They won't be able to resist.
Con artist bastard.
He didn't pity the Germans. Shrink their greed, and they wouldn't get caught in this trap.
But they wouldn't.
This offensive was their last shot.
For even a handful more yards, a single extra mile—they'd sell their souls.
And Eugene planned to buy them all for peanuts.
So the 369th's objective wasn't just killing Germans.
They had to hold them as long as possible. Be their dance partner. The kind that stepped on toes.
"Prepare to fall back to the secondary line."
The goal was delay, after all.
No need to scatter soldiers' lives needlessly across the ocean.
Ways to drag it out, looking like hapless incompetents to his German "friends," filled Major Eisenhower's mind.
The Imperial German Army's 208th Infantry Division smashed through the sloppy defenses of a new foe—the black U.S. troops—and pressed on relentlessly.
"Casualties?"
"Enemy morale is low; they flee after minimal fighting."
"Ha. Niggers gonna nigger."
Major General von Grodek's sneer drew smiles from his staff as well.
The French were desperate, that much was clear. How bad off were they to rely on Americans—niggers at that?
Sure, the frog-eaters leaned on black troops from colonies like Senegal or Algeria more than anyone, troops they'd trained up to near-white standards.
But scraping the bottom of the barrel with pampered Yankee blacks? Had throwing niggers into the meat grinder so casually rotted their ability to judge combat power?
They already knew the French 133rd Infantry Division had taken heavy losses from the 208th's offensive and been pulled back.
The Americans' numbers were surprisingly large, but over 20,000 strong and still weaker than a understrength French division?
"The U.S. Army fights even worse than we thought."
"We should downgrade our assessment of their combat effectiveness."
Everyone in the room nodded.
"But their new weapons are definitely a threat."
"Every frontline soldier mentions that 'gas pump' thing."
"That ugly gun? Inferior to our MP18. Weapons are wielded by men, and inferior races with inferior arms naturally fold against our superior troops."
Major General von Grodek still remembered the trophies from Cambrai.
No class in Yankee gear. From their hideous little tanks to that gas-pump gun that tossed away any pride as a military weapon.
With that rotten mindset, they had no business on Europe's battlefield. America wasn't player material yet.
Ludendorff was right.
With Britain and France at their weakest, this was prime time to strike. Show the Empire's might here, and Yankee will to fight would evaporate.
"Messenger from the front."
"Send him in."
The runner looked fresher than expected. No real fight after all?
"Report: Our Stormtroopers have entered the target city."
"Losses?"
"None. The enemy abandoned the city. Only a handful of civilians left; nearly all residents fled."
"Ha! What a joke!"
Once more, mockery, contempt, and derision poured thick from division HQ to the lowliest aide.
"U.S. Army's a joke."
"Hordes of blacks scattering at gunfire—must look just like a flock of crows!"
"So, what's the advance guard doing?"
"After dawn rapid maneuvers, they've secured the city and are resting. Some on watch, others scouting the perimeter."
"Hm... no complaints. Just stay alert for night attacks."
Other reports kept coming.
U.S. 93rd Division frontline troops: morale effectively broken.
Whatever shaky lines they'd scraped together collapsed after one all-out push.
Regimental reports: victory after victory.
"The 133rd staying put would've been better."
"For the future, then—"
"Amiens is right there if we push a bit more. With the war's fate hanging on Amiens, we press on regardless."
"Won't we protrude too far?"
"Share our advance plan with the 88th and 9th Bavarian Reserve on our flanks. Make damn sure they know the U.S. Army's worthless. We're blasting the road to Amiens. Once we shove the niggers aside, we won't have steam left, so request corps support for follow-up."
Von Grodek pondered briefly, then decided.
"Stormtroopers rest in the city today, then prep to open the battlefield at 0500 tomorrow. Arrange for the 185th Infantry Brigade to rest there after. Rest tomorrow, then full thrust for three days to break through."
"Yes, sir!"
We can win.
For the first time, he glimpsed hope in this war.
Sneering at the French fools who'd trusted nigger Yankees, he caught a quick nap.
Everything proceeding smoothly put him in high spirits.
Maybe that long-dreamed major general's star was within reach.