Chapter 59
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: Amiens - Post-Battle Review
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BOOM!
BOOM!!
The shockwaves rattled the roof.
Dim lanterns flickered out one by one.
Old buildings crumbled one after another.
What awaited the German troops holed up in Morhange was a relentless hail of shells raining down without mercy.
"How... how can this be happening?"
The commander of the 185th Regiment paced back and forth, muttering questions no one could answer, ignoring the vibrations.
The assault by the Stormtroopers and 1st Battalion to retake Morhange Forest had ended in abject failure.
The enemy had prepared their defenses meticulously, and without proper artillery support, Germany's sons returned in pitiful shape.
And those who couldn't even make it back in that pitiful state became corpses in the forest. Worms and beasts would pick at their flesh.
As if to aid our troops holding the forest, American artillery then unleashed hellfire on Morhange with demonic fury. The German guns were hopelessly outmatched in firepower and numbers, rendering them useless.
To make matters worse, the troops left in Morhange weren't even in fighting shape.
"What's the status of the men?"
"A large number are complaining of severe stomach pains, diarrhea, and vomiting. I'm sorry, sir... but our regiment is little more than a giant field hospital now."
It was the inevitable outcome.
These were beggars who had devoured even turnips as delicacies, and now they'd stuffed their bellies endlessly with greasy meat and sickly sweet liquor.
Retreat?
Not a chance. They were surrounded now, but any attempt to break out would draw immediate attacks from the front and flanks—a fact even a green lieutenant could grasp.
"What will you do, sir?"
The staff officers in the meeting room turned the question back on him.
Everyone knew the answer.
And they were pressuring him to give it.
He desperately wanted to gun down every last one of these damned staff officers, but wasn't the commander's seat built on decisions and responsibility from the start?
He might be a fool of a commander who'd fallen for the enemy's trick, but he had no desire to add "trash who wastes lives pointlessly" to his title.
"Send... a herald to the enemy."
"Shall I prepare a letter?"
"No need... Get a white flag ready. Tell the herald to inform them we urgently need medical aid."
They couldn't hold out even one more night in Morhange.
In that case, at least letting the medics examine them was an officer's duty.
Foolish idiots who'd defied orders and rampaged on their own, botching the company mission— but weren't Prussia's Junker officers born to guide such fools onto the right path?
The moment he entered this city and lost control over his men, he had forever lost his own reason to exist.
Once all his subordinates had filed out, he slowly drew a cigarette from his pocket and packed his pipe full.
He lit it and took a long drag. His pounding heart calmed like a horse reunited with its master.
Even to the last moment, French tobacco tasted utterly vile. Far worse than German.
But one thing better than French was German-made, and he still had one left, even as he lay in utter ruin.
The regimental commander drew his Luger from his belt and pressed it to his temple.
The hot burn from his lips mingled strangely with the cold metal against his skin.
And that was the last sensation he would feel in life.
BANG!
***
I thought I was dead.
Seriously, I figured this time it was really over.
I'm not banking on a retry in life if I die now. Even if there's a third round, who knows— it might drop me into hardcore hell mode. I'd off myself for real then.
We seized as many documents as possible from the 208th Division HQ and rushed them to the rear, then plunged straight into mopping up the remaining enemy.
The 6th Reserve Dra... Regiment scattered like chaff when our tanks suddenly charged from behind with a shriek, but the 25th Regiment— suddenly cut off from contact with other units— seemed to smell a rat and went into hyper-alert mode.
We'd hit the jackpot out of nowhere, but reason still held. Losing it had led to Grodek and the 208th, after all.
Ordinary folks learn from failure; smart ones learn from others'. I won't make that mistake.
Once we'd turned the sector into a wasteland, the Germans counterattacked right on cue.
Two more days.
God knows how many times my life flashed before my eyes those two days.
We split the tanks into platoons to desperately plug every gap, and the Rangers— elite volunteers handpicked from the division— fought like absolute champions, worth every bit of effort. Van Fleet's 371st hustled up and held the new line beautifully.
By the time my beloved ride was riddled with bullet holes and I'd grumbled to Haji a dozen times that it was done for, the 370th pushed forward to join the line, and the 369th finished transporting POWs and reorganizing.
With the 93rd Division's full strength now committed, we built proper rearward positions and trench lines, solidifying the front. My counteroffensive here was over.
The haul was juicy, but even rotten herring is still top-class— the Imperial German Army was the era's strongest for a reason.
Despite effectively obliterating a division, they pinpointed our salient perfectly and nearly encircled me, sending me to the Jordan. The snowball that spared the 25th had rolled this far.
Of course, the era's mobility limitations played a part, but the enemy was no different.
But my op ending didn't mean the army's was.
General Nolle of 36th Corps caught the vibe from our wild 93rd's reports and instantly sensed the counterattack moment. He marshaled the corps for a simultaneous push across the front.
We'd patched the division-sized hole somehow, but it was always a hasty patch after losing initiative nationwide.
At corps— nay, army level— this crushing blow left the Germans no answer, no matter how good they were. They folded their advance attempts cleanly and sat tight.
We did it.
The enemy's thrust at Amiens was smashed, and we'd finally achieved shining glory.
And so Eugene Kim's great saga took another step forwa—
"Did what? We nearly got wiped."
Haji, who'd nearly died beside me thanks to bad luck with superiors, sighed heavily.
"Look at this. Check the bullet holes. Honestly, it's a miracle none of us bought it."
"Protagonists don't die, after all."
"I'm not the protagonist."
"Hey now, you're the protagonist of your own life."
"The dead soldiers were protagonists too. Don't tempt fate."
The holes were beautifully patterned. A miracle the doors weren't punched through— dense little bastards.
"Doesn't it look like a floral design?"
"Sure does."
I caught the driver and Haji shivering as they stared at the pockmarks. Yeah, it did look flowery. Maybe hearing it suggested it.
"Lotus?"
"I was thinking chrysanthemum, but yeah... Black lotus."
"Nice name. Perfect for my steed."
Black Lotus. Sounds expensive as hell, super sellable. My greed-o-meter's twitching.
"Anyway, the car's name isn't the point. You need to get to the meeting."
"Don't wanna."
"Don't say that out loud!"
Oof. Haji's respect plummeting straight down again. Can't stall anymore— time to go.
I grabbed my prepared materials and entered 36th Corps HQ, where they awaited.
Clap clap clap clap!!!
"Welcome, hero of Amiens!"
Colonel Nolle beamed like he'd just passed a ten-day constipation and clapped my shoulders hard.
"Sit! Everyone here's been dying for the great hero to arrive!"
"Ha, haha. Thank you."
"Frankly, I was shaking when we first met! What if you went berserk and just boosted the Germans' morale?"
He snatched the 208th Division marker from the situation map and flung it to the floor.
"But damn this world! The enemy was there— poof, gone! You're a genius! Hell! Did Napoleon visit your dreams?!"
"You're too kind."
"Heroes deserve the praise! Pressure on Amiens? Vanished! You stabbed a dagger right into Ludendorff's dog paw!"
True to French form, his excitement surged mid-speech; he spun around the map, shuffling markers wildly.
The other generals just grinned and nodded along.
"Ludendorff, that bastard's probably hugging a Kaiser doll at home, bawling. Who'd think his all-in gamble would flop like this? All they can do now is hold ground. At least here!"
That prick would keep pushing elsewhere, sure. But not our problem. It's done. Zero steam left on this front!
His machine-gun French outpaced my skills a tad, but half was thick curses anyway— easy to parse. After body language, swears are the next easiest, right?
Nolle finally danced solo, then grabbed my arms for an impromptu waltz.
Honestly, fun.
***
"Gaaarghhh!!!"
Crash! BOOM! Crunch! Thud!
Erich Ludendorff, Chief of Staff of the Imperial German Army, hurled everything in sight upon hearing the Amiens report.
"Grodek!! Groooodek! My division! My plan! You destroyed the Empire! The Empire's last chance, ruined by yoooou!!"
"Stay out for now. The Chief of Staff can't receive reports in this state."
"Another fit. Send a memo when it's over. Gotta report today."
"Understood."
"Grahhh!! Impossible! My plan was perfect!"
Thud! Thruuum!! Thud! Crash!
Ludendorff vented pure rage at Grodek, but the colonel faction thought otherwise entirely.
This was a foretold disaster.
Sure, losing a division in a blink was an inexcusable blunder.
But hadn't Ludendorff himself ordered this push hard? "Rush Amiens, whatever it takes"?
How does he so calmly blame others?
Ignorant of his subordinates' doubts, Ludendorff— after exhausting his fury— surveyed the wrecked office and slumped into his plush chair.
After a minute's silence, the duty orderly and aides rushed in to clean the mess. Routine as ever.
"Eugene Kim? Never heard of him... Cambrai. So that's the one."
The monster lived and returned.
Ludendorff rasped hoarsely.
The U.S. tank unit skulking at Cambrai had been thoroughly annihilated by proud German sons.
But late reports from Anglo-American papers claimed they'd broken through with volunteers and Tommies.
'Hero of Cambrai'.
At first, he'd dismissed it as fabricated heroism to cover their rout.
But no. This was medieval legend reborn.
Like a battered knight returning stronger, this Asian Eugene Kim struck the Empire's solar plexus with more troops in tow.
No precise intel yet on how the 208th vanished— division HQ gone. Days more to gather survivor testimonies.
Amiens was lost.
The Imperial German Army could never touch it again.
Not with that demonic guardian of Amiens crushing their final blade.
"All that's left... is the Georges, eh."
"Pardon?"
"Convene High Command. Amiens is off the table, so Flanders is next."
Can't yield yet.
Rest now, and the Empire's done for.
Peace talks? Laughable. They'd vomit up every occupied inch. Never.
"Not yet... not yet. Hope remains...!"
Ludendorff's mad obsession still burned.