Chapter 39
Chapter 39
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Battle of Stallupönen (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Schlieffen Plan had been activated.
The Schlieffen Plan had two aspects: a mobilization plan and an operational plan.
First, troops were mobilized via railroads, with a small number of second-line soldiers positioned on the left wing in Alsace-Lorraine.
The bulk of the first-line soldiers were placed on the right wing to invade Luxembourg and Belgium, aiming to envelop the enemy forces concentrated on the French left through a revolving door effect. It was an interconnected strategy.
The French, anticipating this German scheme to some extent, were responding accordingly.
Bwoooong-!
“Vive la France!!”[1]
“Marchons!”[2]
“That's more than expected.”
A pilot who would become famous not as Manfred but as the Red Baron, Richthofen.
Richthofen, piloting his biplane, looked down worriedly.
French flags surged eastward like a tidal wave.
It was the main French force advancing according to Plan XVII, which accounted for the German right-wing maneuver.
Plan XVII was also both a mobilization and operational plan focused on capturing Alsace-Lorraine.
It was based on the calculation that if Germany's main effort concentrated on Belgium, the Franco-German border would be weak.
Strictly speaking, common sense dictated that France's attack route was inevitably limited to that direction anyway.
Otherwise, they'd have to trample through Belgium or Switzerland themselves to reach Germany.
“Well, the higher-ups will handle it... Got all the photos?!”
“Yes, sir! Time to head back!”
Thus, Plan XVII was tactically and strategically inferior to the Schlieffen Plan.
The French push into Alsace-Lorraine was forced, and too predictable—Germany had already fortified the border with massive fortress zones.
Furthermore, the core of the Schlieffen Plan was to gradually withdraw the left wing while smashing the rear of the absorbed French main force with the right wing.
In other words, Plan XVII was already within the Schlieffen Plan's intentions.
It was truly a case of the dead Schlieffen outmaneuvering the living Zhongdal.
...However, Germany had a few problems of its own.
An unexpected counterattack had come from the east.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Eastern Front.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!!”
“P-Please calm down, sir.”
“Do I look like I can calm down?! Those Slavs!! How did they mobilize so quickly?!”
Despite Staff Officer Max Hoffmann's words, 8th Army Commander General Maximilian von Prittwitz couldn't settle down.
He had every reason to lose his mind. Everyone had been certain those primitive Slavs would take forever to mobilize their troops.
But here they were: a whopping 800,000 mobilized, with 400,000 bearing down on East Prussia.
The 8th Army opposing them numbered only 200,000—half that.
“Aaaargh!!”
It wasn't unreasonable for Commander Prittwitz to scream. Inappropriate for the top commander, perhaps.
“Request reinforcements immediately! And draw up retreat plans! We're already short on troops and can't cover the entire front!”
“Commander! That's impossible!”
Max Hoffmann cried out in shock.
East Prussia was packed with Junker estates; the General Staff could never abandon it. Strategic key point aside, politics demanded it be held at all costs.
As the two argued...
The Russians crossed the border.
“Battalion Commander, sir. Urgent dispatch.”
My adjutant rushed into the commander's office and showed me the orders.
I unfolded them immediately.
“...Russians are coming soon. Toward Stallupönen (Nesterov).”
“My God, this fast?”
“They've penetrated pretty deep.”
The company commanders in the meeting reacted with concern.
The division defending Stallupönen was ours— the one my battalion belonged to.
The enemy was coming specifically to kill us.
The thrilling tingle in my fingertips after so long felt good.
Soon, one of the officers asked me.
“So, where do we defend?”
“Not defend. Attack.”
“Attack?”
The officers tilted their heads as I smirked.
Meanwhile, I was busy admiring the corps headquarters' bold decision.
“Our corps commander seems more aggressive than I thought. 8th Army HQ clearly ordered a passive response.”
“Hmm, looks like poor communication between corps and 8th Army HQ.”
“Obvious. This corps commander must be hot-blooded.”
The corps commander's name was definitely Hermann von François.
Since I remembered it, he was surely a war hero. Reliable.
That balanced out any friction between corps and 8th Army HQ.
“Those Slavs are rushing too much, aren't they?”
“Yeah. They've got numbers, but mobilization isn't complete.”
“France just hit the border, so they probably pressured Russia to join the squeeze.”
“Ah, political reasons, then.”
I replied while scanning the operations map, and the officers nodded in understanding.
Combining mobilization capability and recon reports, the Russians seemed weaker than they appeared. Numbers aside, no reason to take risks.
Yet they'd come anyway—must be extenuating circumstances. With France attacking, it was easy to guess.
“Our corps will intercept the two approaching corps, so we need to move out from our garrison immediately.”
“Two enemy corps? Twice our strength.”
“Not impossible. Right?”
I grinned with anticipation, and the officers forced smiles.
Yes, smile. Old-man talk, but if you can't avoid it, enjoy it.
“Seems like a pointless offensive, but first battles are always crucial. Rally the men: no more, no less—two kills per soldier.”
“...Yes, sir.”
“Division handles detailed objectives. We just need this.”
I stood up with a scrape, and the officers rose slowly.
“Forward defense. Eliminate the enemy, eliminate the threat. Prepare.”
I had to hurry out to hide my smile.
Field command in real combat—how long had it been!
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
First battle.
Memories fuzzy. What was my first like?
Back then, I was a platoon leader. Glorious position where allies and enemies died like sardines.
Coming back. During the Second Korean War, massive artillery shredded the front as North-China forces poured in.
That damned 'special military operation' in the dead of night. The magic words that made declarations of war unnecessary.
I'd ambushed in the woods with my platoon... scored my first kill.
Similar age, first battle, even situation—but now I was battalion commander.
Not 30 men, but a thousand under me.
“Scout report: enemy main body approaching. About four battalions. Regiment HQ estimated central.”
“No enemy scouts spotted?”
“None. Just advancing west rapidly.”
“Intriguing. Very, very intriguing.”
I read the detailed message from the courier carefully.
We were ambushed in woods 3km forward of Stallupönen.
“Look at this? No formation, just marching along the road?”
I struggled to suppress laughter.
Russian discipline and organization were a mess. Classic Russian.
Don't underestimate the enemy—but this was different.
Perfect chance to rack up kills dramatically.
I issued orders with a smile.
“Companies in position: hold fire until ordered.”
“B-Battalion Commander, sir. They're four times our number.”
“Perfect opportunity for us. Aren't you thrilled?”
“Pardon?”
The officer gawked up at me.
I continued leisurely, unperturbed.
“Four whole battalions. That could shake a division.”
“But...”
“Too optimistic?”
Optimistic? Experience.
Tang or German army? Easy: how well they use recon.
No scouts, blundering into ambush—Tang army.
“You're Great Germany's war machines.”
I tweaked an old line for him.
“Scared of mere serfs?”
“...No, sir.”
“Good.”
I stared steadily; he mustered courage.
Improving mindset: not D-grade, maybe C.
Disqualified as officer either way.
“This battle is the prelude to the great war. Battalion-scale prelude.”
Officers and even soldiers focused.
“Underestimating the enemy is my privilege. You: dutifully, your best. That's an order.”
I adjusted my dress cap with its fancy black-white-red cockade.
“Dann werde ich dir den Sieg verleihen.”[3]
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes:
[1] Vive la France!!
French. Literally, “Long live France!” A patriotic slogan shouted by French soldiers and civilians, especially during wartime.
[2] Marchons!
French. “Let us march!” A rallying exhortation urging troops forward; strongly associated with French military and revolutionary tradition.
[3] Dann werde ich dir den Sieg verleihen.
German. “Then I shall grant you victory.” A formal, almost ceremonial declaration implying confidence, authority, and inevitability of success; the phrasing carries a slightly archaic, dramatic tone appropriate to military narration.