Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Western Front, Any Issues?
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After the Battle of Tannenberg, the 8th Army headed east again without a moment's rest.
It was because everything except troop numbers and physical fatigue favored the 8th Army.
The elite-recognized 1st Corps and my battalion were assigned the flanking maneuver.
While the 8th Army played the role of the anvil pinning down the 1st Army, the 1st Corps was the hammer.
"We need to advance faster! We must trap the 1st Army inside the encirclement!"
"Battalion Commander! We're truly at our limit now! We've earned enough merit—let's call it quits!"
"Damn it."
This time too, our battalion performed admirably in line with our reputation... but considering the Battle of Tannenberg, it still felt lacking.
The 1st Army suffered massive losses—50,000 prisoners and over 100,000 casualties—but ultimately broke out of the encirclement.
The First Battle of the Masurian Lakes returned Germany and Russia to their pre-war borders.
The front had stabilized.
"Tch, no matter how I think about it, we should've pushed faster in that battle."
"That again? It was impossible, I tell you."
"That's why we need tanks."
"Sigh..."
Have I been grumbling too much? But really, the Russian line of retreat had been right in front of us!
...A bit far, maybe?
My adjutant grimaced as if he'd heard enough.
Soon, as if to say we should discuss something more important than such pointless talk, he asked seriously.
"By the way, what do you think about the Western Front?"
"Such a hassle..."
I was lounging across three chairs. I stretched out an arm to open my letter drawer.
It was stuffed full of letters from all sorts of people, so it took a bit to pick out a few, but for my adjutant, I pulled some out.
"Read these."
"..."
I handed over the letters curtly, and he took them with a stiff expression.
He carefully examined them one by one, slowly.
The more he read, the paler his face grew.
"Wh-what is this?"
"News from my connections on the Western Front. Officers like us apparently skip the censorship."
"No, I mean the content!"
What are you yelling about?
Even as I stared at him steadily, he didn't notice, glued to the letters.
Just as he began to tremble and try to say something—
Clunk—
"I heard Captain Rommel was here?"
Someone with a familiar voice entered my office first.
I shot up in surprise.
"Senior?"
"Whoa! You've jumped two ranks ahead of me in the meantime?"
The smirking... slightly irritating senior.
Manstein, his skin tanned, leaned loosely against the doorframe and looked at me.
"Weren't you on the Western Front?"
"Haha, the General Staff sent us because the Eastern Front was urgent."
With that, Manstein continued half-heartedly.
"...Though it doesn't seem that urgent."
"I see. Have a seat first."
I pulled up one of the chairs I'd been lying on and sat in another.
When they said they'd redirected two corps from the Western Front to the urgent east, he'd come along then.
Manstein grinned as he sat in the chair.
"How have you been? Seems like your fame has spread far and wide lately?"
"...Fame, what fame—"
"Red Fox, Ghost Battalion."
"Oh, come on."
"The Russians call you the Red Piece? They say every time your symbolic piece moves, it turns into a sea of blood."
"Where'd you hear that nonsense?"
I asked incredulously, and Manstein shrugged.
Well, rumors spread like wildfire in war, so all sorts of tales were bound to circulate.
But wasn't that a bit much?
"Anyway, looks like you've been doing better than expected."
"Something like that. How was the Western Front?"
"Seemed fine until the siege of Liège. We were joyfully racing through Belgium when we ended up here."
Manstein's words were vague and ambiguous.
Having a rough grasp of the situation, I asked gravely.
"Things have changed lately, I take it?"
"...Mind if I light one up?"
"Smoke away."
Manstein pulled a cigar from his humidor and clipped the end.
It took forever to light it after putting it in his mouth.
I couldn't understand why everyone liked those strong, hot, troublesome things.
"Whew. I can't fathom why you like those cheap cigarettes. With your background, it could cement a bad image with the higher-ups."
"I'll handle my own affairs... Stop reading my mind."
"Kukuku, that's why I tell you to manage your expressions."
I clicked my tongue and shook my head.
As if adjutant duty gave him mind-reading powers. It made no sense, no matter how I thought about it.
I eyed him displeased and asked back.
"So, what's happening on the Western Front?"
"Hoo— You probably guessed it already."
Manstein wiped the smile from his face and exhaled smoke with a sigh.
Then he spat it out bluntly.
"The Schlieffen Plan has failed."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
What is mission-type command? Simply put, it enhances the autonomy and discretion of field commanders.
Under the assumption of many excellent officers, mission-type command could greatly strengthen the army's tactical capabilities.
In other words, it turns the army into fraggers.
But the problem? Even if you don't know FPS games, in strategy games, you can rack up kills and still lose.
Let alone in reality.
Frontline officers, dazzled by tactical victories—i.e., personal merits—deliberately ignored higher commands, leading to repeated insubordination.
"The 6th Army will now commence counterattack."
"The 7th Army will now advance."
"According to the Schlieffen Plan, our army should slowly withdraw to absorb more of the enemy's main effort, but?"
"But look at those plump asses. How can a German officer hold back at the sight?"
In Alsace-Lorraine, the German left wing on the Western Front crushed the advancing French and launched a counteroffensive.
Tactically profitable, perhaps, but strategically, it ruined everything.
Due to the 6th and 7th Armies' counterattack, France abandoned the Alsace-Lorraine offensive and redirected reserves to their left wing.
In other words, to the German right wing flanking as the hammer.
They boldly acknowledged Plan 17's failure and shifted to defense.
Meanwhile, Germany's Moltke...
"No choice now! The left wing breaks through Alsace-Lorraine, the right wing breaks through, forming a massive encirclement!"
"The Russians are threatening East Prussia from the east!"
"What?! Pull two corps from the right wing immediately and send them to the Eastern Front!"
...Was flailing about.
The meticulously planned Schlieffen Plan—even more realistic and reinforced than in original history—was heading to the same end.
But the late Count Schlieffen wasn't one to go down easy.
Germany's right wing had swiftly reached the French border after all.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
French General Headquarters.
"Those monster-like...!"
Crunch— French Army Commander Joseph Joffre glared at the operations map.
That iron-blooded war machine had finally reached the vicinity of Paris, the Marne River.
French soldiers' morale shook from endless retreats, and Paris's central government had already relocated to Bordeaux.
But Joffre held an unyielding conviction.
The firm belief that France would not fall here.
"...Are all armies prepared?"
"Yes, sir."
Joffre asked his staff with a steely expression, and resolute voices replied in kind.
Flames still flickered in the staff's eyes.
From field army commanders, corps commanders, division commanders in various places, down to the lowliest soldiers.
The final flame guarded in their hearts still burned.
"This is our homeland."
Joffre, who had been staring sharply at them, slowly opened his mouth.
"This is our land."
The staff recalled raped Belgium.
"Our families are here."
Such tragedy reenacting in France.
"There is something we must protect!"
Absolutely unacceptable.
"Therefore, all retreats are henceforth forbidden!"
Bam! Joffre slammed his clenched fist on the table.
The staff gripped their fists tightly in response.
"No more retreats! No more defeats, humiliations, tragedies, or losses!"
At that moment, a soldier burst into headquarters.
"We triumph here! If not, we die here!"
The soldier bent at the waist, gasping for breath.
"You all must hold that resolve!!"
"Dispatch from the British Expeditionary Force!"
At the shout, Joffre and the staff about to applaud turned to the soldier.
The soldier bellowed loudly without flinching.
"German 1st Army crossing the Marne!"
It's begun.
So thought Joffre, moving his parched lips.
"Issue General Order No. 6 to all forces. Win here, or die here."
The general pressed down firmly on his kepi.
From beneath the visor shone Joffre's signature icy gaze.
📜 GENERAL ORDER NO. 6 📜
[At this moment when the battle deciding the fate of the homeland begins, it is reminded to all that there is no longer time to look back.] [All efforts must focus on attacking and repelling the enemy.] [Units unable to advance further must hold the ground seized at any cost; better to die there than retreat.] [In the current situation, no weakness will be tolerated.] [Vive la France.]