Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Schlieffen Plan, Dies.
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The German army crossed the Marne River.
The French army launched a full-scale counterattack.
"Vive la Fra…!"
"Es lebe der Kaiser!"
Despite long marches, supply difficulties, and numerical inferiority,
the German army displayed the might of a true war machine, putting heavy pressure on the French.
"The enemy's attack is too fierce!!"
"If we retreat here, Paris falls into enemy hands! If you can't hold, then die right there!"
"Report from the 6th Army! They will attack the 1st Army immediately!"
"Damn…!"
The commander of the French 5th Army, Louis Franchet d'Esperey, had a gleam in his eye.
The enemy's 1st Army was already split, simultaneously targeting the British army and the 5th Army.
In that situation, if the flanking 6th Army attacked the 1st Army, it would create a three-front battle for them.
Push them back once, and another opportunity would arise—whether to target the 1st Army or the 2nd.
"Victory is near! Just a little more! Hold on just a bit longer!"
The end of a long humiliation was in sight.
At that moment, the karma of all German arrogance came crashing down.
The commander of the German 1st Army, Alexander von Kluck, was witnessing total collapse.
"The 3rd and 9th Corps will continue pressing the 5th Army! Pull the 2nd and 4th Corps from the front line to deal with the 6th Army threatening our flank!"
"Then how do we block the British?!"
Arrows crossed on the map like beasts tearing into each other.
They had to decide which to block first—within just a few minutes.
Feeling his head overheating, Kluck issued orders.
"T-that… For now, request support from the 2nd Army! If we swing the 3rd Corps around and temporarily hand the enemy 5th Army to the 2nd…"
"Impossible! The 2nd Army is engaged with the 9th Army!"
Every choice had problems.
Each issue was critically fatal, enough to cause defeat in battle.
Yet a decision had to be made.
"Damn it! Then retreat the entire army north of the Marne and take out the 6th Army first!"
The 1st Army decided to cross the Marne again to intercept the 6th.
Up close, this decision meant the Schlieffen Plan had effectively failed.
From afar, it turned the Western Front into hell.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
French Army Air Service, Lieutenant Charles.
Boooong-! Charles was looking down at the Marne River area from his reconnaissance plane.
Below, the Germans were retreating calmly and orderly, like ants.
"I need to report this to the higher-ups."
The army down there was clearly the German 2nd Army.
They were completely pulling back from the front against the British Expeditionary Force and the French 5th Army—this was vital intelligence.
Boooong! As if noticing something, Charles tilted his nose slightly to the right.
"As expected, there's a massive gap between the enemy armies."
The space between the enemy 1st Army intercepting the 6th Army and the 2nd Army facing the 9th was enormously wide.
By eye, it was at least 40 kilometers—if the British and 5th Army pushed into that gap…
"The 2nd Army is practically protruding! We might be able to encircle them!"
Charles, having witnessed this crucial information firsthand, shouted in excitement. Just as he said, relaying this to command would reverse the tide of battle.
…However, there was one other person who had seen it.
"Good, time to head back…"
Zing-! Suddenly, goosebumps prickled across Charles's entire body.
Screeech!! Ratatata!! Almost on instinct, he yanked the nose around, and bullets narrowly grazed past the wing.
"Ugh, who the hell!!"
As if answering his scream, a red aircraft spun into view against the sun.
Ratatata! The red plane dove at Charles's reconnaissance craft, unleashing a barrage of gunfire.
Charles dodged narrowly again, but the aggressive maneuvers were taking a toll on the airframe.
'That sound—machine guns! How are there machine guns on a plane?!'
The roar of machine guns echoing from the sky was something no wartime manual had ever described.
With no time to think, Charles hurriedly drew his pistol and pulled up into a turn.
But the red plane executed bizarre maneuvers and quickly got back on his tail.
"Shit!"
Ratatata! Kwak! A short burst punched holes in the wing.
Seeing the hole right next to him, Charles felt a chill down his spine.
He tried to shake it off with intense maneuvers, but the enemy clung stubbornly.
Ratatata! Tatata! The machine-gun fire tore at his ears, and the plane thrashed like a wounded beast.
"Damn it! Just die alr—"
Abandoning the maneuver to shake it, Charles twisted around to aim his pistol backward.
Tang!! Crash! With a short burst, the enemy bullets pierced his goggles and his head.
Spin— spin— KABOOM! The plane lost control, spiraling through the air before crashing into the ground and exploding.
"…"
The blood-red aircraft—the world's first fighter with synchronized gearing.
Richthofen, aboard the Ju 12, silently stared at the ground where smoke was billowing upward.
Forcing his gaze away, he spotted the retreating friendly forces.
"What the hell are our guys doing?"
With the appearance of the Ju 12, Germany had complete air superiority over the Western Front.
They had blocked most enemy aerial reconnaissance and the like, yet the ground forces weren't making any headway.
French troops in blue uniforms, launching their counterattack, were starting to appear on the horizon.
"…Rommel was right."
A chilling sensation gripped him; Richthofen couldn't look away.
The gap between the 1st and 2nd Armies was too wide. He'd almost let that recon plane escape.
But… even blocking the intel didn't guarantee the Entente wouldn't push in.
And separately from that…
"The Schlieffen Plan has collapsed."
There were too many enemies.
According to the Schlieffen Plan, most French forces should have been attacking toward Alsace-Lorraine.
They were all here.
"Then it's really going to happen… trench warfare."
Richthofen's hands trembled on the control stick.
Cold sweat trickled down his spine. It evaporated instantly in the chill wind, but the sensation lingered sharply.
"Rommel, you…"
It wasn't negative emotions like fear, dread, or disgust.
"…are incredible."
It was excitement.
"I need to catch up soon."
The corners of Richthofen's mouth curved upward.
On the Eastern Front, there was the Red Fox. On the Western Front, the Red Baron.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Luxembourg, German Supreme Headquarters.
"Still no communications?"
"Yes, the jamming signals from the Eiffel Tower in Paris are too powerful."
"Fucking…"
Moltke was losing his mind.
The situation was already dire, and now information sharing was severely delayed.
The Eiffel Tower's jamming had rendered radios useless, making frontline reports take a full 30 hours.
Even sending couriers was nearly impossible; control was that tight.
And eventually, disaster struck.
"Report from 2nd Army HQ: British entering the gap between 1st and 2nd Armies, so we are retreating to the Aisne."
"…Hah."
Thud— Moltke clutched his head and slumped into his chair.
His mind reeled. He felt like vomiting any second, but Moltke forced it down.
'Paris…! Paris was right there…!'
He wanted to scream, but he held back.
Instead, he tried to speak calmly.
"…With the 1st Army retreating, we can't hold the line. The right wing will withdraw sequentially to the Aisne. Start with the 2nd—"
"Report from 2nd Army HQ: With 1st Army retreating, we are also commencing retreat…"
"You fucking bastards!!!"
BOOM!! At the next report, Moltke flushed red and slammed the table.
The staff jumped, staring at the Chief of the General Staff. Their eyes showed fatigue more than fear.
Moltke flinched slightly at their expressions but kept venting.
"Why won't these commanders listen to central command? Why do they all act on their own?!"
"…"
"They didn't follow the plan from Belgium, and now what?! They notify us of their retreat?!"
"…"
"This isn't even mission-type command! It's mutiny! Those traitors are the reason the Schlieffen Plan failed!"
"…Yes?"
The staff, who had been tuning out Moltke's rant amid fading focus, whipped back around at those words.
A declaration that the Schlieffen Plan had failed.
That, they couldn't ignore.
"Damn it, shit."
But Moltke, oblivious to their wavering gazes, just stared at the operations map and spewed curses.
"…"
Averting their eyes from such a Chief of the General Staff, the staff repeated meaningless calculations and hollow orders in the silence.
"Report from 3rd Army. Retreating to the Aisne."
"Report from 4th Army. Retreating to the Aisne."
"Report from 5th Army…"
Yet the dominoes toppling from the Marne could not be stopped.
Before they knew it, their Chief of the General Staff had left the room, and the staff acknowledged defeat amid regret and vague unease.
There was no despair yet. Casualties from the Battle of the Marne were comparable, and the Germans still held strategic superiority.
However.
From Paris to Berlin.
As night deepened, the lights of Western Europe began winking out one by one.
A long, long nightmare settled quietly over the front lines.