Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Poland Offensive (1)
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“Rommel, it seems like the number of troops in this division advancing toward Gumbinnen is too small compared to the enemy...”
“That? It'll be fine.”
“Rommel, the supply schedule via Königsberg is going to get messed up...”
“I'll sort it out. Hand over the documents.”
“Rommel, to synchronize shell impacts at the same time and place with this Hurricane barrage, the artillery positions need to...”
“I'll calculate it. Just put it up there.”
“...There sure is a lot of paperwork. You okay?”
“It's all stuff I can handle quickly.”
What the hell is this guy?
Ludendorff watched Rommel from a distance with a look of utter bewilderment.
Mountains of documents piled up, got processed, piled up again, and got processed—over and over.
These weren't simple sign-offs; they were intense tasks requiring calculations and real brainpower.
And not just the workload Ludendorff himself had dumped on him—Rommel was helping with the staff officers' tasks too, while keeping tabs on the overall progress...
“I just don't get it.”
“He's aggressive, but he topped his cadet school like it was nothing.”
“I topped my class too. Doesn't mean I could churn through that volume.”
“...”
Major Max Hoffmann's gaze toward the Chief of Staff grew cold.
You dumped all that on a much junior officer? What a petty bastard.
“...Eyes down.”
“Ahem, yes, sir.”
Ludendorff growled at the transparently obvious expression, and Hoffmann cleared his throat in response.
“Let's revise the organization of some battalions and divisions to suit Stormtrooper operations. Center it on the battle-hardened 8th Army to bypass Poland.”
“Is this that famous Rommel Tactics I've heard so much about?”
“Where the hell do all these rumors even come from?”
Ludendorff sighed at the sight of Rommel gradually taking over the headquarters.
But in the end, even he had to admit it.
“...Better than your average War College hack, anyway.”
What a petty bastard.
“I said eyes down.”
“Ahem, ahem. I've got my own work to...”
At Ludendorff's words, Hoffmann decided to straight-up leave.
The headquarters atmosphere was cheerful enough, but somehow Ludendorff felt like he was the one being iced out, and it grated on him more by the second.
In any case, thanks to Rommel, preparations for the offensive wrapped up quickly.
9th Army Commander Paul von Hindenburg activated the Poland Offensive Plan.
Codename: Rabbit Hunt (Kaninchenjagd).
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The Russian headquarters designated the German front as the Northwest Front and the Austro-Hungarian front as the Southwest Front.
Silesia, Posen, and the like had originally been part of the Southwest Front, but they were reclassified for defensive convenience.
All those efforts ended up for naught.
In the end, the Northwest Front was swallowed by a massive tidal wave.
“Th-this... this can't be...”
Nikolai Nikolaevich wailed.
“Why!!! Why is it worse than when they attacked East Prussia?!”
He couldn't comprehend the reality crashing down on him.
Despite cramming every last Russian force into the Northwest Front, the line was collapsing far too easily.
“The Germans have developed a new tactic... infiltration tactics.”
“No! The tactics themselves are the same ones that devil showed us before!”
“They're implementing indiscriminate assault tactics on an army scale...? Aren't they afraid of the losses?”
The staff officers, who had been calmly sifting through the flood of intelligence—or perhaps the pitifully scant reports—began to show fear in their eyes.
Hands clutching documents started to tremble, and suddenly the red lines on the map looked like bloodstains.
“...Does that mean the field army HQ could get wiped out like at Tannenberg...?”
“Please... not that...”
Though their breath caught in their throats, the staff tried to devise countermeasures.
“The 18th Infantry Division and 13th Cavalry Division have been effectively annihilated. The 14th Corps is crumbling.”
“The 4th Army is requesting full support! Silesia and Posen are in danger!”
“The railroads are overloaded! We can't ship troops unless we halt supplies!”
“We have to send troops first to plug the gaps!!”
But they soon fell into a fatal dilemma.
Send supplies, and they couldn't send troops—so no plugging the breaches.
Send troops, and no supplies—so the lines kept breaking.
Split the difference? Russia's logistics couldn't handle both effectively anyway.
“...Enemy 8th Army has broken through and is bypassing the Polish sector. Can the 1st Army hit their flank?”
“The 8th Army struck the 1st Army and pushed on... After the heavy losses at the Battle of the Masurian Lakes, they can't...”
They desperately changed the subject, but nothing positive came up.
“The enemy numbers surely aren't enough to fill the entire front?”
“Small forces are creating breakthroughs, then linking and expanding them to encircle us.”
“Damn it, encircling a larger force with small units? Is that even possible?”
“Is this infiltration tactics...?”
For a moment, the staff's resentful glares converged on one man.
The one who rightfully bore responsibility for all this.
“Y-you...!”
Nikolai Nikolaevich, who had been staring blankly, suddenly had bloodshot eyes.
“It's all your incompetent fault!!! I told you to reinforce the troops more!!!”
As collapse loomed before him, Nikolai Nikolaevich spat vulgar insults in a fit of rage.
“And now you give me those looks!! You maggot-like...!!”
It was hard to believe this was the same crybaby they mocked.
He hurled documents and screamed. But his voice was less rage and more the wail of the doomed.
As his pupils began to fill with raw hatred beyond resentment and anger, Nikolai Nikolaevich backed away.
“...Damn it!”
In the end, he fled the headquarters.
Finally, everything was in the experts' hands.
“...”
But it was far too late to resolve the catastrophe unfolding before them...
That said, not all Russian forces had given in to despair.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Russian 8th Army Headquarters.
No one could speak amid the desperate war situation. Then, a firm voice cut through the headquarters.
“The Northwest Front is in crisis.”
It didn't sound like he saw it as a crisis at all.
It was a confident voice slicing through the chaos and defeatism.
“The enemy advancing from Silesia and Posen isn't a major threat. Casualties will be heavy, but if retreat orders come, we can save most of the troops.”
The staff slowly raised their heads at the voice.
“The real problem is the 8th Army advancing from East Prussia. If they link up with the Austro-Hungarians, Poland gets fully encircled.”
Thwack!
8th Army Commander, the Fox of Galicia.
Aleksei Brusilov jabbed the operations map with his pointer.
“If that happens, the Northwest Front suffers catastrophe—like Noah's flood. We absolutely cannot allow it.”
Brusilov stared down each staff officer with steely eyes.
“With every other army crippled, we're the only ones who can stop the 8th Army.”
“...”
Gulp—the staff swallowed hard in tension.
It was unavoidable. The 8th Army their commander spoke of was Germany's elite field army, brimming with heroes who'd smashed the 1st and 2nd Armies.
Brusilov steeled them not with pep talks, but cold, objective facts.
“Our army is suffering severe supply shortages and can't expect aid if we engage the enemy.”
“...As expected.”
“If we pull out to intercept the bypassing enemy corps holding one flank, it'll create multiple problems.”
First, the front collapses, and the already battered 8th Army loses even more combat power from maneuvering.
They'd gained experience from Galicia, but repeated crises were shaking the troops' morale.
The situation was far from favorable for the 8th Army.
As the staff officers' faces darkened further, Brusilov decisively turned the mood around.
“However, the enemy is carrying serious risks of their own.”
Thwack! Brusilov swung his pointer hard.
“Fundamentally, they're facing twice our numbers, and to bypass us, they're stretching thin with fewer corps across a wider front.”
“...”
“Paradoxically, by widening the front, they're pressuring us to shorten ours and link up with the 9th Army and Austro-Hungarians for a grand encirclement.”
For now, their corps were too few for the front.
After tangling with the 1st Army, they'd be fatigued from maneuvering.
Brusilov continued.
“If our forces match the enemy 8th Army's, we could pin down their attacking corps... No.”
A staff officer trailed off mid-question. The headquarters atmosphere turned awkward.
They would've caught them already if possible. Instead, they were taking hits—spitting in their own faces.
But Brusilov snapped his fingers as if it were a vital point.
“Exactly. Humiliating as it is, we can't beat the enemy outright. But we can buy time.”
Humiliating, yet his tone was utterly bold and assured.
“So, we block the 8th Army's bypass, then...”
Brusilov gripped the 8th Army marker tight and slammed it down before the German corps bypassing Poland.
“...Hold them until our forces in Poland break out of the encirclement!”
No matter how slim the chance.
Survive, and hope remained.
“We will return alive!”
And so, Russian 8th Army versus German 8th Army.
The Fox of Galicia versus the Red Fox.
Their clash was set.