Chapter 78
Chapter 78
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Verdun! They Shall Not Pass!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“The operation is approved.”
With those words from the Kaiser, Wilhelm II, the Battle of Verdun commenced.
The Fifth Army committed to this offensive consisted of ten divisions—a total force of 180,000 men—backed by over 1,600 field guns.
Though Crown Prince Wilhelm was the nominal commander, in reality, Chief of Staff Konstantin Schmidt von Knobelsdorf wielded full authority.
He favored attrition warfare, the hallmark of a classic General Staff officer, which suited Falkenhayn perfectly.
But he was a conservative, a stuck-up Junker elitist in the worst way.
“Rommel Tactics are overrated. This approach of hurling stormtroopers forward under hurricane barrages fails to neutralize the enemy with its brief shelling and, in the long run, devours our elite troops like a cancer.”
“...Ah, yes.”
Knobelsdorf’s words dripped with arrogance and bluster, but they weren’t entirely wrong.
“So we’ll ignore the nonsense from some uneducated war college dropout civilian punk.”
The only problem was how it felt like opposition for opposition’s sake.
“Fortunately, OHL has allotted us more than enough shells. We’ll use them efficiently! While the enemy spills their blood, we’ll just burn through ammunition!”
Knobelsdorf puffed himself up, proclaiming it as if it were a stroke of genius.
“Forward! Forward! Onward until we reach Paris beyond Verdun!!”
The staff officers didn’t dare contradict their direct superior and could only nod vigorously.
Even Crown Prince Wilhelm, whose grasp of military affairs was shaky at best, just tilted his head but couldn’t bring himself to intervene.
And so, a colossal barrage rained down on the Verdun sector.
“Shit!! Gas!!!”
“Gas masks!!!”
“You fucking Boche bastards!!! I’ll kill every last one of—”
“Hey!! Where the hell are you—”
Boom!!! Boom!! Verdun’s artillery was positioned on high ground, to be sure, but the Germans’ overwhelming numerical superiority crushed the French guns.
The French forces around Verdun suffered heavy casualties, creating a massive manpower gap with the Germans—at least temporarily.
Yet the Germans stopped at seizing the Meuse River sector, failing to press their decisive advantage.
The Fifth Army’s intent was clear: advance slowly, obliterating everything with artillery.
But this gave the French time to regroup, mounting fierce resistance that bought them even more breathing room.
“...Now, you’re the only one I can trust.”
“Sir.”
“I’m promoting you to general and appointing you commander of the Second Army. Fulfill your duty.”
Supreme Commander Joffre swiftly assessed the situation and replaced the Second Army commander at Verdun.
For the decisive showdown with the Germans, the relief pitcher stepping onto the mound was...
“Understood, sir.”
The strongest defensive specialist in French history: General Philippe Pétain, who had proven his mettle.
Pétain replied before the supreme commander without flinching, his sharp gaze fixed straight ahead, head held high.
Black eagles soared into the sky,
roaring their victory.
“Our troop ratio has widened to over 1:3.”
“The front lines are thin. Supplies are critically low.”
“The defenses have collapsed, and Fort Douaumont has fallen.”
“Commander... this is as far as we go. We must retreat.”
Crows slink in from all sides,
lost on misty woodland paths.
“Refused.”
“Sir!”
“This is the sacred soil of the motherland. We won’t yield a single inch.”
Only the Gallic rooster crows defiantly.
Soldiers, rise up.
“To hold the Germans, we need only 250,000 men and supplies. Haven’t you done the math?”
“N-No...”
“Cast off this defeatism! The campaign isn’t over, and I have no intention of ending it.”
“...Understood.”
“Here at Bar-le-Duc, we’ll replenish resources, rotate the frontline troops continuously, and inflict maximum casualties on the Germans.”
“Yes, sir...!”
The sun shines bright, cannon fire echoes everywhere.
“Young heroes!! The greatest battle lies ahead!!”
“Waaaaah!!!”
“For our families!!! For freedom!!!”
France shall not fall.
With bloodstained flags held high, we resist the oppressor.
Under Pétain, the French gathered every resource and finally awakened. The French army refused to retreat any further.
“Tu ne passeras jamais!!! (They shall not pass!!!)”
“D-Die!!! Just die already!!!”
“You baguette bastards!!!”
“This is Verdun!!!”
Amid vicious gas and shelling, in the horrific slaughter where men died by the thousands.
Even trampling their comrades’ corpses, the French held firm.
“They shall never, never pass!!!”
“...”
“...W-What the hell are you doing!!! Shoot them!!! Kill them now!!!”
One Frenchman’s resolute cry, reaching all the way to the Meuse.
German soldiers and officers alike trembled, fingers shaking on their triggers.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Your arrogance, your hubris—it ends here!”
“Barbarians!! Plunderers!!”
“This is the gate to France—”
“Shut up!!!”
“You shall never pass this point!!!!”
In the countless shell craters, soldiers screamed and butchered each other.
Yet every time the Germans unleashed a powerful assault, the French—who had always buckled before—refused to yield, even as limbs were torn away.
“Why!!! Why are they fighting like this!!!”
“Gahk!!! Khk!!!”
“Die!!! You fucking dogs!!! Just shut up and die!!!”
A German soldier, lost to madness, swung his entrenching tool at a Frenchman and bellowed.
The man’s shoulder split open grotesquely; the light faded from his eyes.
“Heh, heh heh... finally...”
Infected by the French tenacity and frenzy, the Germans could no longer maintain their former cynicism and composure.
Regardless of headquarters’ orders, frontline troops lost all discipline—either paralyzed by terror or blindly slaughtering.
And so... the scales of exchange began to balance.
“You shall not pass... Aaaaagh!!!!!!”
“Good work!!! Give ‘em hell!!!!”
“Kill them all!!! We’ll repaint your precious flags with blood and fire!!!”
Whoosh!!! Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!! The Germans held superiority in both troop and weapon quality.
“Arrrgh!!!”
“Commander Pétain is watching!!! Citizens of the Republic, lovers of the homeland!!! Full assault prep!!! Fix bayonets!!!!”
“Forward, advance!! Vive la France!!!”
“Vive la France!!!”
“They shall not pass!!!”
“We’ll die standing tall rather than show our backs!!!”
Fighting on their own soil, with families behind them, the French morale inevitably outshone the Germans invading foreign land.
“...How did this happen?”
In a battle of supply and combat superiority, that tiny variable tipped the scales.
The Germans lost their early advantage.
Only long after the mad attrition war had begun at Verdun did Falkenhayn realize something was amiss.
“How did this happen?”
The Chief of the General Staff asked his operations staff calmly, or tried to.
But he couldn’t hide his clenched fists trembling as he posed the question.
When the staff bowed their heads in fear, refusing to answer.
“You worthless fucks!! How did this happen!!!”
Crash!! Losing his composure, Falkenhayn hurled objects at them in rage.
Black pieces representing the German Fifth Army struck the staff and clattered to the floor.
Like prey before a predator, the terrified staff froze in place.
A glimpse into how the Chief of the General Staff usually treated them.
“To think these fools are the Empire’s staff...”
Grind— With no answers forthcoming, Falkenhayn finally turned away.
Where had it all gone wrong?
Moments ago, the Chief of Staff had been pondering how best to grind down the French after capturing Verdun.
...Right up until he heard the central Verdun front had been pushed back 3 kilometers.
Considering the effort needed to advance just 1 kilometer, it was no trivial report.
‘Pushed back means the enemy counteroffensive started long ago. But this report only now...’
Dizziness hit him. Falkenhayn, staring out the window with his back to the staff, steadied himself against the wall.
“Hoo... hoo...”
‘...Either they omitted reports or lied to headquarters. Either way, the staff screwed up.’
“Kuh... heh heh.”
It was so absurd Falkenhayn let out a hollow chuckle.
Incompetence had limits—this went beyond.
This was deliberate betrayal.
These trembling cowards before him had, at some point, plunged a dagger into their Chief of Staff’s heart.
“Krrk. Heh.”
Who had betrayed him, from whom to whom?
How many junior officers, field officers, generals?
Even his sharp mind couldn’t grasp it, which only made him laugh in disbelief.
“Heh heh... why... why the hell...”
As Falkenhayn gazed outside, fumbling a cigarette with shaking hands, the staff stole glances, their eyes cold with hostility.
Falkenhayn had too many enemies.
Storm clouds veiled the sun, casting deep shadows of doom.
In stark contrast, the skies over Verdun were clear and blue.
The tricolor might be torn and faded, but it would not break.