Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: One Million Deaths Are Statistics
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[Humanity has gone mad! What a horrific and gruesome sight! Even hell itself couldn't be this terrible... Humanity has gone mad.]
[In the Battle of Verdun in 1915, the German army suffered losses of 470,000, and the French army 550,000. Due to the effects of gas, duds, landmines, contamination, and more, parts of the Verdun region remain off-limits to this day...]
"The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of a million is a statistic."
- Erich Maria Remarque
Verdun dragged on for months.
From summer into autumn, autumn into winter.
In the early and middle stages of the battle, the German army had maintained good control over the enemy force ratio and casualty rates.
But the French mobilization speed was fast. In the end, they completely failed to control the ratios and halted the offensive.
Thus, the German army was defeated...
Well, my opinion, after reviewing various records, was different.
"Profitable."
"...W-what did you say?"
"Ah, for a defeat, it seems we gained quite a bit this time."
The quartermaster general looked up at me blankly, his eyes bloodshot and red.
Did I say something that strange?
"Look. The French have at most two million men, and they lost over five hundred thousand in this battle. We lost around four hundred seventy thousand too, but considering our troop numbers and mobilization capacity, it's a clear gain."
"..."
Flip—I handed the quartermaster general the report I'd just finished compiling from the given figures.
The glum staff officers sitting around also turned to look at me.
"Especially, the French had to expend a huge number of elite troops in this battle. Meanwhile, we preserved ours at Ypres."
"..."
"We took losses in supplies and morale, but if you think of it as an investment for massive strategic gains..."
"Enough... that's enough."
The quartermaster general shuddered as he shoved my report aside.
It was just simple numbers and cost-benefit calculations... but apparently, he saw something else in it.
I glanced at the discarded report and said flatly,
"If you want to end this mad war, we need to pull ourselves together even more."
"..."
"...Then I'll take my leave."
I'd finally given them a piece of my mind, but the quartermaster general didn't respond.
Even as I saluted and left headquarters, he didn't return the salute.
He just sat there, head bowed in dazed contemplation.
"Haa..."
It wasn't just the quartermaster general or supply issues.
The entire headquarters was steeped in guilt or defeatism, wallowing pitifully.
After the disastrous defeat at Verdun, key figures like Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and Tirpitz had all rebelled at once, threatening to resign unless Falkenhayn was sacked.
The Kaiser couldn't withstand the pressure and suspended Falkenhayn's duties first.
As a result, headquarters—the Chief of Staff's limbs, little more than mindless appendages—was left paralyzed.
'When there's a big troop disparity, you need a powerful offensive...'
"Sigh."
I'd originally planned to coax the quartermaster general, seize temporary full authority, and thrash the Anglo-French coalition until Hindenburg arrived.
I hadn't expected headquarters to be this incompetent and emotional.
From the looks of it, they'd just mope around wasting time until Hindenburg showed up.
"Tch. Guess I should inspect overall to make sure there are no major issues."
Of course, I had no intention of doing that.
The damage was so severe that the neutral countries would stay quiet for a while, but I needed to confirm with my own eyes.
Seeing even OHL in this state after Verdun, it was wise to check frontline morale directly too.
I quickly scribbled some papers, handed them to the quartermaster general's adjutant, and got in the car.
"Vive la France...!!!"
"Urgh."
Walter Model, lieutenant, tossed in his sleep at the roar still echoing in his ears.
His right thigh, where he'd taken a bullet, ached even more.
"...At least I avoided becoming a eunuch. Tsk."
The surgeon had said if it'd hit just a bit higher, Model the Second would've been doomed.
As a Lutheran, he'd nearly failed God's command to be fruitful and multiply. What a relief.
...Well, even if he weren't Lutheran, nobody would welcome becoming a eunuch.
"Nurse."
"Ah, you're awake?"
"What time is it?"
Model struggled to sit up and asked the nurse tending to the other soldiers.
She checked her wristwatch and replied.
"Five a.m. The most important thing for recovery is sleep, so rest more."
"No, I've slept plenty. Light the lamp next to me."
"Yes, sir."
As Model picked up On War, which he'd been studying intently before bed, the nurse nodded.
The dim light came on, and Model donned his monocle familiarly.
About an hour later, as the sun began to rise, with him immersed in the book...
"Yawn."
A man entered the ward with a yawn.
Probably a soldier back from the bathroom. Model glanced up casually, then hurriedly hid his book upon seeing the man.
"At ease. Rest."
"...Y-yes, sir."
Model tried to salute upon seeing the gleaming blue badge at the throat and the epaulets denoting major.
But the man waved it off irritably, like it was a nuisance, and ordered curtly.
Model quickly lowered his hand.
'That guy... could it be?'
Model stared up at the man conversing with the nurse while eyeing the patients, his own eyes sparkling.
An officer around his age who'd made major, with that shining blue badge at his throat. The Pour le Mérite.
No doubt about it. There was only one such man, so...
"...Major Erwin Rommel, sir?"
"Hm?"
Pause—the man stopped talking to the nurse and looked at Model leaning against his bed.
At Erwin Rommel's reaction, Model was convinced.
"It really is you! My god, to meet Major Rommel..."
"Shh, quiet!!"
Rommel hurriedly silenced Model and glanced around frantically.
Fortunately, the other soldiers were asleep or dozing, seemingly missing Model's words.
Rommel, who had past experience of being carelessly spotted in trenches, wards, command posts, and headquarters only to get swarmed by soldiers, approached Model in a panic.
"Don't shout. You might wake the others, lieutenant."
"Yes, sir...!"
"...On War, huh."
Rommel eyed the book on the shelf by Model's bed.
Clausewitz's On War was one of the military texts Rommel still studied deeply, alongside Sun Tzu, treatises on tactics and strategy.
The well-worn book, stuffed with various bookmarks, evidenced how much Model had pored over it, piquing Rommel's curiosity.
"You've studied hard."
"Yes, sir! Indeed! My insights aren't deep, but I studied diligently, even adding my own annotations!"
"Annotations...?"
His curiosity deepened.
Even as a mere lieutenant, Rommel judged only by the time invested in the book, without prejudice.
Unable to contain himself, the major made a request.
"Mind if I take a look?"
"An honor...!"
Far from minding, Model eagerly offered the book with both hands, as if he'd been waiting.
Among the war heroes famous across the nation, Rommel left the strongest impression of a monster, overwhelming presence. Model's reaction was only natural.
Rommel took the book and carefully opened it.
Margins filled with annotations from the first page alone, plus inserted notes.
On war, enmity, elements of war, types of war, aspects of combat and strategy, defense and offense.
Every concept and theory brimmed with his interpretations, impressions, and musings.
Though slightly different from Rommel's own studies, it was plenty impressive.
He wanted to read more, but with his schedule pending, Rommel regretfully closed it.
"Not bad. If I had time, we could've discussed it. Shame."
"Ah..."
Model sighed at Rommel's words.
But the major continued, as if it weren't the end.
"So let's talk later. When suits you..."
"...Pardon?"
Model cocked his head at Rommel, who seemed sincerely pondering.
As far as he knew, Rommel was a high-level OHL staffer, while he was just a field officer.
With such different roles, when would they meet again?
"First, your name. I'll write you a recommendation."
"R-recommendation letter?"
Model couldn't keep up with Rommel's successive words.
The major frowned slightly at the bewildered lieutenant's frustration.
"Yes, you fool. Heaven's sent a lifeline—grab it."
"L-Lieutenant Walter Model! Adjutant, 52nd Regiment, 1st Battalion!"
"Kluge, Bittrich, now Model... Interesting."
"Pardon?"
"Talking to myself."
Rommel dismissed Model like that, fetched a sheet of paper, and dashed off the recommendation in one go.
His handwriting was impeccably neat, drawing admiration.
Thus, Rommel quickly finished and handed it to Model.
"A fast track to OHL quartermaster staff. Congratulations."
"Ah... ah...!"
"Submit to superiors; they'll handle it. Any issues, write me. Put your name big on the envelope."
Model's hands trembled as he carefully took the letter.
It was truly a lifeline from the heavens.
Overwhelmed, he forgot his wound's pain, clutched the letter tight, and shouted.
"Thank you!!! Major Erwin Rommel!!!!"
"No!! I said quiet—"
"What? Rommel?"
"Major Rommel's here?"
"It's him!! The Red Fox!!"
The soldiers, stirring at Model's shout, suddenly focused on Rommel.
Screech—the major whipped his head around, his pupils shaking wildly.
"...Ah."
"Wooooaaahhhhh!!!!!"
...Some tens of minutes later, Rommel finally escaped, screaming he was busy.
He still had a lot of schedule left.