Chapter 153
Chapter 153
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 153
Chapter Title: Border Battle (3)
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"Multiple German aircraft over Brussels!"
"Reports are flooding in from battlefields everywhere asking what to do. Your orders, Commander!"
"Everyone, calm down!"
The French staff officers, who had been in a frenzy, fell silent at the bellow of General Augustin Dubail, commander of the French 1st Army, who was leading the Brussels offensive alongside 2nd Army Commander Castelnau.
Once the command post quieted down—save for the distant rumble of artillery—Dubail confirmed the atmosphere had settled and slowly opened his mouth.
"The German planes over Brussels are just a Kraut trick to throw our troops into chaos. Planes like that pose no real threat."
The staff officers, their reason returning, nodded at the commander's firm declaration.
On second thought, it wasn't worth all the panic.
The only means aircraft had to attack the ground were things like hand-thrown grenades or small aerial bombs at best.
And these small bombs could demoralize the enemy but lacked the power for significant damage—a fact proven by the lessons of the recent Italo-Turkish War and Balkan Wars.
Thus, Dubail concluded that the flashy appearance of the German Empire's air squadron was merely a petty German ploy to buy time.
He wasn't like those French generals who dismissed even aerial reconnaissance; nor did he overestimate the potential of aircraft.
"Don't get fooled by the distraction and miss the point. What matters now is where the German main force is. They seem to have rushed into Belgium only after we took the lead. Make locating them our top priority. Understood?"
"Oui, Commandant!"
If the enemy planes were that bothersome, they could just have the troops chase them off with rifles.
For now, Dubail judged that the priority was deploying as many scouts as possible to find the Germans who had crossed the Belgian border.
However, that judgment was based solely on the French perspective.
Dubail and the French forces had no idea that the German Empire's Adler fighters would shatter all previous standards.
Vrooooom──
The time for the French to pay for their misjudgment arrived immediately.
Captain Oswald Boelcke—promoted to major ahead of his peers thanks to superiors who valued his vision for air combat—gave the order as Jasta 1's squadron leader, and the Adler fighters simultaneously nosed down.
Their targets: the French troops still staring up in bewilderment from the ground.
Like eagles who had waited for this day, they bared razor-sharp talons and dove at the soldiers in blue uniforms.
Screeeeeeeee───!!!
The German pilots bared their teeth savagely and slammed the switches.
Soon, the small rockets mounted on the Adler fighters' wing struts belched white smoke in sequence and streaked toward clusters of French soldiers.
Inspired by Hans's idea from the French Le Prieur rockets of World War I, these were new weapons churned out enthusiastically by the Prussian war machine.
Though technologically, they weren't much advanced beyond Congreve rockets.
"Wh-what did those Boche bastards just fire?"
"Uh... uh? Shit, those are rockets!!"
"T-take cover! Cover!!"
The French soldiers finally realized the objects screaming down from the sky were rockets. Pale-faced, they screamed and scattered in all directions amid the deafening noise.
But the eagles' talons struck their backs far faster than their feet could move.
BOOM! KABOOM!!
Intense explosions rocked central Brussels without end.
Of course, lacking guidance systems, these rocket weapons had notoriously poor accuracy—you had to pray for even one hit. They struck more pavement and buildings than people.
"Argh! Aaaaagh!!"
"My body! My boooody!!"
But the unlucky French soldiers directly hit by rockets died screaming in the most horrific pain fire could inflict on man. The rockets' thunderous sounds and visuals synergized to shatter French morale mercilessly.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!
But the Imperial German Air Service's assault didn't end there.
After unleashing all rockets, the eagles strafed French soldiers with machine guns and showered grenade bundles.
"Agh! Aghhhh!"
"Th-that's not the planes we know! It can't be!"
Everything was alien to the French.
Thus, the shock hit twice as hard.
"Great work! Kill every last French bastard!!"
"Kwee?"
"S-sorry, Patrasche. That wasn't for you!"
Of course, Lieutenant Nello Das and the Belgian soldiers, treated to an early Hollywood war flick before their eyes, cheered wildly.
"What the hell did the Germans mount on those planes?!"
"We have planes too! Tell them to do something!"
Meanwhile, French officers, flustered by the unexpected air assault, bellowed into field phones.
Whether their nagging worked or the earlier fleeing French scouts called reinforcements—who knew?—a handful of French Army Air Service planes appeared over Brussels.
"They must be suicidal."
Richthofen grinned at Immelmann's words and gripped the stick tighter.
It was a prime chance to score a big aerial victory.
Boelcke thought the same, shouting excitedly into the radio at his comrades.
"Jawohl!"
Vrooooom───!
Richthofen responded energetically, his red-painted Adler fighter roaring toward the French scouts against a backdrop of propellers thundering.
Richthofen bantered leisurely with Immelmann before focusing on the approaching enemy.
"Don't run—fight fair like knights of the sky!"
As if hearing Richthofen, or realizing escape was impossible from the faster German plane...
The French Morane-Saulnier scout banked slightly and charged straight at Richthofen's Adler.
Richthofen narrowed his eyes, watching the enemy pilot closely.
The nameless Frenchman had drawn a pistol, waiting for point-blank range.
"Ha! Think a puny pistol can stop this Adler fighter and Baron Manfred von Richthofen?!"
Richthofen laughed uproariously and mashed the trigger button on his stick.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat───!!
And what was likely the world's first dogfight ended in an instant as the French scout was shredded by the Adler's machine guns.
"Hahaha! Hope that plane isn't too banged up. I want it as a trophy for my room."
Richthofen muttered as he watched the French plane spiral down slowly. Immelmann, back from downing his own scout, responded over the radio with a tone of exasperation.
Richthofen was dead serious, of course.
He swore to have his men retrieve that first kill as a trophy.
Immelmann and Boelcke, unable to grasp his aristocratic tastes, could only chuckle wryly.
"This is bad."
French 2nd Army Commander Noël de Castelnau tsked through binoculars at the chaos unfolding in Brussels.
He knew German aviation was advanced, but the enemy planes' armament and performance exceeded his expectations by far.
'Should've listened more to Ruffey about bolstering our air force.'
Ruffey was an oddball in the French Army, obsessed with aircraft and heavy guns. Would the rigid majority of generals even take him seriously, unlike the flexible Castelnau?
War brought such surprises.
The key was reflecting on mistakes and fixing them swiftly.
Noël de Castelnau—one of the few French generals, alongside Foch, to hold his post from war's outbreak to end without dismissal in original history—muttered inwardly, assessed the situation, and issued judgment.
"Halt the offensive. Issue retreat orders."
"But sir, retreating tens of thousands over mere planes..."
"Are your eyes buttonholes? Can't you see our troops losing their minds because of those 'mere' planes? Can't you see the Belgians under Lemans gearing up for a counterattack?!"
"S-sorry."
Castelnau unleashed a tirade at subordinates spouting Virgin Mary-worthy stupidity, then sighed heavily.
As he said, with ground Belgians reforming and advancing, planes alone were one thing—but this was trouble.
Pressing the assault now would be folly.
"The Germans will arrive soon. We failed to take Brussels, Namur, and Liège as planned, but meeting them in Belgium achieves our primary goal. Dig in, hold trench lines, wait for counterattack chances—victory is plenty possible..."
"S-s-sir!"
Castelnau frowned at the interruption and turned.
A gasping signal officer stood there, on the verge of collapse. Restraining noble impatience, Castelnau opted to listen first.
"What's the commotion?"
"The border... urgent from the border..."
"Which border?"
"Lux... Luxembourg... Luxembourg border! Massive German forces in Lorraine..."
At "Lorraine," color drained from Castelnau's face. He snatched the dispatch from the still-panting officer.
"Damn...!!"
His expression turned graver than ever.
"Crown Prince Rupprecht. Advance orders from OHL."
"Ah, finally."
As the German Empire Air Service revealed itself over Brussels...
6th Army Commander Crown Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria grinned, as if the long-awaited moment had arrived.
Behind him waited hundreds of thousands of Bavarian Kingdom troops, poised for his command.
"Wish we could've brought tanks. Shame."
"Training and organization aren't complete yet."
The war had erupted far sooner than anticipated.
Tanks, in full production since late 1912, had too many issues for immediate frontline use. Supreme Command reluctantly delayed deployment.
Germans weren't so desperate for tanks yet.
"Damn! If Franz Joseph had died just a year later!"
"Haha, even so..."
Schlieffen—still kicking, eager to see tanks shine—vented frustration.
"Tanks later. Our job hasn't changed."
"Of course, Your Highness."
Strawberries on cake taste best saved for last.
Rupprecht turned to his troops.
"Brave Bavarian soldiers! The time to march to battle has come. All ready?"
"Yes, Commander!"
"Good. We cross the border into France—now!"