Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Border Battle (5)
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Paris was so dark that its nickname, the "City of Light," felt utterly out of place.
The atmosphere on the streets was grim, and so were the faces of the people.
[German forces have once again set foot on the soil of our French homeland!]
[France in crisis. Is the Franco-Prussian War—that nightmare—returning?]
The Imperial German Army.
To the French, these demons akin to the Black Death had, since the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, once more trampled French soil with their filthy boots.
The Germans had swiftly captured Sedan in a manner that made the French army's desperate resistance seem futile, and now they were advancing toward the Aisne River.
Already, some pessimists were chattering that the Germans would soon reach Paris, while others were packing their bags to flee south.
However, unlike that minority of cowards, the faces of most French people, though dark, did not show despair.
[President Poincaré: The great French homeland has not yet been defeated!]
[Frenchmen, rise up! The Kaiser's minions are targeting your families and your country!]
The French did not choose to collapse in the face of their nation's crisis.
Instead, they took up arms to save their homeland, and even the French leftists who had condemned the war volunteered to head to the front lines themselves.
"Cars, trucks, carriages, motorcycles, bicycles—whatever it takes. Get as many soldiers as possible to the front lines as quickly as possible, by any means necessary!"
This meshed perfectly with France's general mobilization order, which was proceeding faster than the German high command had anticipated, creating tremendous synergy.
French Army Commander-in-Chief Joffre, as if awakened by the crisis before him, requisitioned anything that could carry people—wagons, vehicles, you name it—and ferried fresh recruits nonstop to the front lines.
"To the front! To the front! To the front! Let's go defend the French homeland!"
"Vive la France! Vive la République!"
Arise, children of the homeland. The day of glory has arrived!
Do you hear the ferocious soldiers roaring in those fields?
They come right to our gates to slit the throats of our sons and wives.
So take up arms, citizens.
Form your ranks and march forward.
Until their foul blood soaks our furrows!
The whole of France rose up in fury, determined not to repeat the humiliation of the Franco-Prussian War.
And this fervor affected the battlefields as well, where it burned hottest of all.
"General Foch, the scouts have spotted the German vanguard."
"...So it's come."
In the dark Ardennes Forest, where even the scorching summer sun struggled to penetrate, Ferdinand Foch closed his eyes as he heard his aide's report.
Foch had originally taken command of the XX Corps under General Castelnau's French Second Army when World War I broke out, participating in the Belgian offensive alongside the other corps under Second Army.
However, the Belgians—whom the French had dismissed as "chocolate soldiers"—mounted unexpectedly tenacious resistance that disrupted French war plans, and the Germans used the fake Schlieffen Plan to lure the French into a trap before leisurely crossing the border.
Foch and his corps had been hastily redeployed to the Ardennes on orders from Commander-in-Chief Joffre.
"God has given me and France far too many trials."
Separate from his prayer of thanks to God for granting him a chance at revenge against the German Empire before age forced his retirement, Foch had never thought this war would be easy—but the current situation cut him to the bone.
Luxembourg had fallen to that viper Hans von Choi, opening the border to the Germans, who had neutralized the border defenses like a warm-up exercise and were now advancing into the Ardennes Forest.
Their goal was clear: to cut off and encircle the allied forces pinned down in Belgium.
If the Germans succeeded in encircling our forces in Belgium, it would mean the loss of a third of French army strength—the worst possible scenario.
And what that symbolized was one thing alone.
The return of the 1870 Battle of Sedan, the nightmare more horrific than anything to Foch and the French people.
'I won't let that happen. I'll stake my life to stop it no matter what!'
"Corps commander?"
"Everyone, focus."
Ignoring his aide's puzzled look, Foch spoke to the generals and staff officers before him with a resolute expression.
The weight in his voice was no small thing, and the Frenchmen swallowed hard, silently awaiting their corps commander's next words.
"The Germans are coming. Just as they did at the border, they're advancing relentlessly through the Ardennes to crush us and finish off our allies in Belgium."
"..."
"If we fail to stop them, the great French homeland will once more be trampled by those filthy Germanic-Hunnic mongrels."
Of course, stopping the Germans wouldn't be easy.
The Prussian officer corps' superior tactical skills were renowned across Europe, and regrettably, the current German army's technology and equipment outclassed the French.
Yet for a soldier, there are battlefields where retreat is impossible no matter the odds—and this was one.
"My duty, our duty, is to hold out as long as we can! So, sons of France, prepare to meet the enemy! They shall not pass (Ils ne passeront pas)!"
"Vive la France! Vive la nation!"
The officers and staff of XX Corps snapped salutes and responded with one voice.
And soon after, the battle began between the French forces determined to block the Ardennes Forest and the Germans intent on passing through.
Boom! Kwang!! Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!
"Don't stop the attack! If we fall back here, the homeland and our citizens are in danger. Fight as if this is your last day—keep pouring bullets and shells until the enemy collapses from exhaustion!"
July 22, 1913.
The once-quiet Ardennes Forest had transformed into a living hell where human ferocity clashed head-on, its silence shattered.
Artillery roared ceaselessly from all directions, mingled with the chilling chatter of machine guns, as soldiers in the dark forest—stirring primal fear—vomited blood and screams, falling endlessly.
"Sons of France, the fate of our homeland rests on our shoulders. Even if enemy shells tear your body apart, even if their bullets spill your guts, do not retreat. Absolutely do not let the enemy pass!"
"They shall not pass—!!"
Under Foch's bloodcurdling shouts, the French pulled triggers and lobbed grenades at the enemy without cease.
Of course, the Germans pressed forward just as fiercely, leading with submachine guns and assaulting French trenches relentlessly—but Foch's forces, unlike those at the border, did not yield easily.
"The offensive is far more stalled than expected."
Max von Hausen, commanding the German Fourth Army and clashing head-on with Foch's XX Corps and other French forces, grimaced at the frustrating battlefield reports and muttered to himself.
Of course, he had his own grievances.
This hellish maze called the Ardennes Forest was a problem, but in such dense woods where even the sky was barely visible, Germany's superior air power and massed artillery barrages were hard to deploy effectively.
In contrast, the French had brought large numbers of their M1897 75mm field guns—the world's first modern field artillery—and were raining shells on the advancing Germans.
Though the M1897's low elevation made it less effective against trenches, in this forest where howitzers struggled, it was devastating against charging Germans, shredding them to pieces.
"How's the offensive on the Aisne going?"
"Not going well there either, it seems."
Maximilian von Höhn, chief of staff of the Third Army, answered Hausen's question.
The German advance, which had swept forward after capturing Sedan, had been halted at the Aisne River.
The French there fought desperately from their trenches, refusing to yield another inch of soil, led by France's young heroes at the forefront.
"Come on, the enemy's tiring. Believe in yourselves and hold out to the end!"
"Yes, Colonel Pétain!"
And the most standout among them was the famed Philippe Pétain.
Pétain, who became a hot-button figure in 21st-century France for collaborating with Nazi Germany as head of Vichy France in World War II, was nonetheless the guardian of France itself in World War I.
Unlike most high-ranking French officers, he had long advocated ditching nonsense like élan vital from his youth, pursuing efficient combat over reckless assaults—and it paid off in results.
"We can't lose either."
"Forward, gentlemen. Let's defend France!"
Pétain's fierce fighting inspired the frontline soldiers and other officers.
They threw themselves into battle just as selflessly, following his lead.
Charles de Gaulle in his youth was a prime example.
"Arghhh!"
"Lieutenant de Gaulle!"
"The lieutenant's been shot!"
"Medic! Medic!"
Though he overdid it and soon took a bullet to the knee, getting evacuated to the rear.
From the Ardennes to the Aisne, the French fought savagely, vowing not to suffer a six-week rout like their descendants.
The German commanders scowled in frustration...
"Pushing further will be tough. Höhn, let's pull back here. We've achieved our objectives anyway."
"Understood, commander."
But their anger ended there.
And they halted the offensive without a shred of regret.
Making the French resistance seem in vain.
"Did things go well in the Netherlands, Minister?"
"Yes, Queen Wilhelmina and the Dutch parliament refused to join the war, but they agreed to transport Entente supplies and troops through their territory. With British Foreign Secretary Grey rushing to Amsterdam to apply pressure, they couldn't hold out any longer."
After all, with Antwerp alone unable to handle all logistics, Britain's top priority was Dutch ports.
Of course, the Netherlands accepting the Entente's request was also due in large part to Dutch unease over Belgium— which had declared neutrality early—being attacked.
"That's good. Though I heard there was trouble with the British First Sea Lord."
"Ugh, don't even mention that guy."
Claiming the Russian Black Sea Fleet might sortie like in Morocco, he wanted part of the British Mediterranean Fleet stationed in Constantinople.
Of course, I shot that nonsense down immediately.
We'd only just barely placated the Ottomans.
If the British fleet hunkered down in Constantinople now, the Turks' reaction was obvious.
'Is Churchill that desperate to become Mr. Gallipoli?'
"Still, just in case, isn't there a chance the Russian Black Sea Fleet might actually try to break through the Bosphorus and Dardanelles?"
"Yes. So we compromised with Britain and the Ottoman government by stationing our cruisers in Constantinople instead. Anyway, the Aisne and Ardennes seem to have reached a stalemate."
"Well, a bit more advance would've been nice, but it was expected."
Falkenhayn shrugged at my question.
The French were shedding tears of joy, making a fuss over stopping the Germans, but to us, it was laughable.
We had no intention of advancing to the Marne like in original history to threaten Paris or performing that scythe swing 27 years early.
As I'd mentioned before, the German Empire and I planned to end the Eastern Front first, ahead of the Western—which meant fewer troops deployed west than in original history, plus France had already absorbed trench warfare doctrine from the Russo-Japanese War lessons.
'Even if mobility has improved a lot from original history, it's still not enough yet.'
Plus, even reaching Paris wouldn't force surrender; at worst, like original history, they'd prepare to flee to Bordeaux. Pushing recklessly now would just increase casualties and supply demands.
Of course, if we could commit full German strength, maybe—but that wasn't possible now.
'The Russians are starting to move.'
The Eastern Front would open soon.
More important to me than the West, there was no reason to rush a "six-week France" prematurely.
France, having lost territory to us, would grow impatient instead.
'The Imperial Navy, alongside the Royal Navy, has already seized sea control, forcing the French Navy into port under duress.'
In short, they were far from popping champagne over halting our offensive.
We hadn't lost, and we'd gained all we could.
Moreover, by year's end or early next, the armored units would complete organization and training for full frontline deployment.
So what remained was slowly pushing French forces back from Belgium and eastern France alongside the British and Belgians, tightening the noose around their necks.
"Minister, Chief of Staff. The special train to Antwerp has arrived."
The Western Front was only just beginning.