Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Normandy Landings (2)
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On June 1, 1944, the Allies issued orders to the anti-German resistance organizations ahead of the landings.
“On June 6, the Allied forces will land on the European continent. Resistance groups everywhere, take up arms and commence operations.”
Germany now responded with indifference.
“Who do those bastards think they’re fooling? We fell for it three times already—no need for a fourth with all these rituals.”
“Ah, and the weather’s supposed to be stormy. Lies have to be believable to work.”
The German intelligence department sent no information to the German army.
The Allies struck precisely at the moment when the Germans had let their guard down.
In the pre-dawn hours of June 6, the U.S. 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, the British 2nd and 6th Airborne Divisions, and the Korean 1st Airborne Division dropped into key bridges and roads inland from Normandy.
Only then did the Germans realize the Allies were attacking.
“Alert! Alert!”
“Ah, what now!”
“Allied paratroopers have landed! Mobilize!”
By the time the inland German forces began moving to respond, the Allied airborne units had already seized the main roads and bridges.
“Huh?”
“This bridge is ours now. We can use it as we please. You want to pass through?”
The German units, desperate to rush to the coast, found themselves held back.
“Let’s go too!”
“Yeah, let’s move!”
At sea, the naval forces of the Anglo-American alliance—forty warships in all—unleashed a hellish barrage on the land.
They pounded with such ferocity that no concrete bunker stood a chance; the German tanks positioned on the coast were smashed without firing a shot.
The battleships obliterated the prime targets, cruisers and destroyers handled the secondary ones, and thousands of bombers hammered the rear areas.
Faced with the Allies’ multidimensional assault, the Germans could do absolutely nothing.
The German defensive line was largely neutralized by the naval preparatory bombardment.
On the morning of June 6, 1944, eight Allied divisions landed in orderly fashion on the thoroughly shredded Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword beaches.
Hans, a soldier of the German 352nd Division stationed at Omaha, watched the entire scene unfold even as his eardrums were half-blown out by the battleship fire.
“Hans, we stay here, we’re all dead. Let’s run. The shelling’s stopped—this is our only chance.”
His veteran comrade, who had served on the Eastern Front, urged him to flee, but Hans refused.
“ Coward! How can a son of Greater Germany spout such weakness? The fatherland, my father Germany, demands my devotion! Don’t you dare call me a defeatist.”
Freshly conscripted, Hans burned with fierce patriotism.
The German army he had been taught about was Europe’s strongest force, armed with unbreakable duty and zeal.
He couldn’t believe such rot existed in its ranks.
“Hans, throwing your life away here won’t make your family happy. What matters is you coming back alive.”
“Shut up! If you’re running, then go! I’m not a coward like you!”
His comrade pitied Hans, who frothed at the mouth proclaiming his loyalty to National Socialism, then bolted from the bunker.
‘Cowards. It’s cowards like him who make the war go badly.’
Hans gritted his teeth and gripped the MG-42.
Far off, between the stakes set up to block landing craft, Allied soldiers could be seen wading through the water.
If he just killed all those damn dogs, the fatherland would win this war.
The Führer would make it so.
Hans aimed his barrel at the enemy ranks and pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
A stream of yellow light shot out, and the soldiers just setting foot on the beach screamed and fell.
The blue seawater and white sand were soon dyed red with blood.
“Die, all of you die!”
Anyone invading Greater Germany deserved death.
Every time Hans’s machine gun swept across, corpses piled up in heaps.
“Over there—that bastard! Take him out!”
By the time the Allied soldiers reached the cliffs, Hans’s machine gun had claimed over a hundred lives.
“I... I’ll save the fatherland.”
Hans felt invincible clutching his gun.
Just a thousand more.
If a son of Greater Germany could take out a thousand single-handed, those cowards would climb back on their boats and flee.
Hans truly believed it.
Flash.
The next instant, an 8-inch shell from a nearby Allied cruiser struck his bunker dead-on.
Hans died on the spot without even a scream.
“Fucking Nazi scum.”
The Allied soldiers spat curses at the bunker crushed by the cruiser’s fire.
The 352nd Division’s defensive line crumbled away like that, piece by piece.
The German Army Group B headquarters, belatedly informed of the landings, was in chaos.
With attacks coming from inland and the coast alike, they couldn’t decide where to respond first.
“Get the commander on the phone, now!”
Unfortunately for the Germans, Rommel, commander of Army Group B responsible for northern France, was back in Germany on leave.
Chief of staff Hans Speidel was acting in his place.
The problem was that Speidel wasn’t the man to lead a counterattack.
Rommel, informed of the situation late from Germany, urgently requested a call with the Führer.
“Please inform the Führer. The situation in Normandy is extremely urgent.”
“His Excellency is sleeping. No.”
Secretary Martin Bormann flatly refused to wake the Führer.
Without the Führer’s permission, armored divisions couldn’t move—and he was sleeping.
Rommel was dumbfounded.
Now, the outcome of the defense hinged on how long the coastal German units could hold out.
But how long could under-equipped, under-strength infantry divisions last against the Allies’ overwhelming assault?
‘We’ve lost our chance for a counterattack. We’re finished.’
Rommel chewed on his despair and picked up the phone again.
*
“Your Excellency, the landings have succeeded. Including the airborne divisions, thirteen divisions have set foot on the continent so far.”
A slightly higher number than in the original timeline.
I stared at the map, lost in thought.
The real challenges of the Normandy landings were just beginning.
‘Breaking out here is tougher than the landing itself.’
Normandy’s terrain was a nightmare for attackers.
Fields divided by hedgerows, hills, and low scrub made natural defensive lines perfect for the defender.
Add the German positions built on top, and even weak German forces could hold out against simple assaults.
‘And there are minefields too.’
In the original timeline, the Germans sowed massive minefields before ports fell, rendering docks unusable for over three months on average.
No reason this Germany wouldn’t do the same.
Considering all that, pushing to the German border in short order was unrealistic.
Even following the original pace, breaking out of Normandy would take at least two months—September at the earliest to reach the border.
The issue was that Western Allied strength was weaker than in the original.
The U.S. entered the war late, in late ’43, and Britain in late ’42.
Both were under bulked-up, with far fewer divisions than original.
Training quality and combat experience lagged well behind historical levels.
The Germans were quantitatively weaker too, but our side’s drop was greater—we had to account for that.
Under these conditions, it could take over three months, not two.
‘Dragging it out like that just lets the Ivans have all the fun.’
That scenario wouldn’t do.
We still needed a card to force the Nazis to surrender quickly.
There was Operation Dragoon for southern France, but it needed prep time.
Something faster, more decisive to crush the Germans.
The solution lay east, as always.
Our great steel Bolshevik General Secretary.
Just invoking his name would terrify the Germans.
I decided to produce propaganda leaflets right then.
“Your sisters, lovers, daughters are being approached by revenge-fueled Ivans. Aren’t you afraid the Red Army will take revenge on your families? To avoid the catastrophe of Ivans occupying your hometowns, open the way for the Western Allies’ advance. Only then can your families be protected.”
Even I thought it was persuasive.
Of course, the Western Allies weren’t all gentlemen.
Allies had their share of rapists and looters too.
Some claimed 20,000 German women raped during the Normandy landings.
Still, the Allies didn’t burn with revenge like the Ivans, gang-raping from girls to grannies and nailing them to barn walls.
That was heaven versus hell.
“What do you think?”
“Something’s still missing.”
“Speak your mind if you have ideas.”
Kim Pan-ho, deputy director of the Propaganda Ministry summoned at my call, offered a supplement to my plan.
“It’d be good to include photos showing treatment of surrendered Italian and German soldiers.”
Ah, our POWs.
Those guys were living well, digging potatoes, assembling nuts, mining minerals.
That had real persuasive power.
Germans knew surrender to the Ivans meant death or torture—no other choice.
“You’re right. We need to show them what surrender gets you.”
Now it was 140% convincing.
“Get the Propaganda Ministry ready to print as many as possible.”
“As you command.”
“Air Force.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“Once the ministry’s ready, have planes prepped to fly them straight to Europe.”
“As you command.”
Oh, almost forgot.
I had beer ads clipped and pasted onto every leaflet page.
The leaflets were printed as-is and shipped to Europe.
To meet quota, I requested Britain produce some too.
“I doubt those stubborn Jerries will surrender over that, but we’ll cooperate. How many do you need?”
Our friend, the British Empire, agreed to help with leaflet production.
Starting the second week of June, we blanketed German front lines with leaflets like carpet bombing.
One leaflet wouldn’t make a German surrender, but it’d plant doubt.
Even they worried about family and their own skins.
That was enough to crack the dam.
Once the first surrenders started, the rest would be easy.
Like the original September ’44 and March ’45—German lines would domino into collapse.
‘It’ll be better for you that way too.’
For our Korea as well.
So surrender nicely.