Three Napoleons, Part 5
It was not only impossible to completely pulverize every building with artillery fire, but doing so—reducing them to unrecognizable heaps of rubble—changed very little. The ruins themselves simply became fresh cover. Even if the defenders ran completely out of ammunition, the urban deadlock would not be broken. After all, in the Battle of Stalingrad, green recruits were thrown into the fray with a mere five rounds of ammunition. In 1913, this was even more true. Both the attackers and the defenders suffered from an overwhelming lack of firepower.
"Die, you French butcher!"
Clang!
Citizens hid in alleyways and amidst the ruins, waiting to strike the backs of French soldiers' heads with shovel handles. Immediately after, other ambushing locals would swarm them with frying pans, clubs, and kitchen knives lashed to sticks.
Had this war occurred even a decade later, the French army would have cleared the streets with hand grenades before marching through. If they found such procedures tedious, they could have simply swept the nearby civilians with submachine guns. But this was an era where men still charged with bayonets, much like they did during the Napoleonic Wars. To wage a war of absolute resistance, all one needed was manpower, food, and morale. In other words, for the French, the fight would not end until they slaughtered not just the defending troops, but every single citizen in the metropolis.
"...Mulhouse, Mulhouse has finally fallen!"
Yet, urban warfare in 1913 had its limits. If an army was truly determined to grind a city to dust, the defenders had no real way to resist, unlike the later defenses of Stalingrad. It wasn't just the attackers who suffered from technological limitations. Setting up defensive strongpoints was incredibly difficult because machine guns of this era took ages to deploy, jammed constantly, and lacked a high rate of fire.
Furthermore, the French forces were growing stronger as trailing divisions continuously caught up and merged. Following Auguste Dubail's First Army, the Second Army was now closing in on Alsace-Lorraine. Holding them off for two weeks had been the absolute limit.
"Now that Mulhouse has fallen, that bastard Stahl and his command headquarters must be considering a retreat. Tell me, what are our casualties?"
"Approximately... one hundred thousand. One hundred thousand men are dead."
It had been a clash between mere militia and the elite forces meant to break Germany. How, how could they retreat from such a battle? What would the press say, and what excuses could they possibly offer to the citizens who witnessed this disaster?
"...Is this modern warfare?"
Even if the operation had been reckless, losing one hundred thousand men in a mere fortnight was staggering. This was not a proud, honorable war. It was simply a slaughterhouse.
Auguste Dubail stared blankly at the ash-covered ruins of Alsace-Lorraine.
"Send word to the Commander-in-Chief. Alsace-Lorraine has been reclaimed, but continuing the offensive is impossible. We must establish a defensive line using Alsace-Lorraine as our base."
But the war was far from over.
"Do we have any spare machine gun ammunition?"
"Forget machine guns, we don't even have rifle cartridges left. All we have now are our bare bodies and crude farming tools."
"Then we truly must... retreat."
While the French command headquarters was depressed over a report card that was practically a defeat, the headquarters of the Armed Cooperative Alliance was in no better shape. A horrific, chaotic melee had unfolded. In the midst of such madness, who would have suffered more casualties—the militia or the French army? Though the exact number of casualties was impossible to calculate, at least half of the civilian population must have perished under the indiscriminate French onslaught.
Erich Ludendorff made his decision.
"If we could have held out for just five more days, our main forces would have begun pouring in. A pity. Let us make a swift escape."
Both Ludendorff and Leon Trotsky nodded without a trace of emotion, immediately drafting an escape plan. But Stahl could not bring himself to do the same.
"Escape? What about the citizens?"
"We have no choice but to leave them to the mercy of the French," Ludendorff replied coldly.
Trotsky chimed in, supporting him. "The German Imperial Army will return to Alsace-Lorraine soon enough. In the meantime, it is the citizens' duty to keep the French pinned down."
"...Weren't we the ones who dragged them into this war?"
"They chose revolution and struggle with their own hands. They must bear that burden."
It was a sound, logical argument. In the end, war always demanded sacrifices. Whatever they might have felt deep down, Ludendorff and Trotsky were simply making the pragmatic choices of ordinary generals. Yet, Stahl could not shake the heavy weight on his conscience.
If I hadn't gone around the city actively inciting them, would there have been this many casualties?
Marx Stahl had zero military experience, save for observing a single conflict in Hungary. He felt that if he simply abandoned them now, he would be plagued by PTSD for the rest of his life. He didn't care if a million or ten million French soldiers died—they were the enemy, after all. Stahl wasn't so soft-hearted that he wouldn't cheer at whatever hell unfolded in Serbia.
But... I have never conducted politics this way.
Nor was he cold enough to abandon those who had followed him solely out of faith in his name. Was war not merely an extension of politics? War was just a subset within the grand category of political statecraft. And as a politician, Stahl had absolutely no intention of leaving like this.
"We cannot leave like this."
"Are you opposing the retreat, Chairman Stahl? That is impossible," Trotsky said.
Stahl shook his head. "You saw it yourself in this battle, didn't you? Citizens are also a resource. Did the French soldiers who were crushed to death in the first few days charge us out of sheer hatred? No. People are a highly useful wartime resource."
"Are you saying we should let them all die?!"
"No. We should keep them around for future use. We must evacuate the citizens with us."
The command headquarters fell dead silent at Stahl's absurd proposal. Ludendorff immediately fired back.
"That is impossible! The Cooperatives are already going to suffer heavy casualties just trying to withdraw. And you want to evacuate the civilians too?"
"Then leave me with a small detachment. I will take responsibility and withdraw with the citizens."
"Th-that... that is suicide!" Ludendorff strongly opposed the idea, reiterating how utterly ridiculous it was. "It seems Chairman Stahl's judgment has been clouded by his first taste of the battlefield. If you persist in this stubbornness, we will take you with us by force."
Trotsky also sneered, mocking Stahl. "As expected of a genius politician. Even in a crisis like this, you want to play the saint to leave a lasting impression. But to my eyes, having survived all kinds of hardships in Russia, your intentions are transparent."
No matter how much Ludendorff and Trotsky protested, Stahl had no intention of backing down. If his stubbornness were born out of mere humanitarianism, he would have quickly realized his folly and deferred to Ludendorff's judgment.
But consider this: Stahl had always operated on high-risk, high-reward schemes, gambling on the premise of winning big to pay off his debts. This was just another one of his gambles. Even if the technology of the First World War had emerged a few years early, the conflict would ultimately devolve into a war of attrition—a total war. It would be a contest of who could endure the longest on three meals a day of turnips and sawdust-mixed bread.
If the horrific reality of war was laid bare just a month after its commencement, who would ever want to fight? In times like these, a hero was desperately needed. Just as Ludendorff and Hindenburg had been in the original history.
And there's no reason that hero shouldn't be me.
Stahl recalled the cheers and thunderous applause he had received while touring Alsace-Lorraine. If he won big here? He would be showered with the same overwhelming adulation in Berlin, Königsberg, Bavaria, and Frankfurt as he had been in Vienna.
The French claimed to be a liberating army, yet they slaughtered their own citizens. Meanwhile, Germany rescued those very citizens and evacuated them from the butchering French. What a perfect picture.
Besides, France had aligned itself with the utterly degenerate National Revolutionary faction. If he kept framing the narrative this way, he could torment France indefinitely.
Stahl laid out these reasons, persuading Ludendorff that the risk was well worth taking.
"...What do you think? The Crusaders represent justice, and the National Revolutionaries represent evil. We must prove that the French are no different from the Russian Black Army and the Serbians."
"I understand your point. But it is far too dangerous!" Ludendorff still resisted.
Stahl let out a sigh. Then, narrowing his eyes, he studied Ludendorff, just as he had when he first met Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.
"Commander Ludendorff. You are a genius. You know this yourself, do you not?"
"Because I am a genius, I avoid gambles like this. Are we done?"
"No. That wasn't what I wanted to ask. I was wondering if you, fully aware of your own talent, have ever desired to become like Napoleon."
"...Napoleon? That is preposterous."
"No, it is the absolute truth. I know this well, having risen to prominence myself from the status of a common Jewish civilian. With your talent, you know perfectly well that you could have easily secured the rank of Field Marshal even if you had simply remained in the regular military. If that weren't your goal, why on earth did you take up this bizarre position in the Armed Cooperative Alliance?"
"..."
In Ludendorff's eyes, Stahl saw something akin to Hitler's madness, though it was slightly closer to raw ambition and a lust for power. It was an insight gained from living nearly fifty years across two lifetimes. If a highly capable, outsider military officer like Ludendorff was obsessed with rising to the top, the conclusion was obvious.
Ludendorff was undoubtedly dreaming of becoming Napoleon. This was evident even from his actions in the original history, where he had relentlessly attempted to enter politics.
"You can be honest with me. Look at the people gathered in this room. Myself, Bernstein, Trotsky... None of us are the type to go around gossiping."
Ludendorff offered his assent through silence.
"The problem with most soldier-emperors is that while their military genius is peerless, their political acumen is abysmal. Look at the fates of Timur and Alexander. It will not be easy. If you do not wish to rot miserably on Saint Helena like Napoleon, you must always hold the moral high ground. You must become a hero, not just an unmatched commander."
A heavy silence descended upon the command headquarters.
Napoleon, Napoleon! The more he dwelled on that name, the faster Ludendorff's heart hammered against his ribs.
Who would become the Napoleon of this chaotic era? Erich Ludendorff had always dreamed of becoming Napoleon, never doubting it for a single moment. Yet, hearing Stahl's words, he doubted himself for the first time in his life, realizing the path would be far from easy. Perhaps his capacity was not that of Napoleon, but merely of his subordinates, Joachim Murat or Louis-Alexandre Berthier. Or perhaps he would end up as Arthur Wellesley?
But Ludendorff shook his head violently.
No, I am Napoleon!
Having reached that conclusion, Ludendorff voiced his agreement.
"Very well. If we are to proceed with Chairman Stahl's operation, we must move immediately."
Trotsky, who had always been critical of Stahl, felt the same. Even though Trotsky frequently denounced Napoleon as a betrayer of the revolution and the ultimate reactionary, he was well aware of his own military and ideological genius. How could a revolutionary with a genius for military affairs not dream of becoming Napoleon?
In fact, Trotsky was even more confident than Ludendorff.
I hate to make such a comparison... but if I am Napoleon, then Stahl is probably my Arthur Wellesley.
Having finished his calculations, Trotsky also voiced his agreement.
The legendary stand at Changban Bridge in Alsace-Lorraine was about to begin.