The Age of Unreason, Part 3
"The French army is already upon us!"
"What? Already?"
Our column was a motley crew, ranging from eighty-year-old elders to five-year-old children. Quite a few had even loaded their entire household possessions, down to their kitchen ovens, onto carts to bring along. Naturally, our marching pace was agonizingly slower than that of regular soldiers. To make matters worse, a crowd of easily five hundred thousand people was trying to cross a narrow bridge in utter chaos, slowing our progress to a crawl. Even taking that into account, the speed of the French advance was beyond imagination! Perhaps Rommel had thoroughly incensed them, because they were hot on our heels, discarding their own heavy gear to move faster. I had always thought the German army was the fastest in the world, but these Frenchmen also had a history of traversing Europe at breakneck speed during the Napoleonic Wars.
"General Trotsky, is the crossing of the Rhine River complete?"
"Yes. Our next destination is Kehl, Germany."
"How far do you think the French will pursue us?"
"They will likely push at least fifty kilometers into German territory. After all, we are the only ones left to stop them."
Of course, there was no way a column of refugees could march such a long distance. Once we crossed into German territory, we could simply load everyone onto trains at Kehl and send them away. We just had to hold out until then.
"...It seems we will need another force to 'provide rear-guard support' once again."
"..."
Which meant, in plain terms, someone had to play the decoy yet again.
"Our defensive stronghold must be the Rhine River."
We had exhausted most of our weapons and ammunition while breaking through the encirclement. What little we had left had been handed over to Rommel. At this point, the number of soldiers we could properly arm was barely ten thousand. Since ammunition and rations were consumables, they wouldn't last more than a few days.
Ludendorff spoke with a face etched with deep worry.
"We simply need to hold the crossing. If we can endure for just a few days, the German army will arrive."
In the end, Ludendorff and about twenty thousand men decided to stay behind at the crossing. Twenty thousand against two hundred thousand! It was a mad plan—essentially one division attempting to block the entire French First Army.
"General Ludendorff..."
"I have no intention of throwing our lives away. We simply have to fight like hell to hold them off."
"Would it not be better if I stayed instead? After all, I was the one who proposed bringing the refugees along."
I made a point of offering, but Ludendorff shook his head.
"I am the general of miracles, the Napoleon of Germany. To achieve our strategic objective, a commander of my caliber must remain to buy as much time as possible."
"...I wish you the best of luck."
"Just get those refugees onto the trains quickly, and use your specialty—politics—to get the German army here as fast as possible, Representative Shtal. If that fails, at least make sure my name is written in gold in the history books."
"I will make sure of it."
In my original history, Ludendorff was remembered as a dirty politician who, despite his incompetence in statecraft, was obsessed with career advancement and made countless blunders. However, his military genius was something no one could deny, regardless of his later political career.
To become a king-like figure, what was a mere life? Deep down, he might actually be thrilled at the prospect of becoming a legendary war hero.
In any case, Trotsky and I left Ludendorff at the bridge and led the mass of refugees into Kehl.
"W-what on earth is this...!"
The mayor of Kehl was utterly flabbergasted as he stared at the seventy thousand defeated soldiers and four hundred thousand refugees. Losing the battle in Alsace-Lorraine was one thing, but what was this massive horde of displaced people?
"Please contact Berlin immediately. Tell them we need as many trains as they can possibly send."
"Y-yes! Right away!"
Seeing that we had made it all the way here, the mayor of Kehl must have grasped the gravity of the situation. Even putting the refugees aside, the arrival of the Armed Cooperative Alliance meant that Kehl was now the absolute front line.
After catching my breath for a moment, I turned to Trotsky.
"Are you truly comfortable leaving Ludendorff back there?"
"Representative Shtal, I too have observed Chief of Staff Ludendorff within the Armed Cooperative Alliance for a long time. To be frank, my only worry is whether he will return alive."
"Pardon?"
"I am simply concerned about what kind of tyrannical political stunts he will pull if he returns as an acclaimed war hero."
"..."
Fair point. How common was it for a peerless military commander to completely lose their mind the moment they dipped their toes into politics?
"At any rate, we do not need to fret over Ludendorff, Representative Shtal. It is our turn to figure out where and how to evacuate these refugees."
Trotsky, ever cold and calculating, cut to the chase. For the sake of the revolution, "minor sacrifices" were always acceptable. He had undoubtedly categorized the twenty-thousand-strong suicide squad left with Ludendorff as just another "minor sacrifice."
Both Trotsky and Stalin are absolute psychopaths of the highest order. Of course, the difference is that Trotsky is madly in love with his revolution, while Stalin is just a cold-blooded butcher.
But still. Now that we had dragged hundreds of thousands of refugees all this way, I couldn't just callously discard our soldiers. Looking at the state of militaristic Germany, those sacrificed soldiers would die a dog's death, nothing more and nothing less. This wasn't Russia, where you could just harvest another crop of Ivans from the fields; Germany's manpower was precious. Shouldn't we minimize casualties as much as possible and bring them back in one piece?
By now, I was gradually getting used to war. War, at its core, was simply administration—specifically, how to efficiently utilize a large pool of human resources. Indeed, it was no different from the political activities, street marches, and protests I had orchestrated back in Austria.
For instance, the first step in politics is securing a large base of supporters. In this process, do you gather a massive crowd of weak, fair-weather supporters who will scatter like grains of sand at the first sign of trouble? Or do you rely on a core group of hardcore fanatics to make the loudest noise? You choose whichever option is most efficient.
And if the actual turnout is smaller than expected, you pull out every bluff in the book to trick your opponent into thinking your numbers are vast. See? Isn't it remarkably similar to warfare?
If so, then I, too, could become a genius of bluffing, just like Rommel.
"I do not think it is time to send the refugees away just yet. I have an excellent plan—a way to save Ludendorff and halt the French advance simultaneously."
"Pardon? And what might that be?"
Although Kehl was small in size and population, it was a major logistics hub for the Rhine River. Countless military supplies passed through Kehl's warehouses and ports. I immediately ordered a thorough raid of every single warehouse in the city.
"Are you planning to seize weapons and ammunition to confront the French? That will be difficult. The military supplies from a single city are far from enough to arm an army."
"No, that is not it. All we need are uniforms."
"Uniforms?"
"German uniforms are black, correct? Actually, they do not even have to be official uniforms. Any clothing will do."
When outnumbered, bluffing is the ultimate solution! I devised a scheme to halt the French advance right at the banks of the Rhine and immediately put it into action.
"My fellow refugees, I know you are all utterly exhausted, but I must ask for your cooperation one last time."
"Cooperation...? You aren't asking us to fight the French army, are you?"
"Did I not promise you? You only need to stand there."
"...?"
I distributed clothing to them. They were black German uniforms.
"Just put these on and stand in formation."
As Germany rapidly modernized its military technology, it had discarded all flashy, conspicuous uniforms. The standard-issue German uniform was now a solid, pitch-black color, designed for effective camouflage.
For the French, the absolute worst-case scenario is the arrival of a fully mobilized German army.
The French First Army was already half-shattered. Meanwhile, the main German army's strength remained entirely intact. The moment the French saw the German regulars, they would have no choice but to retreat in a panic. In that case, what if we simply dressed people in German uniforms and handed them wooden sticks? Wouldn't the French assume the German army had arrived?
"Representative Shtal, it is a brilliant plan, but even if we scrape together every single uniform in the city, we will barely have ten thousand. This bluff will fall flat."
"It does not matter. Who says they must wear official German uniforms?"
"Pardon?"
"As long as they look similar from a distance, does it not suffice?"
Trotsky was right. No matter how busy a port city Kehl was, hundreds of thousands of uniforms weren't going to magically appear out of thin air. The saving grace was that the German uniforms were black. And since Kehl was a major hub for Rhine shipping, coal was in abundance.
"Don't tell me..."
"Yes, exactly. If we crush the coal into fine dust and rub it into these white clothes... Well? Do they look like German soldiers?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Only from up close. It will be dark, and they will be far away, so it will not matter."
I mobilized the refugees and soldiers to crush the coal and smear it all over their clothes. If we were going to bluff, we had to go all out. Kehl's warehouses were overflowing not just with coal, but also with timber and other industrial materials.
"S-should we carve it like this?"
"Yes! Carve it, then paint it black with the coal dust."
We roughly carved wooden helmets and rifles, then blackened them. We lacked the time to make them look realistic, but it didn't matter. As long as they held a rifle-sized stick, it would suffice!
For three days, I manufactured fake uniforms, fake rifles, and fake helmets, distributing them to the refugees, the Armed Cooperative Alliance, and even the local citizens. Then, alongside a fake German army of five hundred thousand, I marched to the banks of the Rhine.
A carnage as horrific as the urban warfare in Alsace-Lorraine was unfolding along the banks of the Rhine. From the French perspective, however, things weren't going poorly at all. This time, it was the French army that was mercilessly slaughtering the German Armed Cooperative Alliance.
"General Dubail! By tomorrow morning, the Cooperative Alliance army will be completely finished!"
"Excellent. Since the German mobilization won't be complete for another week, we aren't particularly pressed for time."
Ludendorff fought like a demon to hold the narrow bottleneck of the bridge, but he couldn't hold back the overwhelming numbers of the elite French army for long.
"We will capture Kehl, round up all the stragglers, and seize control of the German logistics flowing through the Rhine. That will certainly give those German bastards something to cry about."
Of course, their initial strategic goal of crushing Frankfurt and marching on Berlin had failed. However, securing control of the Rhine River would go a long way toward offsetting that defeat. Intelligence reports indicated that the German mobilization was still in disarray. They had a winning hand.
Or so they thought.
Then, at 11:00 PM on February 4th, a massive army began to move out from Kehl.
"G-General..."
"What is it now?!"
"The German army... they have appeared."
"What? That is impossible! According to our intelligence, the German mobilization is still far from complete!"
"B-but there are at least two entire army corps deployed out there..."
Auguste Dubail hastily raised his binoculars and peered across the river. While not a legendary commander, General Auguste Dubail was a competent officer who understood the vital importance of vigilance and reconnaissance. He was not a man to ignore the reality staring him in the face.
And indeed, just as reported, a vast sea of German soldiers clad in black uniforms was deployed across the river.
"...Unbelievable. They are already here?"
"What are your orders, General?"
"Abandon the bridge assault immediately. The Rhine River will be our defensive line!"
Now that the German regulars had arrived, the French army, which had been fighting non-stop without a single day of rest, stood absolutely no chance in an offensive.
"It matters not. Even the Germans are powerless against trenches! Dig in, set up the machine guns, and fortify our line. We will hold!"
With that, the French abandoned any further advance and began digging a massive network of trenches. Finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, Ludendorff hastily withdrew his forces from the bridge.
"I... I must sleep... I haven't slept a wink in three days."
Thus, Shtal successfully rescued Ludendorff! But the bluff was far from over. Trotsky offered his input.
"We must keep the French pinned down across the river until the real German army arrives."
"And how do we do that?"
The fake German army began constructing a multitude of temporary pontoon bridges to cross the river. Observing this, the French panicked, convinced that an imminent assault was underway. Of course, those bridges were completely fake. Far from supporting five hundred thousand men, they would collapse if even a few thousand tried to cross.
Terrified, the French worked sleeplessly to extend their trench lines along the entire riverbank.
After dragging things out for three days, the French finally began to notice something amiss. It was a day when sleet was fluttering through the air.
"Are... are those really the German elites? Why are they building so many bridges but refusing to attack?"
"Even the Germans know the terror of a fortified trench line."
"No, wait... more importantly... are those actually German uniforms?"
Sensing something was off, the French began to observe the German forces more closely. The troops visible right along the riverbank were indeed wearing genuine German uniforms. But what about the vast majority of the "German army" moving with strange, sluggish steps behind them?
...What on earth is that?
The fake uniforms were thoroughly drenched by the sleet. As the wet snow washed away the coal dust, they no longer looked anything like German uniforms, even from a distance.
"They... they just dyed their clothes black!"
Blinded by his fear of the German regulars, Auguste Dubail had spent all his time digging trenches, never once considering the possibility of a bluff. He had never imagined he would be tricked in such a manner twice. Auguste Dubail fell into a state of absolute panic.
"W-what have I done...! Aaaaaaargh! Do you Germans know how to do nothing but cheat?!"
First Rommel, and now Shtal. Having been thoroughly deceived twice, Auguste Dubail's sanity was completely shattered.