An Unexpected Windfall
Ever since he had been thoroughly humiliated by Marx Stahl, Auguste Dubail had not slept a single wink. Not a single wink!
"If only... if only I had ignored Rommel and pursued Stahl back then! If only I hadn't fallen for Stahl's idiotic deception and marched straight on Kehl!"
Agonizing over it day and night, Auguste Dubail finally reached a conclusion. For a man who was supposed to be a general of the French Army...
A man who had served France for so long, from Napoleon III to the Republic! A great army that never stopped attacking until the government brought the war to an end—that was the French Army!
Yet, Auguste Dubail had forgotten that spirit of Élan Vital, committing the foolish mistake of halting his offensive. That was why he had been deceived.
If he had simply attacked without overthinking—crushing both Stahl and Rommel—he wouldn't have had to endure even a single second of this pathetic existence, writing memoirs like some washed-up has-been.
"Élan Vital! Long live Élan Vital! There is only the charge! Only the charge!"
"General Auguste Dubail, please, calm yourself."
"Tsk, tsk. How did a man end up like that?"
Ferdinand Foch and Philippe Pétain clicked their tongues as they watched Auguste Dubail.
On the brutal Western Front, the only generals who had achieved anything resembling actual results were Pétain and Foch.
In any case, the French Army's primary strategy relied on using Combat Bulldozers to break through trenches. Consequently, having distinguished themselves on the Western Front meant they were highly proficient in deploying these armored vehicles.
To implement Auguste Dubail's mind-boggling offensive doctrine, competent armored officers were essential. This meant these two generals were the perfect fit for the operation.
Pétain questioned Dubail.
"It is true that there is no better place than the Ardennes to catch the Germans off guard. But General Dubail, will this truly work?"
"...Indeed. It would be nearly impossible for men and horses to traverse the Ardennes Forest. Our supply lines would be severed, and our vanguard would find itself cut off and isolated."
"And yet?"
"But we have Combat Bulldozers, trucks, and armored cars, do we not?!"
Pétain's concerns were valid, but Dubail's solution was remarkably close to the correct answer. A breakthrough via the Ardennes was a strategy utterly impossible without armor and modern tactics.
Yet, perhaps because Stahl had accelerated technological progress, tanks existed in this timeline. There were plenty of trucks, and armored cars as well.
Furthermore, the French Army's Combat Bulldozers were fundamentally different from the German Combat Tractors, living up to their distinct name.
To use an analogy, Germany's Combat Tractors were infantry tanks. Germany's strength lay in its powerful, elite infantry. Thus, the Combat Tractors were designed to help the infantry maneuver quickly and breach enemy lines.
If the Combat Tractor was the tank, the infantry was the damage dealer.
But France was different. Unlike the elite German forces, the majority of French infantrymen were raw conscripts dragged to the front by force, their level of training lagging far behind Germany's.
On top of that, hadn't their own Combat Tractors—crude imitations of the German design—already suffered a devastating defeat in trench warfare?
Therefore, the Combat Bulldozer had to be the damage dealer itself, acting like a medieval knight. France's tanks had been modified to align with their fanatical offensive spirit.
By sacrificing armor thickness, they maximized mobility. Their lighter weight meant fewer mechanical breakdowns, easing the burden on logistics. With a compact and agile chassis, they could traverse rough terrain with ease.
With this, they could overcome the technical hurdles and pierce through the Ardennes Forest!
"General Dubail... surely this isn't enough? Once we break through, does the army march straight for Frankfurt?"
"Of course not! The Western Front is as good as finished, all because they underestimated the Ardennes! Look at the operations map."
Still, the Ardennes was the Ardennes. It was a wild, rugged land where supply lines could barely be maintained; it was by no means a conventional battlefield.
"My word. For something like this to succeed..."
"Indeed. We must run like hell, driven by the spirit of Élan Vital! What do you think?"
"We have no choice but to run. Piercing the enemy's weak point with armor while they are off guard, then encircling their rear with overwhelming mobility and shock value... It is quintessentially French!"
"Hahahahaha!"
"Hahahahaha!"
Of course, executing such a blitzkrieg with 1910s technology still posed immense difficulties. But the German army faced its own share of difficulties as well. And that difficulty's name was Wilhelm II!
At least the French had their forces heavily deployed along their defensive lines. Currently, the vast majority of Germany's military strength was tied down on the Eastern Front. Those troops were only now making a painfully slow return to the West.
And it wasn't just their offensive that was slow; their defense was sluggish too!
The genius of Auguste Dubail, who had spent months sharpening his blade after being deceived twice by Marx Stahl, flashed brilliantly.
"W-what on earth is this..."
I had rushed north to join the Siege of Warsaw, leading the Revolutionary Guard, a corps of the Austrian Imperial Army, and a corps of the Imperial German Army. But...
The German forces were retreating in absolute panic!
I quickly grabbed a German general from the Eastern Front and demanded answers.
"I know France crossed into Belgium... but why are you retreating in such a frantic hurry?!"
"A catastrophe has struck the homeland."
"What kind of catastrophe?"
"The French broke through Belgium and encircled us from the rear. They crossed the Rhine River, advanced their infantry, and completely surrounded and annihilated our forces on the Western Front."
"...What?"
"The French army is now marching straight for Frankfurt."
I stared at the German general, utterly dumbfounded.
Had it even been a month since I heard the news of France invading Belgium? I had run myself ragged heading toward the Eastern Front ever since.
To be honest, I had taken it for granted that France would be bogged down in Belgium. I hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to the Western Front. I thought France was just committing suicide!
No matter how formidable the French Army was, they had broken through that deadly urban warfare again? And in just four weeks?
In my original world, it took six weeks for France to fall from Belgium to Paris. Of course, it would take much longer than six weeks for France to capture Berlin as they desired. The distance from Belgium to Paris was short, but Belgium to Berlin was vast.
However, the moment Frankfurt—the heart of Germany's transport network—fell, Germany was essentially finished. Just like Moscow in Russia, all of Germany's railway networks ran directly through Frankfurt.
"Did you say the Commander-in-Chief of the French Army is... Auguste Dubail?"
"That is correct."
"What kind of black magic did he perform to completely ruin the Western Front like this?! Unless... unless he led his entire armored force through the Ardennes Forest..."
"It seems you have already received word, Chairman Stahl. You are entirely correct."
"...Huh?"
I felt so dizzy I thought I might faint. This was insane!
Come to think of it, wasn't this almost identical to World War II, just with the roles reversed? Germany had drawn a defensive line and focused entirely on it, only to be caught off guard through the Ardennes Forest and swept away by the high-speed maneuvers of armored forces.
The only difference was that, at this point in time, the armored forces were pathetic in both quantity and quality. However, since Germany had essentially left the front wide open, relying solely on the overwhelming defensive power of their trenches, France's lack of advanced technology was easily compensated for.
Furthermore, in World War II, no matter how well the Germans fought, they couldn't easily breach the French absolute defensive line, the Maginot Line. But the current French Army could breach the German defenses one way or another. In fact, crossing the Rhine and shattering the Western Front was the key.
It looks similar to the Sickle Cut plan, but it's different. It looks more like a plan born out of a desperate, obsessive desire to bypass the trenches...
It was quintessentially French.
"Then what about Warsaw? Are you just going to abandon it and leave the Russian Black Army be?!"
"Our homeland is on the brink of collapse! Who cares about the Eastern Front right now? We will return soon."
"Soon? When is 'soon'?"
"...Once we have driven out the French."
"Aaaargh!"
Haha, of course. I knew things were going too smoothly when we crushed Serbia and captured Apis. Ever since I first synthesized penicillin, absolutely nothing in my life had ever come easy.
We hastily convened a war council. We had to decide our next move.
"We currently stand at a crossroads: do we stay here and hold down the Russian Black Army, or do we divert a portion of our forces to aid Germany?"
Hitler was the first to speak up.
"Chairman, we still have Ludendorff on the Western Front, do we not? If it's him, he will find a way to hold them off!"
I shook my head. Though Ludendorff had shown a somewhat pure side on the battlefield... those eyes of his, crazed with ambition, and his political track record in my original history suggested otherwise. He was probably plotting some horrific scheme beyond my wildest imagination.
"I believe it is foolish to expect good news from Ludendorff. Of course, if the nation is truly on the verge of ruin, either Britain or Ludendorff will step up."
At that moment, Commander Stalin chimed in.
"Just looking at his photograph tells you everything. His eyes look exactly like Trotsky's."
"Like yours, Stalin?"
"Hitler, you bastard! ...Anyway. Trotsky and Rosa Luxemburg are in Poland, are they not? We should keep the Black Army in check alongside them."
I shook my head once more. Because that psychopath Ungern-Sternberg had carried out an unspeakably horrific massacre in Warsaw, the Polish resistance organizations would be completely neutralized. They might be of some help, but... it was a bleak prospect. Unless the situation changed, it was highly risky to attempt anything with the Revolutionary Guard, let alone a ragtag resistance that fell far short of the German Military Cooperative Federation.
"For now... let us monitor the situation before making a decision."
It was too ambiguous to make a decision right away. With no clear grasp of what was happening, acting recklessly would be foolish. It didn't seem like any good news would come from the Eastern Front anytime soon...
"They say Britain has lost yet another battleship in the Baltic Sea!"
"...Brilliant. Just brilliant."
Was that the seventh battleship Churchill had thrown away at Tallinn now? He seemed to be catching up to his record at Gallipoli...
And then, a stroke of fate arrived. Suddenly, the Russian Black Army began to retreat in massive numbers!
No matter how far the Royal Navy of the British Empire stretched across the globe as a blue-water navy, there were certain seas where Great Britain simply held no sway.
To run warships, one needed coal or oil. In other words, a fleet could not move without proper supply bases. And the Baltic Sea was one of the few bodies of water where Britain had no supply strongholds.
"It does not matter! We can simply resupply in Denmark and Germany on our way! It is hardly impassable!"
Was it not an inland European sea, after all? Thus, Churchill pushed his grand fleet forward.
Even Churchill knew that the Tallinn landing operation would be no easy feat. Consequently, he had sent a massive escort fleet along with it. Furthermore, once the troops landed, they would need a fleet to keep them supplied. Ultimately, because command of the Baltic Sea was essential, he had invested a colossal portion of his fleet.
And, as everyone had anticipated, the Baltic Sea was a living hell!
"Mine! We've taken a direct hit from a mine!"
"Do something about those submarines!"
"Aaargh! The coastal artillery...!"
"The battleship is sinking! No! The pride of the British Empire!"
On this highway to hell opened from the sea, the Royal Navy blundered spectacularly, leaving three battleships heavily damaged and another three sent straight to the bottom!
Sunk battleships could theoretically be salvaged and reused. If this were the Mediterranean, it would have been fine. But this was the Baltic Sea—the very backyard of Russia!
Even if the majority of them were obsolete models, the moment they lost so many of those expensive battleships, the operation was as good as a failure.
At this point, admitting defeat and withdrawing was the logical choice. But what would happen if they failed the landing after already throwing away six battleships? It was no longer a matter of rationality; it was a matter of pride.
"Sunk costs do not matter! If we were going to stop, we should have stopped after the third battleship! We cannot turn back now!"
In the process of mindlessly forcing the landing operation, they lost three more battleships. A grand total of nine battleships!
They had taken extreme, reckless gambles just to make the landing succeed. If it had been five ships, they might have gotten away with mere embarrassment, but nine was catastrophic. They had foolishly thrown away a sixth of the Royal Navy's entire strength!
"Admiral! We must withdraw!"
"Now? ...No. Just drop the landing force at Tallinn."
"What? How will we supply them with ammunition and food?"
"Before their supplies run dry, they can live off the land and march straight for a vacant St. Petersburg! We have already crossed the Rubicon. The die is cast! Forward, Marines of the British Empire!"
"Yes, sir!"
Terrified of being torn to shreds by Churchill, the fleet gritted their teeth and dumped 400,000 marines onto Tallinn.
Though 200,000 of them met their end at the hands of coastal machine-gun nests, they had, at any rate, made landfall!
August 4, 1914. From this moment on, their backs were against the wall.
Starve to death, or capture St. Petersburg and end the war? A deadly, binary choice had begun.