Ludendorff's Offensive Crumbles
Ludendorff's grand offensive ultimately failed. The main objective of securing the Amiens railway station fell through, and with insufficient troops, we were thoroughly outmaneuvered by Pétain's signature mobile defense. Germany reached the end of its offensive capabilities. This operation, which claimed countless lives on both sides, was a desperate last stand for us Germans—a soul-crushing brawl—while for the Entente, simply holding the line was a win. It had been a reckless gamble with slim chances of success from the start.
"Gentlemen, our Imperial Army is shifting back to the defensive."
And so, despite having no breathing room for defense, we dug new trenches and went over to the defensive. We'd expended nearly all our shells during the offensive, leaving stockpiles critically low, while Britain and France now employed tanks aggressively in their counterattacks. The Turnip Winter dragged on, and with the front line protruding even further than before, our supply situation deteriorated markedly. I, too, had to return to headquarters staff duty.
"Well done, Falkenrain... and you were right. I should have trusted your judgment more."
"Not at all, sir. We all simply did our utmost."
"We'll launch another offensive when we have the strength. Until then."
That was my farewell to 'Bruchmüller' as I headed back to Sixth Army headquarters. With no trains or trucks available, I had to travel to the rear by horse-drawn carriage. The mood at headquarters upon my return was grim. The failure of Ludendorff's offensive was as devastating as France's own Nivelle Offensive had been.
"Ah, there you are, Falkenrain."
"It's been a while, Colonel."
"Good to see you, but no time for chit-chat. Take those files over there, would you?"
"Understood."
The staff headquarters felt far emptier than before. Most of the clerical troops had been reassigned to combat roles and shoved to the front lines. As a result, there was no one left to carry files, leaving even a major like me to haul paperwork—a bizarre state of affairs. The staff officers had no leisure; they scurried about frantically, yet nothing was actually getting done. They were just churning out and discarding meaningless operation plans, rejecting endless resupply requests from frontline units, or burning pointless petitions.
And on the central map at headquarters, new pieces had appeared for the enemy side.
"This is..."
"Americans. Not many divisions yet, but they're multiplying too fast."
A passing staff officer explained as I stared at the new Entente markers. Yes, the Americans. U.S. forces were beginning to pour in. Whether they'd reach one million or two, the numbers wouldn't be trivial. Now it was Germany's turn to take a real beating.
July 1918. At Sixth Army headquarters, staff buzzed frantically preparing the next offensive plan. Astonishingly, even after Ludendorff's failure, the German war machine was gearing up for one last desperate thrash in pursuit of victory. Germany hadn't abandoned hope of triumph. Clinging to returning Eastern Front troops and the ragged support of our allies, we planned to burn bright to the end. But the firewood was scarce. The fuel to keep the war machine grinding was running dry. Even the troops we'd squeezed out could barely hold the line.
"The counterattack east of Reims has also failed. Our main thrust will therefore bypass here, advancing toward the Marne. Sixth Army won't lead the charge. Instead, we'll plug the gaps in the broad front left by the main force and focus on defense. Questions?"
The infamous clusterfuck that would seal the German Army's fate: the Fourth Battle of the Marne.
And so, in mid-July, the German Army launched its massive offensive toward the Marne region as planned. Up to this point, things were fine. No more risk of injury or death. History hadn't diverged much yet, and I figured I could just coast as a rear staff officer until the war's end.
Victory's impossible anyway. Better preserve my body at least.
In the previous loop, I'd been safely in the rear as staff, avoiding harm, but this time was different. Different unit, different circumstances. No room for complacency. I didn't want to hit the fourth loop pointlessly after coming this far.
"Oh, and one last thing, Falkenrain. See me a moment."
War never goes as planned. Another quest had appeared.
About three months after returning to staff duty, I received transfer orders again. To the Arras front. Not wading into the mud like years ago, but reassigned as divisional staff to the 5th Bavarian Division, positioned nearby. The problem? That division sat squarely between Arras and Amiens, in a salient jutting toward the Somme River basin. In other words, the most dangerous spot.
Did I do something wrong...?
I pondered. Too many screw-ups to count, so I stopped. I'd flooded superiors with reports and suggestions under the guise of "advice," which might have bruised some high-and-mighty egos. Or maybe they saw me as useful and dumped me in the hottest zone... Fortunately, the divisional HQ was well behind the front.
"Enemy aircraft! Enemy bombers!"
"Damn it! Falkenrain! Don't just stand there—run!"
"Son of a—!"
Oh, right. To airplanes, this "rear" was practically the front lines.
Thus, from mid-July to early August—until the Marne battle ended—I endured hell, relocating HQ no fewer than three times. But the real suffering was just beginning.
August 8. The enemy launched a massive offensive.
"Urgent! Artillery support requested!"
"Urgent! 3rd Battalion, 11th Battalion, 1st Artillery Company requesting retreat!"
"Somme basin breached! Enemy emerging from Amiens and Arras!"
The Marne offensive had failed, and now it was their turn. Bolstered by sturdy American support, Britain and France left the Yanks as rear firefighters while launching their main thrusts, advancing on the front. On August 8, some forward units raised hell; by August 15, the entire 5th Bavarian Division was in chaos. August 21 saw full-scale assaults on the Somme basin, forcing Sixth Army into repeated retreats. Shells were scarce, and troops lacked not just food but spare ammo. The Turnip Winter tormented soldiers and officers alike.
"Major! Ditch those files and get out!"
"You first, sir!"
"Didn't you hear me?!"
Whoooosh—Boom!
And unfortunately... amid the pandemonium, as I grabbed files, a stray shell collapsed the building, burying me in rubble. Debris crashed down on me... and the last sight before closing my eyes was my superior, struck dead by shrapnel first. At least the files I'd tried to save shredded and fluttered away.
Saved the shredding effort...
That was my final thought before blacking out. Thus, I failed my ultimate goal: "Survive to the armistice intact."
The Entente counteroffensive beginning in August 1918 struck Germany fatally. The Hundred Days Offensive. It shattered the German defensive Hindenburg Line, unleashing an unstoppable domino of destruction. On October 29, sailors mutinied at Kiel harbor.
"No more fighting for Germany! The Fatherland no longer guarantees our survival! They just want us to die firing one more torpedo at the enemy! I'm going home to my family!"
They'd been ordered on suicidal missions no different from kamikaze runs, and they rebelled. Domestic opinion soured too.
"We were lied to! They said we were winning!"
Citizens raged upon learning the truth. By now, few families hadn't lost someone; streets echoed with grief for lost sons, husbands, fathers. The rear, far from the front, chugged on regardless. Until then.
"Cough... cough..."
"Quarantine him! Isolate that guy!"
Spanish Flu. If war was man's calamity, the flu was nature's. Mounting disasters crushed Germany's ability to sustain the fight. Consequently, on November 3, Austria-Hungary sought separate peace with the Entente via armistice. Surrender.
November 9. Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany abdicated. He spent the immediate aftermath under house arrest.
Finally, November 11. A forest in Compiègne, France. In a train car crossing those woods, German and French delegations met.
"...These terms are too harsh. As fellow Christian nations, can't you show mercy?"
"Ha, fellow Christians? Do you even have a conscience? What about the massacres in Belgium and northern France, the gas attacks, prisoner abuse, countless war crimes—did Jesus order those?"
"The German Empire cannot accept such harsh conditions. Please, mercy..."
"Why didn't you show mercy to our innocent subjects sooner? Or just keep fighting."
"..."
And so, on November 11, the German Empire signed the Compiègne Armistice. The rising power that had boldly challenged British hegemony—the mighty imperial war machine—had fallen.