Chapter 73
The Sword of the United States (3)
Meuse–Argonne.
The one place where Germany was still, at least somewhat, holding its ground.
In particular, the high command had placed great expectations on this front—believing that every additional American killed here would tilt negotiations in their favor.
Thus, even if they were being pushed back elsewhere, they were being urged more fiercely than ever to fight here with everything they had.
“The enemy is advancing further.”
“What about reinforcements? Any news of additional troops?”
“There is a new order.”
“Oh? What is it!”
The commander, lofty as the sky, asked with a brightened expression—but the staff officer trembled, worrying only about how furious he would soon become.
Why did I have to deliver this report and bear his rage?
“Austria-Hungary is attempting to leave the Empire’s side and negotiate peace with the Allies. We’ve been ordered to isolate all Austro-Hungarian forces from the current front.”
“What kind of bullshit is that! If we pull all those troops out, then what? Even if those bastards are useless idiots who can’t fight properly, shouldn’t we at least be given forces to fill their positions? What kind of nonsense is this?!”
And they expect us to win like this?
Force the enemy into attrition? Buy time?
Yes, I know. Sedan must be held.
The moment Sedan falls, all railway connections to the occupied territories in France and Belgium will be cut off.
Then at least give us the means to push them back and win!
“Urgent report, urgent report!!”
“What now.”
It felt like he might develop neurosis at this rate, but he couldn’t simply refuse to hear reports.
As expected, the new report was just as dreadful.
“The U.S. forces have broken through our defensive line. Our retreating troops are suffering heavy casualties under strong pursuit. They are pouring in overwhelming firepower and widening the breach.”
“The map, the map!!”
At the commander’s roar, the staff hurriedly began marking the enemy’s movements on the map according to the latest report.
“Ah…”
“This is… so…”
Hopeless.
The sharpened blade of the American army was plunging in like a knife through butter, cleanly and smoothly splitting apart the German defensive lines.
How long had it been since the Americans arrived at Meuse–Argonne?
They were learning every day—evolving constantly.
The fools who, on the first day of the offensive, had marched forward in tight, orderly ranks were gone.
Now they shook the battlefield with overwhelming artillery barrages.
If not that, they advanced with tanks at the front, charging in behind them.
The skies were always filled with cursed observation balloons and aircraft.
And that wasn’t all.
Things the German army could not even attempt—the Americans were putting them into practice through sheer industrial power.
When three railway guns fired like they were possessed, no German defensive line could survive.
The front lines reported destroying countless tanks, yet the next day came pitiful requests for support—reporting contact with even more tanks.
On the first day, the enemy had suffered bombardment from Germany’s superior air force. But now, it was their side being bombed.
And now—weren’t they even copying the essence of the Empire’s offensive doctrine, the Hutier tactics?
Ignoring enemies thrown into panic by massive bombardment, pushing forward relentlessly, severing communications.
It was certain. The Americans were now replicating their techniques.
The commander frowned as he looked at the cursed markers shifting positions on the map.
“The 93rd Division?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Those damned black bastards have advanced this far? Why? How?!”
“The enemy is imitating our tactics. They’ve deployed tanks and stormtroopers along these axes, which had been identified as weak points—”
“So now even those black bastards are using Imperial tactics? And that’s why we’ve been broken through? That makes no sense!”
His rage burst forth without pause, as if boiling over.
“Yujin Kim, Yujin Kim! What is he, Alexander? Genghis Khan??”
“The enemy is receiving abundant supplies—”
“What supplies in this damn mud?! Don’t make excuses! The Americans are insane for giving a star to a brat not even thirty—but if we lose to that brat, we’ll have to put a bullet in our own heads too! Stop them! Stop them now!”
The Americans were coming.
Striding forward—like grim reapers announcing the end of this war.
How were they supposed to stop an enemy that had already reached the doorstep of Sedan?
While excluding the Austro-Hungarian forces?
“We hold them here. Start by crushing the 93rd Division.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t Hutier tactics lead to a complete breakthrough before?”
“Because supplies failed to reach frontline soldiers, and since movement relied on marching, the enemy was able to reorganize and establish defenses more quickly.”
“Right. Then like this—”
Tap, tap. He tried to place reserve pieces in front of the 93rd Division.
But he hesitated.
There were no pieces left.
Every unit symbolizing the German army was already concentrated at critical points that could never be abandoned.
Just moments ago, the few remaining pieces had been committed to the sector formerly held by the Austro-Hungarian forces.
“L-like this.”
Where could they even pull more from?
Perhaps sensing the commander’s speechless state, several staff officers hurriedly stepped forward to adjust the situation.
“How about this? Defending Sedan is the top priority. So we should pull forces from here and here, and narrow the front.”
“But that would mean giving up all the high ground! That’s impossible.”
“We’ll lose it anyway. The enemy already dominates the surrounding terrain. We don’t know how long we can hold, so we must withdraw while our forces can still maneuver.”
“What are you talking about! You think we can still maneuver freely? Our retreating troops already tried that—and they’re being grabbed by the throat by the Americans!”
As the commander faltered, the staff officers began raising their voices at one another.
They all knew it—there was no answer anyway.
How long could they hold out by robbing Peter to pay Paul? They could only endure, vaguely and faintly hoping for the day of an armistice.
“We will… abandon the Meuse–Argonne sector to defend Sedan.”
“General!!”
“What else can we do when we have no troops?! If you can’t go out there and shoot Yujin Kim yourselves, then shrink the front immediately!”
“General. The only reason this front is holding at all is because we currently control the high ground.”
“……”
A hopeless situation with no solution.
The blade of the United States was slowly—but surely—tearing into their chests.
“Have a cigarette. Calm down a bit, and then we’ll continue this discussion.”
A few minutes of reprieve—that was the only answer he could offer.
***
The Empire was losing.
There was no longer a single German general who could look at the growing stack of daily reports and not think this.
“The Somme has been breached!”
“The Anglo-French forces are advancing toward Cambrai!”
“Requests for reinforcements from Meuse–Argonne! The enemy continues to advance despite heavy losses!”
“The Hindenburg Line is collapsing!”
“We can’t stop them!”
“The enemy has broken through the Hindenburg Line! The trench system is falling apart!”
“Our logistics—”
“Enough! ENOUGH!!”
A day of darkness.
The German army could no longer fight.
Reports hadn’t been like this before.
No matter how fierce the enemy attack, the reports had always said that the great German army had fought ‘heroically’ but was ultimately defeated by overwhelming numbers.
But now, Germany’s proud soldiers were raising their hands in surrender without even putting up proper resistance.
It was over.
Even within the General Staff, people were openly saying things like, “Ludendorff has gone mad,” or “A fool who struts in victory but can’t handle defeat.”
And were the other fronts any better?
The Balkan front had also collapsed. Bulgaria, which had been holding the line, finally fell—opening the road to Austria-Hungary for the Allies.
The Ottoman Turks? They were already little more than a corpse.
Ludendorff’s final task was to preserve at least the skeleton of the Empire—and that skeleton, of course, meant the German army itself.
After all, Prussia was a state possessed by its army. As long as the army remained intact, the Empire could rise again at any time.
Ludendorff prepared for what might be his final audience with the Kaiser.
“Your Majesty.”
“You’ve come.”
There was no longer any trace of trust in the Kaiser’s eyes.
A wretched incompetent who had ruined the Empire.
There was no need to ask—it was obvious.
He was finished.
But even if his sovereign abandoned him, a subordinate had to remain loyal to the end.
Even if he were to be stripped of all positions, he could not withhold his final counsel.
“I have a plan to preserve the Empire’s foundation.”
“Hoo… I’ll hear it, at least.”
“Hand power over to the Reds.”
“Have you finally gone mad, Ludendorff? Did the Reds slip money into your pocket?!”
“No. Please—please hear me out.”
Though Ludendorff was already weakened and slipping into madness, he gathered what remained of his clarity to offer one last sliver of hope.
Whether it was delusion—or truly a final chance at salvation—he could not know.
“Hand power to the Reds, and have them negotiate with the Allies.”
“……”
“The terms will surely be harsh. But since defeat is already certain, they will have no choice but to accept.”
“They”?
A curious choice of words.
The Kaiser, who had lived his entire life as a ruler, understood its meaning immediately.
“The people’s anger will naturally turn toward the government. They will think weak men without the will to fight were frightened by the Allies’ guns.”
“Then—”
“Once negotiations are concluded and the enemy withdraws home, harshly condemn the Reds for betraying the nation—colluding with the enemy and selling out the country despite there still being hope—and establish a new government.”
Everything would be the Reds’ fault.
This war, which could have been won, had ended in defeat only because the Reds stabbed the Empire in the back!
With bloodshot eyes, Ludendorff shouted:
“They deserted, refused conscription, agitated for peace, and carried out endless sabotage in the shadows for world revolution and the establishment of their communist government. This is the truth! We fought bravely, but the cancer within the Empire formed a fifth column and betrayed us!”
“…You should get some rest. I understand well enough—leave now.”
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!!”
“Withdraw.”
After Ludendorff was forcibly escorted out, the Kaiser pressed his throbbing head.
The war seemed lost.
Fools. They had started the war on their own—and ended up losing it.
Well, since defeat was inevitable, they would give up what needed to be given and keep what could be kept.
He paid no mind to the absurd ideas put forward by Woodrow Wilson.
In the end, all negotiations would fall to Britain and France. And they were reasonable gentlemen—as always, as long as the defeated paid an appropriate price, the Empire itself would remain intact.
Destroy the Empire? Then who would deal with the Reds? Who would stop those Asian Tatars? In the end, as always, it would be the great German people who would act as the crusaders defending European civilization.
Still… after everything they had built, surely the nation would not collapse.