Chapter 400159Chapter NaN

December 27, 1940

Western Belgium, the front lines near Brussels, the capital of Belgium

The Christmas Truce was over. The Allied Forces were now preparing to launch an offensive.

While inspecting the units moving on the front lines, Walter Model was speaking with the somewhat intimidated commander of an infantry battalion under his command.

“General.

To order an offensive when our military force is smaller than theirs… isn't there some kind of mistake from our superiors?”

“Major. What is your position?”

“Sir?”

“N-No, sir…”

Walter Model furrowed his brow at the battalion commander, who shrank back, lacking confidence.

“Then are you a coward? A maggot who fears the front line? Or are you a moron who has forgotten even the spirit of a soldier?”

“N-No, that’s not…”

“No! You are a coward, a maggot, and a moron!”

The battalion commander froze in embarrassment at Model's roar, and Model berated him once more.

“You say you're not? If you're not, then get to your position and fulfill your duty! Act in a way that convinces me your worth is more than that! Now!”

“Y-Yes, sir, General!”

The terrified battalion commander scrambled away from his position and ordered his unit members, who had been watching the scene, to advance.

Walter Model watched them with cold eyes before turning his gaze away.

During the German Civil War, he had been the Chief of Staff for an Army Corps in the 10th Army under Walter von Reichenau.

Now, he was leading the 10th Army.

As the Commander of the 10th Army, he knew what this operation was.

They were to launch an offensive and then be defeated.

Naturally, it couldn't look like they were just attacking half-heartedly before retreating, so the front-line commanders didn't even know this was an offensive destined to fail.

Under Walter Model’s watch, unsuspecting German infantrymen, receiving cheers from the Belgian Army, were heading to the battlefield.

Among them, a first private, grinning foolishly at the Belgian Army's enthusiastic cheering, didn't even realize the strap of the MG34 Machine Gun on his back had come loose.

“W-Whoa!”

The small and skinny first private staggered and flailed, nearly causing a disaster by dropping and damaging his MG34, but when Walter Model, who had approached him, caught it, he was startled for a different reason.

“Ah, thank you…Gasp!G-General!”

Walter Model gave a smirk to the first private who had frozen stiff and properly re-shouldered the machine gun for him.

“Get a grip, First Private. Before playing the hero, you need to properly perform your duties as a soldier.”

“I-I’m sorry!”

Walter Model gave the first private a pat on the back and turned away.

“Ugh!”

“I-I’m sorry, General!”

Walter Model casually waved his hand at the shout of the platoon leader who came running up breathlessly from behind and continued on his way.

Behind him, the first private stared at him blankly, but it was not something Model would concern himself with.

As a man with an extraordinary memory, he had memorized the faces and names of all his division, battalion, and company commanders.

However, even Model had no desire to know the name of a first private, nor was there any need to.

Soldiers were those who could die at any time, in any way, without it being strange, and they were merely treated as numbers in combat statistics.

Model made an effort to be as kind as possible to them and resolve any issues, but knowing anything more would only torment him.

What their names were, what kind of people they were, what dreams they had, and what possibilities they held were nothing but unnecessary factors in a battle plan.

This operation, to launch an offensive against the enemy and then feign defeat to lure a counterattack, was based on the fundamental premise of friendly forces' sacrifice. Walter Model did not judge that fact emotionally.

Although Army Group C was on the receiving end, if they committed the armored unit in the early stages of the offensive and then pulled them out to regroup in time, they could still build military merit, and Army Headquarters had said they would distribute the military merit considering their role.

In the eyes of Walter Model, a general accustomed to the battlefield, this was a necessary operation for the current situation, and it was extremely rational.

However, he was a little curious about what Dietrich Schacht was thinking about the sacrifices this operation would cause when he approved it.

---

“Geez, why is a weakling like this in the infantry.”

“I-I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

The first private, dripping with sweat, was following behind Sergeant Kocher, carrying the MG34’s tripod.

“Hey, jerk, when the 10th Army Commander helped you up, I got goosebumps just watching.”

“I’m sorry…”

Sergeant Kocher clicked his tongue as he looked at the dejected first private.

“You, jerk, you should know you have it good now. When I was in Spain, a clumsy rookie like you would’ve been beaten like a dog throughout his military life.”

“Y-Yes, Sergeant.”

Though his words were rough, the first private was grateful to the veteran Sergeant Kocher, who had even experienced the Spanish Civil War.

He was a kind non-commissioned officer who followed and looked after the first private, who wasn't very welcomed by his comrades due to his lack of stamina from his skinny and small physique.

Even now, when he was struggling to carry the MG34, the sergeant was carrying it for him, at least during the march.

He could have ordered other soldiers to carry it for him, but he probably did this because he knew well that it would only lead to the first private being further ostracized.

Right now, the private who was his assistant gunner was following a little behind with the ammo belt slung over his shoulder, a look of subtle contempt on his face.

“Sergeant, may I ask one question?”

“What is it.”

“It’s a rumor, but is it true that you served under the Vice-Chancellor in Spain?”

“I did.”

Sergeant Kocher wasn't one to brag about that fact and just quietly carried out his duties, but the first private’s face lit up when he heard his words.

“I-I volunteered after hearing his speech! To protect our freedom and our homes!”

Sergeant Kocher looked at the still-youthful face of the first private, who was only eighteen, and clicked his tongue.

“A little whelp who doesn't even know the battlefield.”

“I-I’ve been in battle too, Sergeant!”

The soldier, who had experienced some combat and been promoted to first private, grumbled as if he felt wronged, but Sergeant Kocher just let out a cynical laugh.

The 'battle' the first private spoke of was when the Belgian or Dutch armies were in a crisis, a 'fire brigade' of tanks and motorized infantry would sweep through, and then he would be committed afterward to buy time for the original front-line army to reorganize.

It was embarrassing to even call it a proper battle.

“What was the Vice-Chancellor like in Spain? Was he an excellent soldier as well?”

At the first private’s question, Sergeant Kocher paused for a moment before opening his mouth.

“Captain Schacht? He was a good man.

Cared for his subordinates, didn't give unreasonable orders.”

“Ooh…!”

To the deeply impressed first private, Kocher added as if tossing it out.

“But Spain was the worst. Dying, killing, even if you won a battle, a sense of satisfaction? There was none of that.”

“I-Is that so? I don’t really know…”

The rookie first private couldn't picture a battlefield of massacre where the screams and gunshots of people never ceased even in a captured city, and Sergeant Kocher, looking at him, said as if tossing it out.

“It might be better not to know.”

---

December 28, 1940

Allied-French Front

The first private swallowed his dry saliva in tension as he watched the scene of countless fighter aircraft passing overhead, dancing in the sky in a dogfight, crushing the enemy's resistance, and bombers flying into the enemy lines to drop their bombs.

And after that, he could see a storm of artillery fire raining down on the enemy positions, accompanied by the earth-shaking roar of cannons from behind.

The first private felt his throat burn with tension and twisted the cap of his canteen. His hands were trembling uncontrollably.

Lifting the canteen with a trembling hand, he quenched his parched throat with cool water, and after closing the cap again, the first private re-shouldered his MG34.

The machine gun was still just as heavy, and it felt even more so as a dull tension took hold.

The first private inwardly clicked his tongue.

It wasn't like he wanted to be born with such a small and skinny physique.

He, too, wanted to be a manly and cool soldier.

But right now, none of that mattered.

The private who usually looked down on him was trembling all over, the ammo belt slung across his shoulder.

He thought about reassuring him like a senior, but the first private decided against it.

He wasn't confident that his own voice wouldn't tremble if he opened his mouth right now.

Instead, the first private tried to ease his tension by recalling the speech given by Vice-Chancellor Dietrich Schacht.

But the speech that had been so cool and moving when he decided to enlist, he couldn't even remember its contents well now.

Finally, the cannon fire stopped.

A silence filled with the tension of the calm before the storm flowed, and a moment later, the tanks of the vanguard passed by the first private’s unit with the sound of rolling tracks.

“Tanks!”

“Blow those damn things to hell!”

The first private watched with eyes of longing as the tanks charged toward the enemy lines.

In the eyes of an infantryman, tanks were the very flowers of the battlefield.

They charged forward, blocking most attacks with their armor, and pulverized the enemy's defense line with heavy cannon fire.

Were they not the coolest things of all! He, too, wanted to become a tanker one day and crisscross the battlefield.

As the tanks appeared on the battlefield that had gone quiet after the artillery ceased, the dissonance of the battlefield began to play again with the roars of cannons and guns.

All the unit members’ eyes turned to the platoon leader. The moment of watching his tightly closed mouth felt like an eternity, and the platoon leader's shout struck their ears.

“Advance!”

“Charge! For Germany!”

“Waaaah!”

The German soldiers leaning against the trench line jumped up with a roar. The first private also got up, following them.

Everything is for Germany's freedom and to protect our homes!

The first sight the first private, who repeated this to himself, saw was the 1st squad, which had run out ahead, being riddled by a machine gun and collapsing in a line right before his eyes.

“Gasp…!”

“What are you doing up there, you idiot! Don't block the way!”

The first private, unable to come to his senses from the shock, was pushed by another soldier trying to come out from behind and fell to the ground.

'I'm not a coward!'

The first private gritted his teeth and stood up.

“Yiiik!”

The first private, who had gotten to his feet, saw the soldier who had pushed him and run out get flung into the sky with an explosion, then fall, flailing as blood spurted from his severed leg.

“Aaargh! Uwaaah, Mom! Mooooom!”

The first private stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.

At that moment, the roar of something flying in echoed.

Struck hard by a pile of dirt from an explosion that went off next to him, the first private fell sideways and sprawled out.

“Keoheok…”

He realized for the first time that being hit by a pile of dirt, not shrapnel or anything, could hurt this much.

His vision turned white, and he couldn't think of anything.

He couldn't hear any sound.

The other soldiers running, falling, and being shattered to pieces in front of him moved in slow motion like a movie playing on a broken TV.

His mind hazy, the first private closed his eyes.

Someone shook his body violently.

After being shaken endlessly for a long time, the first private finally opened his eyes and looked up at the person shaking him.

It was his assistant gunner, the private with the machine gun ammo belt slung over his body.

“Uh, uhh…”

“Get a grip, First Private!”

The first private, helped by his assistant gunner, staggered to his feet, and only then did his ears start working.

Shouts, screams, and gunshots were erupting from everywhere.

A dissonance, not like a well-organized orchestra, but like a jumble of mismatched instruments being played arbitrarily.

Everywhere he looked, blood, corpses, and pieces of what used to be human were scattered about.

He could see that several of the tanks that had looked so reassuring were already engulfed in flames or had become lumps of scrap metal.

Only then did the first private truly feel the reality of war.

He, who had been enjoying playing the hero by saving the Allied forces tasked with being sacrificed on the front line, hadn't even experienced a proper battle.

This was a real battle.

The sight of the German soldiers being riddled by machine guns and falling as they charged was no different from the French soldiers who had fallen before the machine gun he had been firing.

Far from leaving any cool last words, their deaths, collapsing to the ground without even a proper scream, twitching a little, and then going limp, were almost meaningless.

The life of a soldier on the front line was no more than that of a fly, and the realization that he was no exception made him afraid to take another step forward.

Just then, Sergeant Kocher dived behind the fallen tree where he and his assistant gunner were taking cover.

“What are you doing here! We urgently need fire support!”

“I-I’m sorry, Sergeant! I was hit by artillery shrapnel and fell behind for a moment!”

“Then follow me, now!”

The first private knew he had to answer 'yes,' but he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth.

Now he understood for sure. He wasn't the protagonist of some cool hero's tale.

Someone like him was just an ordinary human being who could become a piece of meat like those scattered on the ground at any moment.

A first private who would just be recorded as 1 killed in action.

I must have been crazy to be swayed by all that talk about Germany’s freedom and protecting people.

If I charge out here now, I’ll definitely d—

The first private's thoughts were cut off by a slap to the cheek from Sergeant Kocher.

“Snap out of it! While you're just sitting here, our unit members are dying because they have no fire support!”

“I'm sorry!”

The first private finally came to his senses and re-shouldered the MG34 that had become half-undone from falling over and over.

He couldn't tell if the burning on his cheek was from being hit, or from the shame of being such a pathetic coward.

“Good that you snapped out of it quick, First Private! What was your name again?”

Sergeant Kocher was great in every way, but for some reason, he was terrible at remembering the names of his men.

'I think I told him before,'the first private had such a trivial thought, but worried it wouldn't be heard over the noise of the battlefield that was still raging like mad, he shouted his reply.

“Otto, it’s Otto Carius! Sergeant!”