Demons of Amiens (3)
***
369th Regiment Command Post.
Regimental Commander Major Eisenhower's mouth was drying up.
Every officer inside the barracks had their eyes fixed on his lips.
With every word of the order he gave now, the lives of his regiment hung in the balance. He felt that truth down to his bones.
"German forces have launched an offensive directly against the brigade front."
"Artillery support is practically nonexistent. Shall we send another runner to the artillery regiment?"
"Wouldn't the Germans already be close to the trenches by now? Even if we request bombardment support at this point, it's already too late. And besides… if we call for artillery, we won't be able to meet the division's requirements."
The hesitation didn't last long.
"Has a field telephone line been established to the battalions under the artillery regiment?"
"We haven't received confirmation that installation is complete yet."
"Press them. We can't fight without communications."
"Understood."
"Sir, what about requesting danger-close fire?"
At a subordinate's suggestion, Ike sharply turned his head.
"Danger-close fire?"
"I believe we should consider it in order to carry out the higher command's orders."
"If we do that, wouldn't it inflict too much damage on the Germans? More importantly, what about our own forces that need to withdraw?"
"But they are bl—"
"That's enough."
The order given to the 369th Regiment was area defense.
More precisely… to pretend to conduct area defense.
"Keep this in mind! Our objective is neither to repel nor annihilate the Germans! Is this your first deployment, and you've all gone blind chasing glory?"
As he raised his voice slightly, the staff officers all lowered their heads at once.
"What is the objective handed down by higher command?"
"To deceive the enemy regarding our combat power and future intentions."
"Then what about danger-close fire?"
"It would likely make the enemy cautious or hesitant to advance."
"Exactly. Which is why there's no need for something as grand as danger-close fire."
As he went through each staff proposal one by one, weighing their merits, a sudden headache began to throb.
What kind of high-level demands were being placed on this half-baked unit? Was this trust… or just blindness?
Just before the battle, the final briefing resurfaced vividly in his mind.
***
"Major Eisenhower."
"Yes, sir, Division Commander."
Setting aside their personal relationship, the moment they stood in official roles, all traces of humor vanished, replaced by tension.
"The role of the 369th Regiment: make the enemy underestimate us—by any means necessary."
"By any means necessary… What exactly do you mean by making them underestimate us?"
At first glance, Yujin's expression seemed calm, but Ike already knew that bastard's mind inside and out. If there had been a course called Yujin Studies at West Point, he would've gotten an A without question.
That look clearly meant he was itching to pull a con. By now, Yujin's head was surely filled with thoughts of how to drain the Germans down to their last penny.
"We'll induce a misjudgment. 'The 370th Regiment needs time to establish its next defensive position and prepare to receive the Germans. But the foolish division commander overestimated the 369th Regiment's capabilities, and his plan was smashed by the invincible German army, which advanced without resistance.' We act just enough for them to believe that."
"It would be far easier to order us to stand and fight without retreating a single step. Even in a head-on clash, I don't believe we would be pushed back."
Ike trusted the 369th Regiment he had carefully built.
Their will to fight overflowed, and they were ready to give their lives to defeat the enemy.
But Yujin shook his head.
"We don't have enough time to prepare proper defenses anyway. If we try to hold the area, we'll just spill unnecessary blood. The problem isn't whether we can blunt the enemy's advance and stall them—it's whether we'd fail to do so."
"Then I would like to know the exact operation you have in mind."
"To them… we give up everything—right up to this city. I guarantee the Germans will rush here by any means necessary if it means they can rest in real beds."
Give up the city?
Not fight using it as a stronghold?
The orders were getting stranger and stranger.
Yujin was always like this. Talking to him sometimes made Ike want to crack open his skull and dissect his brain.
And yet, as always, Yujin rubbed his hands together with a sly, almost sinister grin.
"What do the Germans think of us Americans?"
"That would be—"
"A third-rate army from a second-rate power. And on top of that, Black troops. So they'll probably rate us fourth-rate, maybe even fifth-rate."
"The kind of mediocre players who underestimate their opponent are the easiest to fleece at the gambling table."
Yujin chuckled. Even Scrooge counting his daily profits would've looked less wicked than that expression.
"We lose just badly enough that they misjudge their culminating point. There's no point risking our lives now when we don't even have a proper defensive line ready. We fight just enough, then fall back. And then, all at once!"
Bang!
The 369th and 370th Regiments clamp down tightly on the main infantry force of the German 208th Division.
Yujin then pushed the situation map forward slightly.
"With the 'hammer' we've been preparing all winter… we crush their skulls."
"But if we do that, the flanks of the breakthrough force will also be in danger—ah."
"We have far more available troops. Why hesitate to bet when we hold the bigger stake?"
If the tanks, the Rangers, and finally the 371st Regiment could sequentially drive into the enemy's rear and flanks—
The 208th Division, clutching tightly onto the very city they so desperately wanted, would find itself trapped.
"Lay out a delicious mousetrap for them, Ike."
"Understood."
***
And now, Eisenhower was fully prepared.
"1st Battalion, prepare to reorganize after withdrawal. Fall back as far to the rear as possible."
"Yes, sir."
"2nd Battalion, continue engaging until 1700. If the enemy still shows willingness to fight, withdraw as well."
Would the Germans really take Yujin's bait?
He asked himself briefly, but the answer came quickly.
'There's no way they won't.'
That con artist bastard.
Not that he felt sorry for the Germans. This was the kind of trap they could easily avoid—if only they restrained their greed.
But that was impossible.
This offensive was the German army's last chance.
For even a handful more… even a single mile further, they would gladly sell their souls.
And Yujin intended to buy every last one of those souls at a ridiculous bargain.
That being the case, the 369th Regiment's objective wasn't simply to kill as many Germans as possible.
They had to hold them in place for as long as possible—be their dance partner. And a terribly clumsy one at that.
"Let's prepare to fall back to the next line."
The goal was delay anyway.
There was no need to scatter the lives of his soldiers across a foreign land unnecessarily.
Methods of dragging things out as long as possible—while appearing like incompetent fools to their "German friends"—filled Major Eisenhower's mind.
***
The German Imperial Army's 208th Infantry Division swiftly crushed the clumsy defenses of their new enemy—the American Black troops—and advanced without hesitation.
"Casualties?"
"The enemy's morale is low. They are fleeing before the fighting even properly begins."
"Hah. Just what you'd expect from negroes."
At Major General von Groddeck's sneer, the staff officers also smiled.
It was now obvious just how desperate the French had become. How desperate must they be to rely on American troops—and Black troops at that?
Of course, the French had long depended on Black soldiers more than any other nation.
But those were Senegalese or Algerian units they had trained and raised to a level roughly comparable to white troops. Using the weak, pitiful Black soldiers of America as well? Had they grown so accustomed to throwing Black troops into battle that they'd lost even the ability to judge combat effectiveness?
They were already aware that the French 133rd Infantry Division had suffered heavy losses from the 208th Division's offensive and had been withdrawn to the rear.
The size of the American force had been somewhat surprising, but despite numbering well over 20,000, their combat power was even worse than a reduced French division.
"Isn't the American army even weaker than we expected?"
"We should revise our assessment of their combat capability downward."
Everyone present nodded.
"However, their new weapons are certainly threatening."
"Frontline soldiers are all mentioning that 'oil can' weapon."
"That ugly thing? Isn't it inferior to our MP18? In the end, weapons are operated by people. An inferior race using inferior weapons is naturally no match for the superior capabilities of our army."
Major General von Groddeck still remembered the spoils captured at Cambrai.
There was no sense of refinement in Yankee weapons—from those dreadful light tanks to that so-called "oil can," which seemed to abandon even the minimum dignity of a military weapon.
With such rotten fundamentals, they could never stand on a European battlefield. America was not yet qualified to be a player in this game.
Ludendorff had been right.
Now—when Britain and France were at their weakest—was the perfect moment to launch a major offensive. If they demonstrated the strength of the Imperial Army here, the Americans' will to fight would surely evaporate.
"A runner has arrived from the front."
"Send him in."
The runner looked surprisingly clean. Had there not even been a proper battle?
"Reporting. Our stormtrooper units have entered the target city."
"Losses?"
"None. The enemy has abandoned the city. Only a very small number of civilians remain; nearly all residents have evacuated."
"Hah! What a spectacle!"
Mockery, contempt, and ridicule once again flowed freely—from the division commander down to the lowest adjutant.
"As expected, the American army is a joke."
"A bunch of negroes running in a pack—when gunfire starts, they must scatter like a flock of crows!"
"So, what is the advance unit doing?"
"They've been conducting rapid movement since dawn, so they have secured the city and are resting. Some troops are on guard, and reconnaissance of the surrounding area is underway."
"Hm… nothing to criticize. Just ensure they remain cautious of a surprise night attack."
Reports continued to come in.
The frontline forces of the U.S. 93rd Division had effectively lost the will to fight.
The defensive lines they had barely managed to establish collapsed after a single full-scale assault.
Every report coming up from the regiments spoke of victory—again and again.
"It might have been better if the 133rd Division had remained instead."
"Then going forward—"
"Amiens is just ahead. Since the final outcome of this war may well depend on Amiens, we must push forward—even if it requires overexertion."
"Won't we be overextending ourselves?"
"Share the advance plan with the 88th Division and the 9th Bavarian Reserve Division on our flanks. Make sure they understand that the Americans are incompetent. We'll open the road to Amiens. Inform corps that once we push aside the negroes, we likely won't have the strength to continue the offensive and will require follow-up support."
After a brief moment of consideration, Groddeck made his decision.
"The stormtroopers will rest in the city today, then begin battlefield preparation immediately at 0500. Ensure the 185th Infantry Brigade can take over the city for rest afterward. After resting until tomorrow, we will commit full strength for the next three days to break through."
"Understood!"
They could win.
For the first time, he glimpsed hope in this war.
Mocking the foolishness of the French who had trusted the Black American troops, he closed his eyes for a brief rest.
Everything was proceeding perfectly.
Perhaps… he might even achieve his long-awaited promotion to lieutenant general.
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