Demons of Amiens (4)
***
"Ugh—beds! Beds!!"
"Meat! Meeeat!!!"
"My God… wheat bread. There's not a single bit of sawdust in it! Those French bastards were eating this and still losing?"
The soldiers of the German 208th Division were in shock.
How had the French been living on bread and meat?
They themselves could barely get turnips even on rare special days.
Every soldier writhed at this dreadful reality. As they reflected on their own miserable lives, each bite of bread and meat they shoved into their starving stomachs filled them with bitter regret.
Kick down the door of any house with a rifle in hand, and what awaited them was a roof, a bed, and food.
This was paradise!
It didn't take long for everyone to realize this shocking truth. The soldiers hurriedly looted every piece of meat from butcher shops and soon began roasting it over open fires in the middle of the streets.
They plundered bakeries, butcher shops, produce stores!
Jewelry shops and goldsmiths came later. What the proud soldiers of the German Empire needed most was food—not gold rings. Of course, once their bellies were full and their senses began to return, the first place they headed next was the jewelry shops—but that hardly needs mentioning.
As the smell of sizzling meat spread throughout the city and both soldiers and junior officers lost themselves in frenzy—
The higher-ranking officers weren't much different.
They simply stormed into the mansions of local elites with more refinement—devouring meat first, then tapping open casks in the cellar and drinking to their hearts' content. That was the only difference in rank.
"To the glory of the German Empire—cheers!"
"Cheers!!"
Alcohol!
Not sour vinegar—but real alcohol!
The fact that it was wine instead of beer didn't bother anyone—not even the Germans. Beer or not, what did it matter? All that mattered was the sweet, tingling warmth sliding down their throats.
As everyone—from top to bottom—soaked themselves in long-forgotten culinary pleasure, the messenger sent to division headquarters returned.
"Orders from division."
"Hmm… let's see…"
The officers' expressions twisted as they read the document.
"Resume operations at 0500?"
"Then shouldn't we start preparing soon?"
"Think carefully. Can't you see what's happening outside?"
An older NCO snapped irritably at the officer who failed to grasp the situation.
"If we tell those soldiers to stop the feast and head back to the battlefield, there will be a mutiny. No—I'm certain of it. We'll be the first ones riddled with bullets."
Four years.
Four years without proper rest.
When was the last time meat had been on the table?
When had potatoes disappeared?
The ordinary life of bread, potatoes, and beer had vanished, replaced by endless days in hellish trenches.
And now, miraculously—that life had returned.
Even the officers themselves were drinking wine with tears welling in their eyes. And they were supposed to tell those pitiful soldiers to return to the battlefield?
If that were the case, they should never have entered the city in the first place.
Short of the Kaiser himself appearing, there seemed no way to regain control. No—judging by the soldiers' current state, they might even shove the Kaiser aside and go back to devouring meat.
"Hey, messenger."
"Yes, sir!"
"Care for a plate of steak?"
"I—I have my duty—"
"We'll give you a glass of wine too. Eat this, then say you were knocked unconscious by shell shock. Lost the orders."
The soldier hesitated.
One of the officers slid his own steak across the table toward him.
As the soldier turned his head in conflict, he saw it—hands resting on pistols at their waists.
The iron discipline that had been his life… the fragrant aroma of meat rising before him… and the faint killing intent in the air.
The messenger grabbed the hot steak with his bare hands and bit into it without even using a fork.
"Mm—Mmm!!"
"Good choice. We'll give you a bed. Get some proper rest."
It was done.
They suppressed their guilt. Years of military life told them clearly—trying to control this situation was madness.
Better to enjoy wine and meat here than die miserably at the hands of their own men.
***
The next day, when the 185th Regiment of the 208th Division entered the city, what awaited them was the aftermath of a massive frenzy.
"What the hell… these bastards—"
"They ate well and slept well, didn't they?"
"My God, look at that—meat! They even left some behind!"
As the soldiers murmured, the command staff of the 185th Regiment raised their voices in an argument with the stormtrooper unit commander.
"What—what is the meaning of this?! Why—"
"We received no such orders."
"Amiens is right in front of us! We need to move immediately, and this—what is this?!"
"Don't worry. Now that we've come this far, cutting off the enemy's rail network is only a matter of time. Besides, we need to wait for adjacent units anyway, don't we? Let's have a drink and discuss it slowly. Ha ha."
The regimental commander's face turned red, but faced with such a stiff response, he had little to say. Orders disappearing along the way was hardly a rare occurrence.
And within a few hours, even the 185th Regiment commander gave up entirely upon realizing his own men would no longer obey orders.
In any case… the wine was excellent.
That was the only consolation.
***
I stared at the map for a long time, deep in thought.
Did I give up too much?
No. This was worth it.
The corps headquarters seemed horrified—watching me abandon defensive lines one after another under the pretense of "support"—but it didn't matter. I can't read French very well anyway. We'll just take it back later.
How many years had it been since every sea route of the German Empire was blockaded?
If troops like that had pushed all the way into a rear-area city, of course they'd get a taste of incredible meat—and once they did, there was no way they'd remain in their right minds.
Even if you just think about a strong army like the Republic of Korea Army—during training, something as small as whether you could add a bit of seasoning to your rations made a world of difference.
But those men weren't even at the level of packaged field rations. They had been living on turnips and sawdust for years. If they hadn't gone insane and had somehow maintained discipline, that alone would deserve admiration for the German people.
But the German army was neither a horde of demons risen from hell nor android soldiers capable of abandoning everything in the face of discipline. They were simply people—people clinging to faint hope.
Accordingly, my objective in the counterattack wasn't simple physical destruction, but psychological collapse. Lift them up—only to drop them so hard their will to fight evaporates entirely.
"The artillery brigade still has some time. What about the 185th Brigade?"
"The 369th Regiment is successfully carrying out its deception operation. The 370th Regiment is currently engaged in limited skirmishes at the front, while the 369th has withdrawn to the rear and is reorganizing."
Bradley rearranged the map pieces.
Fortunately—or rather, as expected—the casualties of the 369th Regiment weren't severe.
More precisely, they were exactly within the anticipated range.
Being a soldier—especially a high-ranking one—was truly a profession that required a certain level of madness.
What other job makes you think, upon receiving casualty reports, "At least it didn't exceed expectations"?
"Commander of the 185th Brigade?"
"Yes, sir."
Colonel Hayward raised his head.
"I imagine this must be difficult in many ways… We're stretched thin just organizing the brigade staff."
"Haha. It's quite all right."
At first, I hadn't intended to operate at the brigade level.
With monsters like Eisenhower, Bradley, and Van Fleet under my command—men I could assign as regimental commanders—why would I place them under some useless brigadier?
But no matter how much authority I had, eliminating an entire brigade was politically difficult.
And more importantly, Colonel Hayward didn't interfere with tactical command. Instead, he helped with the administrative and organizational work—the very tasks we struggled with the most.
"After all, I come from the National Guard, and the battlefield here in Europe is completely different from the wars I knew. Frankly, I still feel like complaining to God that this isn't even war.
And since it seems the division commander places great trust in his subordinates, there's no need for an old man like me—whose thinking has grown rigid—to step in."
It sounded faintly like a backhanded remark, but Hayward was sincere. It was just that I felt a bit guilty.
He openly acknowledged that he hadn't adapted to the Great War—and that Eisenhower, under him, would shine.
"I'm more worried about the 370th Regiment."
"Lieutenant Colonel Duncan will manage."
At that point, there was no helping it.
It was time to draw the sword.
"Major Bradley."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm delegating all authority to you while I'm away."
"…Did you happen to get hit in the head by a rock fragment?"
Omar was getting more twisted by the day. This was all the Germans' fault. The Kaiser must be using mind control from Berlin. I'd better cut his head off soon.
"I drafted this operation and put it into action. Of course I need to see it through myself. Besides, I'm the one who insisted on inspecting the front in the first place."
"No, but even so—"
"Should I leave Lieutenant Haji in charge instead?"
"Don't talk nonsense."
After a brief argument, I stubbornly pushed through and managed to personally join the main assault force.
"At 0430 tomorrow, we smash the Germans' skulls. The division's attached tank unit will take the lead, followed by the Rangers."
"Understood!"
"We're not setting a broad objective. The decapitation of the enemy's 208th Division—that alone is our focus. The 186th Brigade, with the 371st and 372nd Regiments, will widen the breach opened by the attached units."
As I issued orders one after another, the massive war machine that was the 93rd Division prepared to move.
All the humiliation, the disregard, the endless days of training—it all ends here.
"The 185th Brigade must hold the Germans occupying the city of Moreuil firmly in place. If they break free, everything will be for nothing."
"Understood."
We've given up everything that needed to be given.
Now it's time to collect.
"Let's go. Time to harvest some Jerries."
***
93rd Division Attached Units Encampment.
Though dawn was approaching, not a single person was asleep.
The German devils marching boldly toward Amiens—
Now, the 93rd Division would break free from their grasp and tear open their bellies, leaving a mark on history!
The soldiers' morale had never been higher, and the officers were too tense and excited to sleep.
Then, a familiar sound of a vehicle echoed.
"That's…?"
"Isn't that the division commander's car?"
The already bustling encampment grew even more chaotic.
Major Anastasio Quevedo Ver, caught off guard, rushed out without even properly putting on his cap to receive the esteemed division commander.
Shouldn't the division commander be at headquarters, where communications were best? Why come all the way here? To inspect? To give a speech?
'No way.'
That bastard was obviously here to go with them. Anastasio seriously considered picking up a rock—just in case he needed to knock him out and leave him behind.
"Ma—Major Kim—no, Division Commander!"
"Preparations going well, my friend?"
"Yes, sir! Everything is ready!"
Yujin stepped out of the car naturally and headed for the reviewing platform. Anastasio followed immediately behind him.
"My comrades!"
"Waaaaaaah!!"
"Now we become the dagger that pierces the Germans' chest! Tank unit!!"
"326!! 326!!"
"To the comrades who have followed me since the 326th Light Tank Battalion! We seized glory at Cambrai! And before us stand the very same damn Jerries who drove us out of Cambrai!"
"KILL! KILL! KILL!"
"Back then, we had to flee disgracefully! We abandoned our beloved tanks and ran for our lives! But don't worry! This time, it's our turn to crush them!"
Cambrai.
At that name, flames ignited in the eyes of the former 326th Light Tank Battalion soldiers.
No matter how much it had been called a great escape or a noble sacrifice to protect civilians, the humiliation buried deep in their hearts had never fully healed.
And now, their respected commander was calling for vengeance.
"Rangers!"
"YES, SIR!"
"You are the hope of the Black people! Every step you take opens the future! There is no need to retreat! There is only victory ahead—and I will advance with you!!"
"Division Commander??"
"With respect, you should remain at headquarters—"
"With Major Bradley in the rear, there's nothing to worry about. And don't panic—I'm not here to steal your glory."
"That's not the issue!"
Yujin grinned and raised a finger to his lips. With that, they sighed and gave up trying to persuade him.
They really should have brought that rock.
Unaware—or unconcerned—Yujin shouted with full force:
"All units, to your positions! Today, we open the future!"
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