Hearing Morin’s words, General von Bulow’s smile completely froze on his face. He exchanged a glance with Ludendorff, both seeing the same astonishment and a hint of bewilderment in the other’s eyes.
Has this boy gone mad? An Captain speaking to an Army Group Commander and Chief of Staff in that tone?
Ludendorff’s face instantly grew serious. This wasn’t due to anger; in fact, he was highly optimistic about Morin’s future development. He didn’t want Morin to act impulsively now, gaining a reputation for disrespecting his superiors, which would hinder his military career later.
However, just as he was about to speak, General von Bulow stopped him with an subtle look. The Second Army Group Commander was quickly calculating the situation in his mind.
He knew clearly that Morin was no ordinary Captain. He was a young officer personally singled out and supported by the Crown Prince. The Instruction Assault Battalion was even hailed as the testing ground for the entire Saxon Army reform, the seed of the future. He couldn’t afford to genuinely clash with Morin; that would only lead to trouble for himself.
Moreover, Morin had just led a single battalion to hold off a division-sized attack, achieving a near-mythical result. It was precisely because of their fight that the Second Army Group was able to calmly complete its operational objectives within the Grand Duchy of Flanders territory. With such colossal merit on the table, Morin could point his finger and curse, and General von Bulow felt he would, at most, offer a few defensive words.
The most critical factor was the young Captain’s appearance right now, which was profoundly shocking. When Morin first arrived at the temporary headquarters, the officer who guided him had suggested he clean up a bit, but Morin had politely refused, citing the preciousness of time.
So now he was still wearing his uniform, stained with dark brown bloodstains. His face was blackened and smudged with gunpowder smoke, and his eyes were frighteningly calm. There was no anger, no excitement in his gaze, only a dead silence. He looked exactly like he had been pulled straight out of the sea of corpses and blood in Charleroi.
To talk about rank and protocol with him now? Morin would probably throw his bloody boot in your face.
“Ahem.” von Bulow cleared his throat, his facial muscles twitching. He managed to force out a smile, one uglier than a grimace. “Captain Morin, you… please sit down and talk.”
He gestured toward a nearby chair, his tone softening considerably. “You must be exhausted after fighting for so long.”
With that, he quickly turned and shouted toward the tent entrance: “Adjutant! Adjutant!”
A young Aide-de-Camp rushed in upon hearing the shout, snapping to attention: “General!”
“Didn’t I instruct you earlier? As soon as Captain Morin arrived, the prepared food and hot coffee were to be brought in! What is going on? The man is here, but where are the supplies?” von Bulow’s tone carried clear reproach, but he was simultaneously giving the Aide-de-Camp frantic eye signals.
The Aide-de-Camp was momentarily stunned, his mind racing. Wait, when did I receive that order? General, you never said anything… But, being close to the General, he quickly understood his superior’s meaning.
“Reporting, General! It is my oversight! The food is ready; I forgot to have someone bring it in. I will arrange it immediately!” The Aide-de-Camp stood at attention, taking the blame without hesitation.
“Go quickly!” von Bulow waved his hand impatiently, then, as if remembering something, he specifically emphasized: “Remember, Captain Morin is a hero of our Second Army Group! He must not be slighted in any way, understood?”
“Yes, General!” The Aide-de-Camp replied loudly again, then quickly left the tent.
Morin quietly watched the two men’s coordinated performance, immediately understanding the term ‘talking around the subject.’ He decided not to expose them and simply followed von Bulow’s gesture, sitting down boldly in the chair.
He said nothing, simply leaning back against the chair, watching the two high-ranking Army officials. Ludendorff, seeing the situation, quickly grabbed a clean cup and a coffee pot from a nearby table and personally poured Morin a steaming cup of hot coffee.
“Here, Captain Morin! Drink some coffee. These beans are General von Bulow’s personal reserve; very few people ever get to taste them…” He pushed the coffee cup toward Morin, trying his best to offer a smile.
Look at that, the two highest officials of the Army Group serving me alone. This thought crossed Morin’s mind, but he still remained silent, watching von Bulow and Ludendorff in turn with his calm eyes.
The atmosphere in the tent once again descended into a strange oppressiveness. The air seemed to solidify, with only the steam from the coffee gently rising. von Bulow and Ludendorff felt entirely uncomfortable under his gaze, as if they were being watched by a beast that had climbed out of hell, cold sweat breaking out on their backs. They were both battle-hardened generals who had seen countless difficult situations, but they had never been pressured to this extent by the gaze of a junior officer.
What exactly did this young man want?
Finally, General von Bulow broke first. He felt that if he didn’t speak now, the awkward silence would suffocate him.
“Ahem, ahem,” von Bulow cleared his throat again, trying to break the suffocating silence. He paused, a look of helplessness on his face, and was the first to offer an explanation: “Captain Morin, I know you are angry, and you have grievances. Leaving your Instruction Assault Battalion alone in Charleroi this time was indeed… indeed putting a massive risk and pressure on you.”
His tone sounded sincere, as if he were having a heart-to-heart talk with a junior who was throwing a tantrum. “But you must also understand that this was the only way forward. From the perspective of the overall war, we must quickly open the road to Gaul!”
“And Charleroi was the most crucial nail blocking our path! We had to remove it at all costs, or at least firmly control it.” von Bulow stood up, walked to the map, and pointed to Charleroi’s location. “Looking at the outcome, placing your unit there was undoubtedly the most correct decision.”
“And the facts prove it. Apart from your Instruction Assault Battalion, the entire Second Army Group… or even the entire Saxon Army, could not find a second unit capable of holding off the sustained assault of a Gallic division with a single battalion, and holding the line for three whole days!” He spoke with a hint of undetectable pride, as if praising his own foresight.
“You won the most valuable time for the deployment of the main Army Group. This merit is unparalleled.”
Morin listened quietly, a cold sneer in his heart. Easy words to say. What did he mean by ‘the most correct decision’? It just meant treating the Instruction Assault Battalion as expendable goods and a wager in this immense gamble, didn’t it? Is this how a military unit is supposed to be used?
“So what?” Morin finally spoke, his voice like a cold knife, immediately cutting into the flaw in General von Bulow’s reasoning. “So, for the sake of this ‘correct decision,’ you could just toss a training unit, whose mission is to pioneer future tactics for the entire army, into a meat grinder like a brick, forcing them to fight a defensive battle that they should never have had to fight?”
General von Bulow’s face instantly turned grim. He opened his mouth, but found himself unable to refute. Yes, there was certainly a gambling element when he gave that order. He gambled that the Instruction Assault Battalion could hold. But he never considered—or rather, he subconsciously avoided considering—what the consequences would be if they couldn’t hold.
The atmosphere in the tent instantly dropped to freezing point again. Ludendorff, seeing the situation escalating, quickly stepped in to mediate.
“Captain Morin, please calm down. This matter… the primary responsibility lies with me.” Ludendorff willingly took the blame. “I admit, I severely underestimated the speed of the Gallic Fifth Army Group’s movement and their resolve to attack!”
“According to our pre-war simulations, even if they were to advance on Charleroi, they should first send small reconnaissance units for probing attacks. The assembly and deployment of their main force should take at least two to three days.”
“That delay would have allowed our main Army Group to catch up, and your pressure wouldn’t have been as severe as it was.” General von Bulow quickly seized the opening to step back, nodding repeatedly in agreement: “Exactly! Who could have expected the Gauls to act like madmen this time? You barely arrived in Charleroi before they assembled a division and threw it at you! This completely defies common sense!”
“Based on the time it took for their main force to reach Charleroi, they must have been advancing at full speed toward this area almost the very day you departed. That truly caught all of us completely by surprise.”
The two men exchanged lines, their performance sounding so earnest that it seemed the situation was entirely due to the enemy’s cunning, and their own command was flawless. Morin watched the two men playing good cop, bad cop, seamlessly coordinated, and almost laughed out of sheer annoyance. Good grief, what a waste of talent if these two aren’t stand-up comedians. Shifting all the blame onto the Gauls meant they were absolved of any responsibility?
“Caught by surprise?” Morin sneered, interrupting their clumsy performance: “Esteemed Generals, the battlefield is constantly shifting; anything is possible… Is relying on the premise that ‘the enemy will make a mistake’ or ‘the enemy will follow our script’ the proper mindset for a commander?”
He paused, took a deep breath, knowing it was futile to argue right and wrong with these old bureaucrats; they would always find countless ways to turn black into white. So, he decided to shift his focus.
“Fine. Even if the Gauls’ speed of movement caught you by surprise, I won’t argue that point.” Morin waved his hand, leaning back against the chair. “Then I have another question.”
He looked up, his eyes as sharp as an eagle’s, staring intently at Ludendorff.
“Why didn’t you send reinforcements?”
(End of this Chapter)