Re: Blood and Iron

The Germans had spent countless man-hours over the past few months clearing the mines that remained between their fortifications and the enemy, which lie beyond no-man’s-land. It was a task that the French could only sit by and watch as the enemy prepared for their major offensive.

As all means to repel or destroy the German Armor proved wildly ineffective. But this roar of tank engines across the entirety of the western front had given the French a false sense of security on a psychological level.

They were so accustomed to hearing such sounds that they would not think twice of it, to the point where today September 22nd 1916, the German 8th army situation on the borders of Germany and Luxembourg began its push. Which was accompanied by hordes of German, Austro-Hungarian, and Russian soldiers across the entirety of the Western front.

But this was not immediately recognized by the weary, and fatigued French soldiers, many of which had resorted to daytime drinking and drug abuse to handle the shell shock they were all inflicted with.

One of the men was currently injecting heroin into his arm as the rain poured down upon his head. His helmet was somewhere or another, not that he really knew, as he neglected his post in favor of a much needed sedation.

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There was just one major problem with this approach, he was so zonked out of his mind that he could not determine the ever-increasing sound of the enemy engines approaching his position, and many of his comrades were in a similar state of intoxication, as the German armored vehicles ever closed in on their position.

And then suddenly there was an explosion, engulfing him and his nearby comrades in an instant. A combination barrage of nebelwerfers and self-propelled artillery had begun to strike the front lines of France’s currently controlled positions in Luxembourg, obliterating its poorly constructed defenses and turning the men within them to meat paste.

Those who had survived the initial bombardment were quick to attempt to flee, as they looked over the wall of the trench and saw that an overwhelming number of armored vehicles were advancing into no-man’s-land and assaulting their position.

The Autumn Offensive had begun, and the French soldiers supposed to be the tip of the spear had been caught completely with their pants down. The reaction of course was to fall further back and reinforce rear lines as the vanguard had already been obliterated by overwhelming power.

The echoes of artillery continued to resound throughout the distance as smoke clouds and fire emerged throughout all sectors of the French front lines, from the borders of Germany all the way to the top of Belgium war had erupted seemingly out of nowhere.

And the French, who had been trying their best to prepare for this reality in advance soon found themselves not only running from the artillery dropping on their position every second of the day, but also from the bombs being dropped on their heads from the thousands of He-51 planes which flew over the skies of Luxembourg with absolute impunity.

It was like an army of hell and its demons had been deployed to deal with what little France could muster in its defense, and they brought the hellfire with them. French communications were absolutely haywire as they were being assaulted on every front imaginable, making it difficult to understand where best to respond with reinforcements.

Charles de Gaulle who witnessed the barrage cease fire within his sector outside Ypres far further north from Luxembourg, was quick to give an order with a deep and melancholy sigh as he witnessed the combination of German, Austro-Hungarian, and Russian armored units act as a spearhead to cover the advance of their infantry knowing that the French had nothing to harm them with.

Crushing over barbed wire and bodies alike, flattening them for the infantry to walk over with ease, the French General lowered his binoculars and pinched his brow while surrendering immediately.

“Wave the white flag… There is no victory to be had…”

Soldiers who were already sick and tired of their generals trying to sacrifice their lives needlessly for medals were quick to give in and throw aside their weapons, raise their hands in the air, and fly the flag of submission.

Not long thereafter, soldiers of the central powers rushed past the armored units which protected them, and entered the trenches wielding their automatic rifles in their hands as they secured the surrendered French soldiers who were greatly contrasted to their own appearance.

The German uniforms were neatly cleaned and pressed, not the slightest sign of stains or blemish, their bodies were clean, and their faces properly shaved. The French soldiers, however, looked like they had emerged from the thick jungle without seeing the light of day for years.

Haggard and harrowed eyes, untrimmed and uncouth beards. Followed by mud, blood, and grease stains all over their skin, uniforms, and weapons. As for the state of their equipment, poorly maintained, was an understatement.

The fit, strong, and tidy soldiers of the Central Powers looked at the men in front of them who appeared as if they had not eaten a proper meal in at least three days with pity, and concern in their own eyes as they tried to ensure that the men were properly apprehended, collected, and taken as prisoners of war.

Charles de Gaulle would be amazed when he returned to a Prisoner of War camp later that day, that not only was it the same camp he had previously escaped from, but the men inside its walls were far better off mentally, physical, and spiritually than those who had been living and fighting in the trenches for the sake of the French Republic.

In fact, when the French and British prisoners of war, who had yet to be returned to their homeland, saw the sorry state of the French Prisoners who were marched through the entrance of the camp, they were astonished at how badly things had gotten. And as the war continued this jarring contrast would only continue to become clearer.