The Hundred Days Offensive (5)
The final military conference before the battle.
Most commanders were already familiar with the operational outline, but this time, no one could help but feel tense.
They had to be tense.
But something felt off.
Maybe it was because I had crossed the boundary between life and death a few times now, but my survival instincts were screaming warnings at the atmosphere in that room.
"We will break through the Meuse-Argonne region in four phases and completely rout the enemy."
Pershing stood more imposing than ever.
As both commander of the Expeditionary Forces and the U.S. First Army, every available American life now rested in his hands.
As he firmly opened the briefing, Colonel Hugh A. Drum, Chief of Staff of the First Army, took over.
"The enemy's defensive line is centered here—Montfaucon."
A nightmarish terrain of tangled valleys, ridges, and dense forests.
And Montfaucon, the key position that dominated most of the American advance routes.
"For the initial offensive, nine divisions across three corps will be deployed. On the first day, we will advance thirty kilometers at full speed to neutralize the enemy defenses."
"…Hmm."
Only a few, including myself, seemed uneasy.
Even Patton clearly looked dissatisfied—but we were the minority.
"Of course, we are aware. A frontal assault on Montfaucon would be difficult."
The First Corps on the left flank.
The Fifth Corps in the center.
The Third Corps on the right.
Major General Cameron, commander of the Fifth Corps—the one who would have to throw his men directly at Montfaucon—naturally looked unenthusiastic. And rightly so: the 37th, 79th, and 91st Divisions under his command had virtually no combat experience. It would be stranger if he claimed confidence.
"Therefore, the First and Third Corps will accelerate their advance to seize the flanks of Montfaucon, and then all three corps will coordinate a simultaneous assault to capture the position."
"Isn't that overly optimistic? I'll be frank. If we succeed, fine—but if we fail, this could turn into a catastrophe."
Despite Cameron's entirely reasonable concern, Colonel Drum and the staff exuded a bizarre level of confidence.
Seriously—what gave them the nerve to treat the German army like this?
"Didn't even the Black troops manage it? What's stopping us?"
"The Germans are starving anyway. Toss them a can or two and they'll surrender."
"The war's basically over. No matter how bloodthirsty the Jerries are, their morale must be low with defeat so close!"
Their whispers reached my ears—and every word was absurd.
Had they all lost their minds?
I usually held back because it sounded too much like something the Japanese army would say—but why were these staff officers, who had never even fired a shot on the front lines, spouting such nonsense?
No wonder things had gone so horribly wrong in the original timeline.
…Or maybe it was my fault.
The thought suddenly struck me, and unease crept in again.
What if the 93rd Division had fought too well, making them underestimate the Germans even more than before?
What if that made this offensive even more disastrous?
…Tch. What do I care? If they're incompetent, why should I take responsibility? I'll just do my job and harvest German heads.
While I wrestled with my thoughts, the meeting escalated into an argument between Colonel Drum and General Cameron.
"We've assigned Lieutenant Colonel Patton's light tank brigade to the 35th Division, the spearhead of the First Corps. And we'll be deploying aircraft in large numbers, just as successfully demonstrated at Saint-Mihiel. Do you still lack confidence?"
"That's not the point! I'm saying our overall capability is still significantly inferior to the enemy!"
"And that's precisely why we, the staff, exist—to compensate for that inferiority. We're preparing a large-scale deception operation near Saint-Mihiel and east of the Meuse."
"A deception operation?"
"We've diverted a separate tank force. They'll launch a limited offensive, while we initiate massive artillery bombardment east of the Meuse to make the Germans believe our target is Metz!"
If the French had heard this hopeful theory, they would have been appalled.
At least the French generals I had met weren't idiots. They had fought the Germans for over four years in brutal, blood-soaked battles and had come to understand the German war machine better than anyone. Everything that could be tried against Germany had already been tried—and learned through bitter experience.
And yet… did these men really think the British and French had never attempted such things?
Unfortunately, there were few French officers present to shatter this illusion.
And even Pershing and the top command remained silent—seemingly sharing the vague belief that a force of 1.2 million men simply couldn't lose.
I didn't know anymore.
The 93rd Division wasn't part of the initial assault anyway.
All I could do was hope the offensive would end without disaster.
Who knows—
Maybe history had changed, and the Germans were weaker than expected.
***
Six hundred thousand Allied troops and 2,711 artillery pieces were finally ready.
September 26, 1918—2:30 AM.
At an hour when the Germans should have been fast asleep, the sea of artillery filling the rear lines unleashed its fire all at once.
It was, quite literally, a murderous storm—beating the enemy with piles of money.
Even now, politicians in Washington, D.C. were probably grumbling that such money could have been used to help the poor or fund grand construction projects—"more productive purposes."
But in this moment—
Those shells were nothing less than a miracle vaccine, capable of saving even a single drop of a soldier's blood.
"The cost is too high?"
Too high for what?
What are you saving that money for?
I'll guarantee this—those shells are cheaper than survivor pensions. Of course, the United States in World War I was a "wonderful" country that didn't even have such pensions, but still—those shells are cheaper than funeral costs. I'd bet both of Ike's balls on it.
September 26, 05:30.
At last, the first page of the tragedy turned.
The U.S. Army's strongest cards against Germany—veteran divisions like the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 26th, 42nd, and 93rd—had mostly been committed to the Saint-Mihiel offensive, and thus could not be deployed immediately in the first assault.
As a result, among the nine divisions thrown into the opening attack, five were filled with troops who had never truly experienced battle.
"Advance! Move forward! We need to pick up the pace to reach our assigned objectives!"
"Shouldn't we be wary of a German ambush?"
"Look around—where are the Germans? We've already done aerial reconnaissance and pounded them with preparatory bombardment. If we advance cautiously, we'll just fall behind the others!"
A forested ridge soaked with rain.
Unless you were the kind of person who casually climbed mountains for fun, it wasn't easy terrain to traverse—especially while carrying dozens of kilograms of gear and a heavy rifle.
A nightmare landscape that hindered movement.
Inexperience—from the lowest soldier to senior commanders.
And overconfidence toward the enemy.
All of these factors combined—
And many of the advancing units marched forward bravely… in neat double-column formation.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!!
"Enemy! Enemy!!"
"A–ahhh! Mom!!"
"Don't retreat! Fight back! Fi—aaagh—!"
"Artillery incoming! Get off the road immediately!"
The Germans would never pass up such a perfect target.
At first, frontline German troops hesitated, thinking, "Surely the enemy can't be that incompetent." But it didn't take long for them to grasp the situation.
And German battalion commanders had wide discretion to adapt freely to battlefield conditions.
"These doughboys are amateurs! Wipe them out!"
"Long live the Kaiser! Long live the German Empire!"
The staff at Chaumont had grown used to hearing only victory reports.
They had forgotten that divisions like the 1st and 42nd were exceptional.
They did not know that the 93rd Division was filled with commanders talented enough to become future marshals.
And their assumptions about the enemy were only half right.
Yes—many German units, worn down by years of trench warfare and starvation rations, had low morale.
But in the Meuse-Argonne sector, there were also seasoned veterans fresh from brutal fighting on the Eastern Front.
They were conquerors—men who had known victory wherever they went, who believed firmly in the glory of the German Empire's future.
Such men would not shrink just because the American army had numbers.
Fortunately—or perhaps not—the Germans had their own problems.
Defense in the Meuse-Argonne was split between the 3rd Army under Karl von Einem and the 5th Army under Georg von der Marwitz. If they had operated under a unified command, the Americans' suffering would have been far worse.
And then there was Germany's eternal Achilles' heel—manpower shortages. Many divisions were reduced to just 3,000 to 5,000 men.
"Damn those Jerry bastards!"
"If they don't have machine guns, they've got artillery! Where the hell do they get so many guns?!"
Screams.
"We need to disperse immediately! Our men are getting cut down in rows by machine guns!"
"The manual says concentrated rifle fire from tight infantry formations can suppress enemy heavy weapons! If we scatter, we'll be picked off individually!"
"That moldy Civil War-era doctrine is getting our men killed! Spread out right now!!"
Division.
"Tanks! What are the tanks doing?!"
"We've lost contact with the tank battalion!"
"The enemy defenses are too strong! We can't push through!"
"It was a mistake to send men with barely a month of training to take that damned hill! Those worthless staff officers sent these poor soldiers to their deaths!"
Despair.
The 79th Division, filled with inexperienced troops, ultimately failed to capture Montfaucon.
And less than 24 hours into the offensive, as the front filled with screams and despair—
"Independent actions by subordinate corps are strictly prohibited."
"Our troops are not highly trained. In the worst case, friendly fire is possible. Each corps must strictly observe sector boundaries. If any unit crosses boundaries or attempts unsanctioned maneuvers, prior approval from army headquarters must be obtained—"
Suffocating bureaucracy stabbed the soldiers in the back.
No one took responsibility for the reality—the soldiers dying in droves.
A second-rate army of a second-rate power.
This wasn't mockery.
It was simply the truth.
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