Chapter 215: Magical Reality
The President had spoken.
The attack on Germany was already a foregone conclusion.
Seeing this, Kénéral also understood that there was no longer any point in continuing the argument. After glancing across the Army High Command, he made his final stand.
"Has the Polish War not awakened you?"
His voice was heavy, but not weak.
"We have underestimated Germany's military potential. We are so far behind that we cannot engage them in a direct confrontation."
"Speaking of peace now is not treason. It is acknowledging our own decline."
He swept his gaze across the room.
"To commit the Army is not to save the country. It is to send our soldiers to their deaths. I know many of you will label me a traitor for saying this."
His expression did not change.
"But gentlemen, I hope all of you remain resolute forever."
With that, Kénéral turned and left.
The black tea in his cup remained untouched.
With his departure, the question of who would command the Greek operation was settled with Reynaud's nod.
"I believe De Gaulle should command the Second Tank Division, along with the Third, Sixth, and Seventh Infantry Divisions, as the first Balkan Expeditionary Force."
Because Franco-German relations had deteriorated severely, the situation had become extremely tense.
De Gaulle had finally received his chance to shine.
Unfortunately, it came too late.
At present, mainland France had only three light mechanized divisions. Only three tank divisions were comparable to Germany's armored units. Even if scattered tank battalions were included, France possessed only twenty-five tank battalions in total.
Ten of those tank battalions had been formed temporarily, and compared with Germany, the disparity in armored strength was completely disproportionate.
To deploy the Second Tank Division to Athens was enough to show how much Reynaud valued the Balkan front.
It was equivalent to committing one of France's most combat-capable units to the Balkans.
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
As everyone nodded, Daladier turned his gaze toward De Gaulle.
"What is your opinion, Mr. De Gaulle?"
As a soldier, De Gaulle naturally had no objection to this arrangement.
And as a newcomer to the political arena, he could not express dissatisfaction even if he had any.
He could only nod and say, "I guarantee the completion of the mission, Mr. President."
The meeting ended.
Mussolini, who had expected to spend a great deal of effort persuading France, was astonished by Daladier's decisiveness.
He accepted French aid without hesitation.
As for De Gaulle's condition of absolute command over the expeditionary force, Mussolini also agreed without much thought.
The next day, four divisions departed from the Franco-Italian border and headed toward the port of Lecce in Italy.
After two days of rest and reorganization, they were transported to Albania aboard Italian freighters.
Italy also withdrew fifty thousand troops from the German border. Together with five divisions reorganized within Italy and forty thousand French expeditionary troops, the number of soldiers heading toward the Greek battlefield reached a terrifying one hundred and fifty thousand.
The total number of troops involved approached two hundred and fifty thousand.
One had to remember that the total strength of the Greek Army was only two hundred and thirty thousand.
In other words, this time, Italy had mobilized a force nearly equal to the entire Greek Army for the attack.
Under De Gaulle's personal command, by mid-November, the Italo-French Allied Army relied on its enormous numerical advantage and withstood the Greek counteroffensive, firmly holding Albania, one third of which had already been recaptured by Greek forces.
All of this was delivered to Jörg's desk.
Wilhelmstrasse, inside the Presidential Residence office.
Jörg put down the telegram from Greece.
Among the rows of German text, the news of French tank units appearing in Greece had been marked in bold.
Faced with this information, Jörg's calm face showed neither joy nor sorrow, neither surprise nor panic.
He simply continued staring at the portrait of Jörg von Roman hanging beside Bismarck's portrait on the wall.
Only after a long while did a smile finally appear at the corner of his mouth.
He truly had not expected that in this world, De Gaulle and Italy would one day join forces to attack Greece.
Under his influence, reality had become terrifyingly magical.
After a brief moment of emotion, Jörg put away the smile on his face, stood, and instructed Ethan, "Notify Bock to immediately mobilize the Army toward Hungary."
"I will give them only three days to take Budapest. The faster they force Hungary to surrender, the more time they will have to rest."
"After dealing with Hungary, I want them to advance toward Bulgaria at the fastest possible speed and drive the Anglo-Italian Allied Army into the sea."
"The Western Front Army will remain static for now. The French will definitely attack first."
His voice was steady, almost cold.
"First, we will eliminate their attacking force. Then, we will execute the Mountain Plan."
He looked at the map.
"It is time for everything to come to an end."
"Yes, Führer!"
Ethan wrote down the order word for word and was about to leave.
After scanning the list of pro-German forces in Bulgaria that Heydrich had handed over, Jörg stood and called after him.
"Prepare another car for me."
Ethan stopped. "Where are you going, Führer?"
"To the radio station."
Berlin Industrial District, tavern.
It was quitting time.
After a long and exhausting day, Finch was just about to enjoy a refreshing glass of beer. But the moment he entered the tavern, he saw a crowd gathered together, chattering about Italy.
"Did you hear? I heard many Germans have recently been expelled from Italy."
"Expelled? It's execution! My nephew immigrated to Italy before the economic crisis. He said Italy would offer better opportunities. A month ago, he was still contacting me by telegram, but now he has disappeared completely."
"I think he is most likely... dead."
"God bless him, poor child. Those extremist fanatics should be crushed to pieces under tank tracks."
An older worker grumbled while gulping down his beer.
Hearing this, Finch could not help feeling a wave of relief.
Although Polish blood flowed in his veins, even when Germany and Poland went to war, the police had merely investigated and tracked him for a few days.
His work and life had not been greatly affected.
At first, he had felt somewhat dissatisfied. But after hearing what happened to people in Italy, he had to admit that although Germany was clearly exclusionary, compared with the Italians, who easily sent people to the execution block, the Germans could almost be described as tolerant.
"What would you like?" the tavern owner asked.
Finch answered out of habit, "Beer."
Soon, a large mug of beer was pushed in front of him.
"You came early, young man."
The tavern owner wiped a glass while muttering, "Many supplies are under control now, and beer has also been affected. This is the last glass. If you came any later, you would only be drinking sawdust."
After grumbling a few more words, the tavern owner took down the small blackboard used as a menu from behind the counter and prepared to erase "beer" from the list of available drinks.
At that moment, the radio that had been playing music suddenly crackled with static, as though it had broken.
A few seconds later, the static slowly faded.
Then the voice that came through made the tavern owner's hand freeze in place.
The other patrons also stopped their discussions and gathered one by one in front of the radio.
As Germans, they were far too familiar with that voice.
It was the voice of the President of Germany.
The voice of Jörg, Führer of the Progress Party.
And every time that voice appeared, it led them either toward victory or toward another war.
.....
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