Chapter 221: Starting Again from the Rhineland
Aboard U-47, which was returning triumphantly to a Spanish port, everyone wore a smile.
This was the Navy's glory.
More than that, it was the first battleship they had sunk.
A song representing the submarine fleet, representing them, [Das U-Boot Lied], began to rise in chorus, following Rainer's tune.
"We kept our eyes open day and night, hunting across the ocean, standing behind the periscope until we were soaked through…"
"Torpedoes fired, ships ignited, and the sky burned with flame as a salute to our Führer!"
The good news from the Mediterranean reached Jörg's desk overnight.
As Germany's first confirmed sinking of an enemy battleship, the news pleased him greatly.
He picked up the telephone and connected directly to Naval Headquarters.
"Raeder, tell Dönitz that I will personally award medals to the crew."
His voice was calm, but his satisfaction was unmistakable.
"At the same time, order the First Carrier Battle Group deployed in Spain to move. Since the French Army wants to escalate the war, the Navy should also join this game."
"If they made the first move, then they cannot blame us for retaliation."
No sooner had he hung up than the Army telephone rang almost immediately.
Heinz Guderian, who was responsible for operations against France, reported even more exciting news.
"Sir, the French have launched their attack."
Jörg smiled faintly.
Two days earlier, he had secured military transit rights through Belgium.
In return, he granted Belgium neutral status.
"First finish the dessert," Jörg said softly, "then eat the cake."
At dawn, on the Franco-German border.
Because De Gaulle was commanding the second front in Greece, the light mechanized division and tank division serving as the main attacking force were now commanded by Leclerc, who had a good relationship with him.
FCM 36 infantry tanks and H35 medium tanks crushed dew-covered grass beneath their tracks. Their engines overlapped into a heavy roar that echoed across the plain.
On the trucks behind them, the soldiers varied greatly.
Some older men wore gas masks, as if their minds were still trapped in the trench warfare and poison gas of the Great War.
Others looked up at the delicate morning scenery with young faces full of melancholy, not yet understanding what kind of battlefield awaited them beyond the horizon.
The tank crews felt as though they were moving in circles inside a quagmire of memory.
It all seemed like the past repeating itself.
Once, they had been stationed in the Rhineland like this.
Now, they were here again to retake the Rhineland and launch France's first frontal assault against Germany.
But could they truly tear the fangs from the beast?
To organize this offensive, Pétain had, one week earlier, assembled fifteen divisions along the border. In addition to the First Light Mechanized Division and the Second Tank Division responsible for the main attack, more than ten infantry divisions would protect their flanks and rear while gradually establishing a stable defensive line.
As long as the attack proved effective, they would advance step by step.
This was the safest tactic.
And standing opposite them were defensive forces personally commanded by Heinz Guderian.
Under his command were the Second and Third Infantry Divisions, both defensive units meticulously trained after Germany's military reforms.
They were uniformly equipped with submachine guns, anti-tank rocket launchers, and an intimidatingly high concentration of machine guns and artillery.
Most importantly, to counter the French armored forces, the First Armored Division had also been placed under Guderian's command.
To ensure victory, Germany had deployed one of its most precious blades.
"Your Excellency, Deputy Commander in Chief," a staff officer reported, "our Air Force reconnaissance aircraft have detected French troops fully crossing the border. Their main attack is directed toward two of our border towns."
"The vanguard consists of two armored units."
Heinz Guderian nodded.
"I understand."
His finger moved across the map.
"Let the Air Force engage first. Maintain air superiority, and the French will become an easy meal."
"Instruct the First Armored Division to focus on the weak flanks of the French forces. Give them as much Air Force support as they need."
He looked toward the front.
"The resistance from the front-line defensive units does not need to be too strong. Lure the French in first."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Why would we take back dessert once it has already reached our lips?"
Outside the camp, the soldiers of the First Armored Division stood in silence.
As the eldest son of Germany's armored force, equipped with the best and most complete gear, and possessing the highest degree of mechanization in the entire Army, they did not fear war.
On the contrary, they felt immense honor in facing the opening battle on the French front.
The current commander of the First Armored Division, Lars Heinrich, a direct subordinate of Heinz Guderian and a follower of Jörg, stood on top of a tank and delivered a pre-battle address.
It was very brief.
Only one sentence.
"Advance, soldiers. Drive those Frenchmen out of our land."
The tanks began to move along the road.
Trucks dragged artillery behind them.
Neither the tank crews nor the ordinary soldiers showed any confusion.
They knew they were protecting their country's soil.
Their task was to drive the damned Frenchmen out of German territory.
The air battle arrived before the ground engagement.
To show respect for their opening offensive, France deployed its new fighters.
Heinz Guderian responded by deploying FW 190 fighter squadrons, which were currently fully equipped only in the Western Front region.
Dozens, then hundreds, of aircraft took off almost simultaneously from airfields across western Germany.
In the sky, just beginning to brighten beneath the sun, the morning light made the clouds appear translucent, like the gates of some magnificent paradise.
And within that beautiful scene, the first fierce battle officially erupted.
Karl piloted his aircraft through the morning light.
As a pilot who had performed well on the Spanish battlefield, he had earned the privilege of flying this aerial falcon and had been promoted to squadron leader.
"Captain Karl, ground units report French bombers over Hakkar Town. Please immediately organize the Third Fighter Squadron for air defense."
After scanning the map several times, Karl replied, "Received."
His voice was steady.
"All pilots, maintain visual range and follow me."
The aircraft banked left.
Driven by the powerful engine, it tore through the clouds at high speed. Several FW 190 fighters followed closely behind, scattering the mist in their wake.
They climbed rapidly and flew toward the target location.
A few minutes later, relying on airborne radar and his excellent eyesight, Karl immediately spotted the French escort fighters protecting the bomber formation, as well as the French bombers wreaking havoc over the town.
"Number One, Number Two, lure away the escorts. Draw them into the airspace of the First Fighter Group and shoot them down together."
His eyes locked on the bombers.
"Number Four, Number Five, Number Three, stay close to me."
His voice became cold.
"It is time to make these Frenchmen bleed a little."
A crisp reply came through the headset.
"Yes, sir!"
The diving FW 190 fighters, with their world-leading performance, suddenly appeared above the French bomber formation like hunting falcons descending from the clouds.
.....
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