Chapter 239: Joy and Sorrow
Two days later, in the Commander in Chief's office in Berlin.
From the Polish campaign in early September to the current campaign in France, time seemed to have passed in a blur.
Yet when Jörg's fingertips brushed across the calendar on his desk, he realized that only a little more than two months had passed.
Christmas was still four days away.
The progress of the Polish campaign had been within his expectations.
France, however, had surprised him.
"If France had not sent its Army to the Balkans, perhaps it could have resisted for a little longer?"
Jörg murmured softly, then looked up.
Knock, knock, knock.
The crisp sound of knocking pulled his thoughts back.
"Come in."
"Yes, Commander in Chief!"
After saluting, the staff officer stepped forward and placed two reports on the desk.
One concerned the bombing plan for Paris.
The other was a front-line report stating that an infantry division had already advanced toward the Brittany region.
After reading the front-line report, Jörg nodded slightly.
In truth, aside from Operation Dynamo, which had been widely known in his previous life, Britain had organized two other large-scale evacuations that were far less famous.
This was also why he had repeatedly instructed the officers to treat Paris as a secondary target.
Now that the ports on the western coast had also been blocked, even if Britain wanted to help, it would be futile.
Although some French troops had successfully evacuated from the Balkan Peninsula and Dunkirk, their total number did not exceed one hundred thousand.
They would hardly pose any significant threat in the coming North African theater.
Now, only Paris remained.
"Commander in Chief, Mr. Kesselring from the Air Force is asking whether we should conduct carpet bombing against Paris's airfields and defensive facilities to completely break France's will to fight," the staff officer asked immediately after seeing Jörg close the front-line report.
"Wait two more days."
Jörg placed the report down.
"First inform the French government about the bombing situation. Let them understand what they will face."
Then he asked instead, "How are things on the Balkan Peninsula?"
"Progress is very smooth."
The staff officer answered meticulously.
"After the French retreat, General Bock's armored division entered Athens early this morning. The Italian Army in Albania collapsed at the first touch."
"General Bock is currently organizing an offensive against Yugoslavia, as well as subsequent attacks against Italy."
Jörg shook his head with a smile.
"I am afraid that as soon as his Army reaches the border, Croatia and Serbia will begin to split."
"Italy is much the same. The Italian people do not support Mussolini as much as imagined."
His tone carried a trace of mockery.
"He raises his arms and proclaims that everyone is Roman, but in reality, he is the only Roman."
Meanwhile, in Athens, that ancient city of civilization, more than two-thirds of the city had already become ruins.
Facing the invaders, Greece had won a precious victory at an extremely heavy cost.
They had truly fought until they shed their last drop of blood for Greece.
The Romanian reinforcements had also paid a heavy price during the weeks-long offensive.
Because of this, the Greek soldiers felt considerable goodwill toward these Romanian soldiers who had defended Athens and shared the same trenches with them.
However, their attitude toward the Bulgarian Army was entirely different.
The Greek soldiers greatly despised those weak volunteer corps, believing that they had merely put on a show.
They had not shed blood at the beginning of the war. Then, right before victory, they made a great fuss in the newspapers, only declaring war after the French retreat.
In the eyes of the Greeks, this was nothing but despicable opportunism.
And not only the Greeks thought this.
The Germans thought the same.
This contempt carried over into the entry ceremony.
The Romanian Army and the German Army marched at the very front, while the Bulgarian Army walked at the very back like prisoners of war.
At the celebration banquet, two drunken Greek soldiers threw their arms around the shoulders of several German soldiers and loudly shouted in their not very fluent German, "Friends! Be sure to call us when you attack Italy."
One of them raised his cup high.
"Mussolini calls himself Roman? Then I will let the Romans taste Greek bullets!"
Seeing the banquet hall filled with the fumes of alcohol and the noise of soldiers, George II, who had come to inspect the troops, smiled and took over the soldier's words.
"Not only Italy."
His voice rang through the hall.
"In due time, if Germany faces invasion, if Germany faces war, Greece will be your staunchest ally."
"German friends. Romanian friends."
George II raised his glass.
"Your deeds in helping Greece will not be forgotten."
"After today, Athens will erect statues for you."
"Your merits and your contributions to Greece will be carved upon stone tablets. You will be treated as heroes."
After raising his glass and downing the beer, George II showed no airs of a king.
He beckoned the German soldiers over to take a photograph with him.
As all the soldiers in the banquet hall entered the frame, George II loudly declared, "Long live friendship!"
The soldiers shouted in unison, "Long live friendship!"
Some of the soldiers had bloodstained faces.
Some were flushed from alcohol.
They swayed slightly, yet still stood firm before the camera.
Some still wore steel helmets.
Some wore shy expressions.
But there was one thing they all shared.
Once stripped of the cruelty of war, once pulled out of trenches and bullet rain, they were all still young.
When the flash went off, a photograph of the king and friendship was captured by the camera.
The next day, it appeared in the Greek morning newspapers.
In the photograph, most of the German soldiers had already left Athens in the morning mist after one night of rest.
Their next destination was Italy.
Compared with the triumph, laughter, and farewells of friendship in Athens, the morning in Paris was deathly silent.
Daladier, who had not slept all night, patrolled the barracks in his overcoat.
A casual conversation from somewhere nearby caught his attention.
"I heard Germany is going to bomb Paris."
"Damn it. I do not know what the government was thinking when they started a war with Germany."
"They will be fine. Even if they fail, they can just pack up and go to London, or North Africa, or even surrender and become high-ranking dogs."
"But what about us?"
The soldier's voice was low and bitter.
"If we fail, we will lose our lives in Paris. Even if we are lucky enough to survive, life will not get better. It will only get worse."
"What a damned era."
The chatter stopped.
Daladier did not trace the source, nor did he assign blame.
He simply left the barracks in silence and got into his car, his bloodshot eyes staring fixedly out the window.
His driver and secretary reminded him, "Mr. President, you have a morning meeting today. It was organized by Marshal Pétain to discuss the issue of peace talks."
Daladier lit a cigarette.
He did not give the order to return.
Instead, he asked, "Yopon, you have been my secretary for so many years. Tell me your view of France now."
His voice became hoarse.
"Did I make a mistake?"
"If we had not gone to war…"
Yopon gently reassured him, "Mr. Daladier, you are a good President."
"I believe any President of France would have made that decision."
"I would have as well."
"Surrendering without a fight is far more disgraceful than resisting to the end and then surrendering."
Daladier flicked the ash from between his fingers.
"Yopon, do you think I should surrender?"
"I do not know, sir."
Yopon lowered his head.
"I am only a small person. My vision is too narrow to decide such great national matters."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing softly.
"But… I know that now, the soldiers are very unwilling to fight."
.....
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