My own war game

Chapter 15 Blood and Flowers
At this time, the French army's rear headquarters was in chaos.

Countless calls came in from the front. The plugs in the hands of the beautiful female operators were almost sparking. The staff officers were busy in front of the sand table, constantly changing the positions of the flags on it. The secretaries of the generals no longer had the calmness they used to have when they were around the big shots. They almost trotted to pick up telegrams and report to their superiors.

Ninety percent of it is bad news.

But no matter how chaotic the hall is, people passing by in the corner on the east side will consciously slow down their pace, because that is the office of their commander-in-chief.

Army General Henri Philippe Pétain was standing in front of his desk at this moment, his hands on a large-scale map with a thoughtful expression on his face.

The sound of military boots tapping the ground was heard, and his newly appointed secretary-adjutant Leon Phillips knocked on the office door.

"Come in." Pétain's voice was still steady and powerful, but the secretary and adjutant who was familiar with him could hear the fatigue and worry in the general's tone from this simple word.

"Sir, bad news. The enemy's 70th Army and 3nd Army have launched an all-out attack. As of half an hour ago, 4% of our frontline troops have lost their positions. The enemy's vanguard, the rd Bavarian Regiment, has penetrated the Balbe Highway. The British Newfoundland Regiment and part of our th Army, including a field hospital, with people, are at risk of being surrounded."

The handsome blond young man handed the telegram to his chief officer and stood up straight. His standard appearance made him look like a Prussian soldier. In fact, Leon Phelps once studied at the Berlin Military Academy and returned to France at the beginning of the war.

The thin Pétain picked up the telegram and read it carefully, then took off his monocle and rubbed it gently with his index finger and thumb.

The adjutant knew that this was a sign that the Admiral was engaged in a fierce psychological struggle.

For five full minutes, the room was silent. The handsome secretary adjutant stood motionless in military posture, waiting for the admiral to make a decision.

咔

The monocle was placed on the table, and General Pétain ordered in a calm tone, "Let the troops outside the encirclement break away from the Germans, shrink to 20 miles away to reorganize the defense line, order the rd Artillery Regiment to cover the Balbe Road with firepower, and let the engineers bury explosives on the nearby bridges and be ready to blow them up at any time."

Just a few simple words set off a huge wave in the secretary's heart. Disengagement on the front line and blowing up the road bridges could indeed stop the German offensive for a while, but what about the 4 people who were surrounded? How would they get home?

Although he had doubts in his heart, the adjutant did not dare to raise any questions or suggestions. After saluting, he planned to go out and convey the general's orders.

"Leon, you must think I'm cruel." The general's voice came from behind.

"No, sir! I don't mean that at all!" the adjutant replied, standing at attention.

"War is the continuation of politics. Have you ever heard this saying?" The 62-year-old man slowly turned around and looked at the scenery outside the window. There was the small garden of the Army Headquarters. At this time, a few light green birds were jumping among the rose bushes, searching for food.

"Yes, sir, I read On War when I was studying in Berlin," the adjutant replied with his head held high.

"Klaus Claus is truly a genius. He knew a hundred years ago what I just figured out. It's a pity that he is a German." The old man shook his head and did not continue speaking. Instead, he strangely brought up another topic.

"Where are the Americans and Canadians?" The adjutant didn't understand why the admiral suddenly asked this question, but his high professionalism allowed him to quickly answer, "At present, the 33rd, 27th and 80th Divisions of the American Expeditionary Force are resting in the designated second-line positions. Only the New Brunswick Regiment of Canada has arrived at the designated position, and neither has come into contact with the German army yet."

"Tell the Americans and Canadians about the situation on the front line. Remember not to hide anything about the German attack route. Tell them that the Germans are right in front of them." Pétain ordered his adjutant again.

"Sir, you mean..." The adjutant looked at the position of the allied forces on the map and suddenly showed an expression of enlightenment. He said in a deep voice, "Yes, sir, I will complete the task."

"I heard that your fiancée is over there?" Pétain suddenly mentioned something when the adjutant was about to leave.

"Yes, sir, I am mentally prepared." The adjutant stood at attention, without a trace of sadness on his face.

"Tell the Third Cavalry Regiment to send more people to search the junction." The admiral expressed his personal care for his deputy.

"Sir, I am very grateful, but please forgive me for rejecting your kindness. As a soldier, I think that precious mobile forces should not be wasted on such trivial matters at this moment." The adjutant seemed to be talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

"Then take it as my personal order and let them send a company to look for it." Pétain insisted on his opinion with a smile.

"Yes! Your Excellency, I'll be out then." The adjutant saluted again and turned to go out to convey the order.

Clouds floated in the sky and blocked the sun. The light in the room dimmed. The silver-haired Pétain still maintained the smile he had just had, but such a smile seemed strange and discordant under the boundary of light and shadow.

He picked up the monocle again and rubbed it slowly with his hands. This was something that had been with Pétain for a long time. Every time he touched the mirror, he could feel the courage being passed to him from it.

"The flowers of freedom must be watered with blood," the old man murmured to himself at the flowerbed in front of him.

Then he said again grimly, "But this blood should not be only French."

More than 100 kilometers away.

"I, I'm bleeding, I don't feel well..." A woman's weak voice was heard from the grove on the south bank of the Somme River.

In the jungle, a BSA dump truck was parked in the grass, rumbling black smoke. Female reporter Christine was leaning against a tree in her pajamas. Her nightgown had been completely stained red, and a piece of glass had pierced two-thirds of her white calf.

He Chi carefully lifted up one of the other person's legs, and the sight of flesh and blood making his brows jump.

The piece of glass was probably stuck in a vein, and once he pulled it out, a small fountain would instantly form there. But if he didn't pull it out and clean the wound thoroughly, the slow bleeding and infection would kill the French golden cat.

The rumbling sound of artillery continued all around, and the current situation did not allow He Chi to hesitate for long. Just as he put his hand on the glass and prepared to exert force, the bushes in the distance suddenly moved.

(End of this chapter)