Chapter 427: Disaster at the General Staff
Wilhelmstrasse, Berlin.
At the German General Staff headquarters under Falkenhayn, chaos reigned. Staff officers rushed about, drenched in sweat, as telegraphs poured in, phones rang incessantly, and the air was thick with tension and frustration. Even Falkenhayn, known for his unshakable calm, was no exception.
Pacing by his desk, Falkenhayn asked Colonel Moritz, who was scrutinizing the map in front of him, "Are you certain there are no enemy forces near Thuin?"
Colonel Moritz hesitated. "According to intelligence, that's correct. We had an infantry battalion that managed to slip through the encirclement in the Thuin area without encountering any resistance."
Falkenhayn picked up on Moritz's unspoken doubt. "'According to intelligence'?"
"I'm not sure, General." Moritz wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "It's hard to imagine Charles leaving such a large gap. I suspect…"
"Suspect that it's a trap set by Charles?" Falkenhayn finished his thought.
"Yes…yes, that's it." Moritz wiped away another bead of sweat. "It could be, though it also might not."
This uncharacteristic uncertainty revealed how thoroughly Charles had shattered Colonel Moritz's confidence—even though they'd never met in person.
Today was nothing short of a disaster for the General Staff's think tank.
When Charles launched his offensive, Moritz had predicted it would take him days to break through, and that the French would suffer heavy losses.
"Our defenses in Cambrai are solid," Moritz had analyzed confidently. "After the last Battle of Cambrai, we understand Charles's tactics. We've deployed numerous 105mm howitzers, fortified trenches, and have the First Tank Division in place. It'll be like hitting a wall of iron."
Falkenhayn had nodded, aligning with Moritz's assessment.
After staring at the map for a moment, Falkenhayn had ordered, "Deploy the 91st Reserve Division to reinforce Cambrai."
This division, an infantry unit currently training in Berlin, was expected to reach Cambrai by the next day if they moved quickly.
But before Falkenhayn's words had even faded, the radio operator exclaimed, "General, Charles has broken through our lines. Our entire front is collapsing!"
Falkenhayn's face went blank—this reversal had happened far too quickly.
Moritz's eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at the radio operator. "Whose report is this?"
His first instinct was that someone, out of fear, had lied about the situation. After all, barely half an hour had passed since the attack began—how could the lines have collapsed so fast?
"It's a message from Major General Nicholas," the radio operator said, rising quickly to hand over the telegram.
Colonel Moritz read the telegram several times, finding no flaws in it. Major General Nicholas, the commander of the First Tank Division, was not one to panic in battle.
"What about our artillery?" Moritz clung to a last shred of hope. "The 105mm howitzers—why didn't they have an impact?"
"They were suppressed by enemy bombers," the operator answered. "Clearly, the enemy had already pinpointed the exact locations of our artillery."
Swallowing hard, Moritz had no choice but to accept this devastating reality.
Trying to regroup, Moritz analyzed the map again: "Charles's forces could reach Valenciennes by early afternoon. We could dispatch the 182nd Infantry Regiment from Maubeuge on the eastern flank to reinforce it. They've been resting for over two weeks, fully replenished and resupplied. If they hurry, they can establish a defensive line there."
Valenciennes, situated on the French side near the Belgian border, was about 20 kilometers from Cambrai.
Moritz based his assessment on Charles's previous rate of advance. However, that advance had been achieved with the slower "Mark I" tanks, and the infantry hadn't yet been fully mechanized, so their speed was incomparable.
Falkenhayn saw no reason to oppose this plan. Even if this regiment couldn't stop Charles, they could at least slow him down long enough for other reinforcements to arrive.
But before Falkenhayn could issue the order, the radio operator called out again, "General, Wallers is lost! The vanguard of the French forces has already reached the town!"
Initially, Moritz thought little of this. Unfamiliar with the terrain around Belgium, he assumed Wallers was west of Valenciennes—meaning the French hadn't reached Valenciennes yet.
After fruitlessly scanning the map, an alert staff officer finally pointed out Wallers's location. "Here it is, about 5 kilometers inside Belgium."
Moritz froze, his mind blank, then turned and shouted at the radio operator, "Whose report is this?"
"Major General Nicholas," the operator replied. "His forces encountered both guerrillas and the French vanguard at Wallers, while also under heavy bombardment. He had no choice but to abandon his tanks and equipment and withdraw toward Chimay."
Moritz could hardly believe it.
Barely two hours had passed, and yet Charles's forces had pushed past Valenciennes, reaching Wallers, a mere 30 kilometers from Cambrai?
The maximum speed of the Charles A1 tanks was 15 kilometers per hour. Even at full speed, they shouldn't have been able to reach Wallers…
Perhaps sensing Moritz's confusion, the radio operator explained further, "Colonel, intelligence reports indicate that the enemy has deployed some kind of vehicle covered with steel plates, which is much faster than tanks. The French are using these cars to clear the way for their tanks."
Moritz looked embarrassed, sneaking a glance at Falkenhayn.
But Falkenhayn had no time to chastise Moritz over misjudgments. Urgently, he pointed to the map. "Mons. Send reinforcements to Mons immediately."
"Yes, General."
But they were, once again, too late.
In fact, not only were they late, but by the time Charles's forces occupied Mons, the German reinforcements were still an hour away.
Then there was Brussels.
Moritz had assumed that a reserve division of over 20,000 men stationed there would block Charles's path. Surely this time Charles couldn't push through so quickly!
But a massive explosion destroyed the munitions depot, forcing the 82nd Reserve Division to retreat before the French even arrived.
The final miscalculation was at Antwerp.
After a day filled with defeat, Moritz felt a sense of relief, assuming that Charles's offensive had finally reached its limit.
Night had fallen, and Antwerp was the formidable "national fortress." The Germans had required the giant "Big Bertha" guns to breach it in the past. Charles had tanks, but no heavy artillery, so he would likely have to wait until morning to attack—at least, so Moritz thought.
But as Moritz and his staff pulled an all-nighter, feverishly redeploying troops, a sudden telegram arrived: "Colonel, Antwerp has fallen. Charles's forces have entered the city!"
Moritz, who had been mapping defensive lines, froze. He set his pen down, sat back in his chair, and sighed, staring blankly into space.
He was numb.
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