Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 137 The Fox's Funeral
In April 1916, the German army launched a large-scale attack with poison gas in the Verdun area. The French army, which was initially unprepared, suffered heavy losses in the face of the sudden attack.

With a large number of personnel losing their combat effectiveness, Pétain's resilient defense system is in grave danger.

April 28th is Easter.

At the Belleville Heights, a massive explosion occurred at the largest ammunition depot in the area, rendering tens of thousands of shells, including poison gas shells, unusable. This affected the density of German artillery fire on the front lines, giving the French army a respite and allowing Pétain valuable time to regroup.

Starting in May, Pétain received more manpower and began to use rotation tactics to reduce troop losses, which greatly reduced French casualties.

At this point, a stalemate had formed between the two sides, with neither side willing to move the scales of victory any further.

Some people recalled after the war that the Belleville Heights incident played a nearly decisive role at the time.

Unfortunately, the greatest contributor to this battle did not receive the honor he deserved.

Apart from a few pieces of car debris whose purpose was unclear, the man left nothing behind, as if he had never brought anything with him.

After the prisoner Kragg recounted what he had seen, a pistol was pointed directly at his head.

"You damned spy! Still not being honest! Making up such an easily exposed lie, do you think we're all fools?!" Lieutenant Colonel Eugen said through gritted teeth.

“It’s true! I swear to God, it’s all true!” Mr. Cragg, who had shown some backbone when he was a prisoner, had no intention of making excuses now. You could tell from his eyes that the guy opposite him was really capable of firing a shot.

The lieutenant colonel scanned his surroundings and could hardly recognize the position before him.

Almost every visible area on the battlefield had been ravaged by artillery fire. Most of the once extensive trenches had collapsed, and traces of fire remained everywhere.

There were at least a hundred corpses dressed in gray military uniforms lying haphazardly on the ground in the visible area.

The man and his "mobile church" were long gone, leaving only a huge crater on the German position and thick smoke billowing into the sky.

Behind them, soldiers slowly removed their hats to mourn, and many who had received the priest's grace prostrated themselves on the ground.

a.

Balduc, the front-line command of the French Second Army.

The first thing Chief of Staff Bernard Seibert did upon entering the room was to hang up his military cap.

As the battle along the Somme began, the German forces on the front had been reduced. Although the fighting remained deadlocked, a small detail like him wearing a hat showed that the most difficult time for the French army had passed.

"Your Excellency, the report to be submitted to the Ministry of War has been completed. Please take a look."

The 60-year-old veteran took the stack of reports, which was more than 20 pages long, from his assistant, flipped through it for a while, and then put it back on the table.

"Bernard, do you think the War Department will think we're playing a trick on them if we send out a report like this?" The general said, taking out his pocket watch and gently rubbing it.

A hint of helplessness appeared on the Chief of Staff's face.

“That’s right. That person was involved in almost all of our major operations, and it’s impossible to completely bypass him in the report.”

"But we just can't explain his background, whether it's his past experience or his social connections from six months ago. After stripping away that fake identity, he appeared out of thin air in Baladik."

"But that doesn't stop him from being a hero of Verdun, does it?" The general looked at something on the table, a Legion of Honor, the highest honor a battlefield cleric could receive.

“The key to the problem is not here, sir. Please look at this.” The assistant handed over another newspaper.

“Rasputin? The one who caused such a ruckus in St. Petersburg? Why bring this up?!” The general had also heard the rumors. “Your Excellency, I’ve received some somewhat unreliable information. In Russia…” The staff officer leaned down and whispered a few words in Pétain’s ear.

"Ridiculous! How can you treat something so vague and unfounded as intelligence!"

"Yes, Your Excellency! I was not careful enough." Bernard stood up and apologized.

Pétain walked a few steps in place, then turned around.
"But you're right, we really can't promote someone with an unclear identity as a war hero, especially in an event like Belleville Heights that turned the tide of the war."

"Yes, Your Excellency, that would make us look extremely absurd."

"What do you mean?"

“Sir, this matter needs to be handled very carefully.” The chief of staff said cautiously, “His reputation in the army is too high, especially in hospitals and transport units where he is almost mythologized. Even now, truck drivers shout ‘Father Al’s owl’ before setting off to pray for safety.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking: could we hold a large, separate funeral in Belleville Heights? That way, we can at least show our attitude and prevent the soldiers from feeling disheartened.”

“Hmm~” Pétain pondered for a moment, then waved his hand. “Do as you wish. Make it grand. I will allocate some funds from the logistics department for you.”

"Yes, Your Excellency, then I'll be going out!" The staff officer gathered the documents on the table, turned around, and prepared to leave.

"Wait a moment."

"Is there anything else, Your Excellency?"

"Keep those newspapers."
-
At the same time, at the German Air Force base, Duamont Airport.

A red triplane fighter jet descended from the sky and gracefully came to a stop on the runway. Under the sunlight, six black iris patterns were neatly arranged on the side of the aircraft—this represented that the pilot had already achieved six officially recognized kills and entered the ranks of ace pilots.

Someone brought a ladder, and Lieutenant Richthofen jumped out of the plane and headed towards the small warehouse without much small talk.

There were already people waiting there.

“Manfred, you’ve arrived.” Someone raised their hand to signal to the young ace, though their voice wasn’t as energetic as it had been a few months ago.

It was still the same table made from a broken wooden crate, with canned horse meat and coffee substitutes, but the young people sitting around it had changed.

Some people have earned the title of ace, while others have left behind only an empty chair.

Once you're on the battlefield, no one can guarantee they'll survive.

The "banquet" began, but these noble air knights seemed preoccupied. The violin, which was originally cheerful, was quietly placed aside—its owner had been shot down during the last sortie and broke both legs while parachuting.

Everyone raised their glasses, and according to the rules, the person with the best record was responsible for giving a toast.

"Respect to Ron!"

"Respect to Schneider!"

"Respect to Brian!"

The future Red Baron announced the names of his departing comrades one by one. At the very end, he hesitated slightly before raising his glass once more.
"And respect to that fox as well."

(End of this chapter)