Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 143 Double Star
May 11, 1940, Bastogne, Belgium: Provisional headquarters of Army Group A.

The temporary command post was located in a large local estate.

Inside the manor, orderly soldiers carried large boxes filled with documents to the office, technical personnel were laying telephone lines, a huge map of northern France was pasted on it, and staff officers were marking it with red and blue pencils.

Three days ago, the command post of Army Group A was in Koblenz, Germany, but now it has moved to Belgium. This speed of advance has caught the staff officers in charge of logistics coordination somewhat off guard.

"Slow down! Be careful not to crash!" someone shouted from below, looking up.

On the roof of the house, a communications soldier was erecting an antenna high up.

However, when he finished his work, he found something extra in his hand—a complete bird's nest with several bluish-gray bird eggs inside.

"Hey guys, look what I got!" The young communications soldier showed off what he had to the other soldiers. The Germans were in high spirits because things were going well at the front.

What kind of bird's egg is this?

"It's quite big, is it a hawk?"

"I only care about whether it's edible."

The soldiers started talking amongst themselves, and some even tried to touch it with their hands.

A voice broke in.

"Put those things back! These are crow eggs!" An old soldier walked over and angrily reprimanded the people in front of him.

The soldiers glanced at the newcomer and instinctively shut their mouths.

The other party was a veteran who had participated in World War I, and his seniority was longer than that of most officers.

"It's just a crow's egg, nothing special," a young man muttered, looking down, clearly unconvinced.

"What do you know? Never touch anything belonging to crows before a battle; it's very unlucky." The veteran snatched the bird's nest, carefully put it back, then thought for a moment before putting a piece of dried meat inside before feeling at ease.

The veteran began to introduce some of the army's traditions to the group, while the young soldiers listened with a bewildered expression.

In an office not far away, a tall and upright figure was watching everything happening outside the window.

Manstein, who was already wearing the rank of general at this time, was the chief of staff of Army Group A and was responsible for planning the entire offensive in the Ardennes.

At this time, the entire "Sickle Blitz" plan was progressing smoothly.

The 19th Armored Corps has just crossed the Meuse River and broken through the Sedan line, and is preparing to plunge into the English Channel.

Rommel's 7th Panzer Division began a rapid advance through northern France, advancing up to 50 kilometers in a single day.

Yesterday, the head of state sent a telegram praising "this great victory," and the soldiers' morale has reached its peak.

But for some reason, Manstein still felt a vague unease.

Just like the scar on my forehead, it aches from time to time.

Footsteps sounded behind him. "Chief of Staff, I'm about to fly back to the front lines. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

Guderian, commander of the 19th Panzer Corps, stood at the door.

Both men were actually generals with similar seniority, and there was no clear superior-subordinate relationship between them.

However, Manstein was slightly older and came from a Junker aristocratic family. Moreover, in order to allow Rommel and Guderian to act freely, he even brought up the Führer to withstand the pressure from his superior, Gerd von Rundstedt.

This allowed Guderian's armored forces' rapid assault plan to proceed smoothly.

Therefore, Guderian always maintained a respectful attitude towards Manstein when the two were together.

The two men stood side by side, their shoulders adorned with shining stars.

One infantry general and one armored general.

One was born into nobility, the other into commoner status.

One is reserved and aloof, skilled in planning and proficient in high-level politics; the other is cheerful and straightforward, and despises bureaucracy.

They are like two sides of a Prussian sword, one side sharp and aggressive, the other calm and reserved.

Even Rommel, who was also highly regarded, was not qualified in the eyes of the two at this moment.

Standing in front of the glass window, Manstein turned around and looked at his colleagues.

"Your Excellency Guderian, I don't have much to say here. The Führer just sent a telegram, fully supporting all your actions and hoping that you can completely block the English Channel by the end of the month."

"Your Excellency Chief of Staff, I think there is no problem at all." Guderian was in high spirits as he celebrated his moment of glory.

“However,” Manstein paused slightly, as if considering a gentler approach, “I heard from your adjutant that you often position yourself quite far forward when giving orders, so please be mindful of your safety.”

*Snap!* The sound of heels clashing rang out, and Guderian gave the other person a slight nod.

"Thank you for your concern, I will! However, given the French's current situation, they probably won't be able to find me at all, since they don't even have airplanes in the sky."

Guderian smiled slightly, turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving the Chief of Staff alone in his office. He continued to watch the orderly bustling about outside the window, and for some reason, the scar on his forehead began to ache again.
-
At the same time, in a deserted village in northern France.

Quack! Quack! Quack quack!!
The cawing of crows rang out outside; it was Odin haggling with the temporary workers.

Qin Hao picked up a pencil and started scribbling on a piece of paper he had casually torn off.

There are many historical records of de Gaulle's defensive battle, but the actual location of the German troops still needed to be determined by Odin and his temporary workers. Qin Hao deliberately made the handwriting a bit messy, making the map look hastily made, more like an intelligence report.

flap flap~~~
Odin flapped his wings and flew into the house, pouncing directly at the jerky on the table.

Qin Hao gathered up the dried meat.

"You can't take it all! We only have half as agreed!"

Quack!! Quack!

The man and the raven started arguing again over the workload, and before they knew it, Odin's sharp claws left a scratch on Qin Hao's hand.

A few drops of blood fell onto the newly completed map.

When bleeding occurred, both the labor and management were stunned.

Knowing he had caused trouble, Odin rolled his eyes, then grabbed half of the jerky on the table, turned around, and flew out the window.

The injury on his hand wasn't serious, and seeing the guy's guilty expression, Qin Hao couldn't help but smile.

The bloodstains did not contaminate the key locations on the map. Qin Hao glanced at the time and simply stuffed the paper he had just finished into his pocket.

Nighttime, the temporary garrison of the French 4th Armored Division.

The soldiers in the camp had already gone to sleep, but de Gaulle was still in his room, looking at the map thoughtfully.

For some reason, the owls near the campsite were hooting more frequently at night.

Frank, the adjutant standing nearby, placed a light meal on the table. Looking at his superior who had been with him for a long time, he hesitated for a moment and asked, "Do you really believe the British can provide us with air support?"

“I’m not sure, but General Verick did assure me.” De Gaulle glanced at the map in front of him and sighed slightly. “It’s just a trial.”

"Sir, what I mean is, this doesn't make sense..."

“That’s right, it defies common sense, but that’s what we do – create the irrational.” A voice suddenly rang out from outside, and then the window of the room opened, and a figure climbed in.

Last night, that mysterious guy jumped into the house.

The adjutant instinctively reached for his gun, but then, recalling what had happened yesterday, slowly lowered his hand.

"How did you get in?!" the adjutant asked, bewildered.

“I had a companion who showed me the way in,” the man shrugged. “However, your sentries really need to be more vigilant.”

Watching the other party easily infiltrate a camp of several thousand people, de Gaulle felt for the first time that General Verick might not have been exaggerating.

The guy in front of me is no ordinary person.

But the surprises didn't end there.

*Thud!* The other person pulled a map from their pocket and threw it at me.

"Here you go, it's just finished."

De Gaulle unfolded what he was holding, looked down, and his expression grew increasingly serious.

The map was drawn rather hastily, and there were spelling errors in some places.

However, this very sketch marked out all the German mobile forces on the south bank of the Meuse River.

"The main enemy we are facing ahead should be a part of Guderian's 1st Division, stationed in the town of Moncoln and 20 kilometers to the northeast, while the 10th Panzer Division is about 50 kilometers behind."

The man in the black robe spoke eloquently, as if he had witnessed it himself.

"Where did you get such accurate information?" De Gaulle asked, his voice filled with doubt, as if he found it hard to believe.

Even with aerial reconnaissance, one can only get a general idea of ​​the number of enemy troops in a certain location. Commanders have to deduce the enemy's possible movements from the vague information.

But the map in front of us not only clearly shows the locations and the number of people, but it even includes the German army unit numbers.

"This is the result of our low-altitude flight unit's progressive observation, combined with comprehensive analysis by ground personnel." The other party's tone was flat, as if this was not a particularly remarkable achievement.

De Gaulle looked at the things in front of him, deep in thought. If these things were real, they could not possibly be the result of the air force's independent efforts. Considering the identity of the other party's intelligence officer, it was very likely that the information was obtained through the local intelligence network.

There were dried bloodstains in the corners of the map, which evoked all sorts of associations.

Perhaps many people have already sacrificed their lives for such intelligence.

"You must have paid a heavy price?" de Gaulle tried to ask.

"It's alright, but the resources I brought this time are almost used up, so it might not be so easy to come again." The man in the priest's robe said to him with his back turned, his tone resolute, yet seemingly tinged with a faint sadness.

De Gaulle confirmed his suspicions.

Sure enough, the British paid a heavy price to obtain this information, to the point that their intelligence agencies were unable to function properly.

This favor must be repaid.

De Gaulle glanced at the other person, then turned his attention back to the map.

The landmarks of Moncolnet stand out starkly.

(End of this chapter)