Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 163 The Night Before
“Your Excellency Pétain, the ground here is slippery. Let me help you.” Clerk Léon Noël reached out to pull the 80-year-old man behind him, but the man shook him off.

Philippe Pétain, dressed in a crisp army uniform, pulled his boots out of the mud and walked step by step along the path in the Compiègne Forest.

Not only him, but also Army General Charles Anziger, Navy Rear Admiral Jean-Marie Berger, Air Force Lieutenant General Maurice Lelou, and other high-ranking officials of the current French government were all struggling with the mud in the woods.

This was one of the "little surprises" the Germans had prepared for the French. In order to humiliate their old rival, the Germans demanded that the French delegation get off their vehicle three kilometers outside the Compiègne Forest and walk along a path to the signing site.

There was no basic diplomatic treatment, no personnel to guide them, and not even a map.

The top-level delegation of the current French cabinet was left stranded on this road, dressed in expensive clothes and trudging through the mud, looking like a team of insurance salesmen.

As the fog rolled in, the directions became increasingly unclear, and the delegation members could only grope their way forward along the narrow paths.

The scenery in the fog was sometimes bright and sometimes dark, and the road underfoot was sometimes wide and sometimes narrow. Suddenly! A huge shadow seemed to be lurking in the fog, blocking the delegation's way.

"Sir! Watch out!" The attendant beside him shielded Pétain behind him and instinctively reached for the pistol at his waist, only to realize that his weapon had long been taken away.

Only when the scenery before them became clear did the attendants realize that what they were facing was not a person at all, but an obelisk about four meters high, topped with a bronze statue of the goddess of victory.

The goddess held a sword in one hand and an olive branch in the other, her gaze lowered, looking at the crowd before her with pity.

Alsace-Lorraine Monument

It was once a spiritual symbol of the French victory in World War I.

Looking at past glories and recalling the agreement to be signed, the entire delegation felt immense humiliation and indignation.

Looking at the crowd around him, Pétain sternly stepped over the monument, his entourage following behind.

The group carefully looked around at the road, because there were still scattered crosses on both sides—the tombstones of World War I soldiers who died in this place.

Plop~ Plop~
Unidentified birds flew through the woods, creating an incredibly eerie atmosphere.

Click!

The sound of a branch breaking underfoot rang out.

The delegation members suddenly turned around, and a figure swayed in the thick fog. A person dressed in a German military uniform walked out and stood on a low earthen slope about ten meters away.

Because of the angle, people couldn't see his face clearly; they just felt that he was looking down at everyone.

The man didn't even bother to talk to the delegation members, turning around and walking ahead without saying a word.

Faced with such disrespect, the delegation members had no choice but to follow at a distance.

Everyone thought this was another way for the Germans to humiliate the French, but Pétain stood there watching the man's back, seemingly lost in thought.

"Sir, please be patient. The Germans have not asked you to sign anything." General Charles Anzier, standing nearby, assumed the old man was concerned about the signing of the peace agreement later.

"No, I just feel a little familiar with it."

The 80-year-old then rubbed his forehead and said, "It seems I really am getting old."

"how can that be possible……"

In the distance, Göring had just put down his binoculars and turned to his side, annoyed, asking, "What's going on? How come a Wehrmacht officer walked in?! And he's mixed up with the French."

"Sir, the temporary expansion of the defense zone was only announced yesterday, and the management is a bit chaotic. Perhaps some people haven't been notified yet..." the adjutant beside him said. "Never mind, let it be," Goring waved his hand dismissively.

"How are the head of state's requests being handled?"

"Your Excellency, please see, everything is ready." The adjutant led the way, and the two of them walked one after the other towards the parking spot of Foch's carriage.

When they opened the door, they found that someone was already inside.

The man before me was about 175 cm tall, which was relatively short for a tall and strong German, and his clothing was extremely simple compared to Göring, who was running around carrying a marshal's baton.
He wore a grey-green four-pocket military uniform with black breeches and tall military boots, a dark grey double-breasted coat that covered his knees, a gold swastika armband on his left arm, and a 1914 Iron Cross First Class medal on his chest.

His short, shiny black hair was cut into an exaggerated 90-degree angle at the back of his head, and below his big nose was his signature mustache. His eagle-like eyes swept towards the doorway.

click!
The sound of military boots clattering rang out.

"Hil Hitlr!" The two men stood at attention, raised their right arms at a 45-degree angle, and bowed in unison.

"I'm sorry, my leader! We didn't know you had arrived."

"Ha, Göring, my Imperial Marshal, you've finally arrived. And Fritz, my little friend, I've heard you did a good job in France." The mustachioed Führer appropriately displayed his approachable side.

The two men stood at attention again.

"My leader, I am honored!"

Patting the young adjutant on the shoulder, the mustachioed head of state paced around the room, seemingly surveying the interior of the carriage.

At this moment, even Göring, the nominal number two, became nervous.

Under his tense gaze, the Führer gently pressed his hand on the cabinet that had just been moved in. "Göring, I am very satisfied with your work."

"Himmler could only use his wisdom in familiar positions, unlike you who can always give me some unexpected surprises from time to time."

huh~~
The fat marshal breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's just as I imagined, decorated with the ostentatious, decadent atmosphere of the French, and filled with a nauseating arrogance. Perhaps that's why they failed so quickly."

The head of state fiddled with the decorations on the table, patted the cabinet in front of him with one hand, and then gave a casual speech in front of his subordinates.

"Facts have proven that only the noble Germans can achieve the best administrative efficiency and eliminate this extravagant atmosphere. We are the noblest nation!"

The leader's hands moved faster and faster, then he reached out to the surrounding ornaments.

“The Saxons and Franks may be a little stronger than those Slavs, but they are far inferior to us. The gap between us is at least as much as the ground and the height of this box.”

At this point, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed.

Both Göring and his adjutant hesitated to speak.

"My Imperial Marshal, what's wrong with you?" The man with the mustache looked at his subordinates with a puzzled expression.

“No, my Führer, nothing is wrong,” Göring replied stiffly.

The man with the mustache placed one of his hands on the "misfortune box" that had just been put back.

(End of this chapter)