Chapter 279: Death and a Funeral

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In the fireplace on the wall, a warm and ardent flame danced. The room was as warm as spring. Outside the Felsennest, it was still cold, but

In the fireplace on the wall, a warm and ardent flame danced. The room was as warm as spring. Outside the Felsennest, it was still cold, but the temperature was rising. The snow had begun to melt, and both ends of the highway were muddy.

In the morning, Akado had seen his wife, Mercedes, off. The First Lady of Germany had rushed back to Berlin for the latest plan of the White Orchid Group to mass-produce helicopters. Now, only Anna was by his side, so the whole room seemed a little lonely.

Listening to the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace, Akado sat there in silence. In his hand, he held, limply, a telegram from the Far East. It was the content of this telegram that had made Akado sit there from morning until now.

The telegram from this morning stated that because Germany had changed its strategy and intensity of aid to China, Japan had also changed its corresponding strategy. At 7:15 this morning, the belated Battle of Shanghai had officially begun.

The situation in the Far East looked terrible. The Japanese troops had encountered Chiang Kai-shek’s most stubborn resistance in Shanghai. Four German-equipped divisions were engaged in a fierce battle with the Japanese army near Shanghai, and the Japanese troops had suffered heavy losses. The twenty Messerschmitt 109C fighters that Chiang Kai-shek had painstakingly smuggled from Italy at the cost of pawning his own trousers had actually achieved the glorious combat record of shooting down 27 Japanese fighters on the morning of this day.

And that weak and distant China had actually produced two air combat aces in a single hour. Even Akado himself had not expected that under the command of the Nationalist general, Zhang Zhizhong, the 9th Army Group of the National Revolutionary Army, which von Seeckt had constantly boasted about to Akado in his telegrams, would be so surprisingly combat-effective.

Just two hours ago, at 9 AM, less than two hours after the war had begun, the 150mm Krupp heavy artillery produced by the arsenal secretly built by Chiang Kai-shek in the suburbs of Wuhan had achieved a miraculous feat, scoring a direct hit on a Japanese landing force command post and taking out two Japanese army major generals.

Putting aside this somewhat luck-based combat record, just at the beginning of the war, the Chinese army had brought out 50 75mm field guns and 25 150mm heavy cannons. This confidence had completely taken the Japanese army by surprise. As soon as these elite Krupp-equipped artillery units appeared, they had taught the Japanese army what German-style fire suppression was.

In addition, the Mauser 98K bolt-action rifle in the hands of the Chinese infantry was better in overall performance than the Arisaka Type 38 rifle used by the Japanese army. The Chinese army’s Maxim machine gun was also more practical than Japan’s Type 92 heavy machine gun. The Czech ZB-26 light machine gun was a creator of casualties that had caused the Japanese army endless trouble. So, apart from Japan having some advantages in tanks and ships, the rest of their weapons and equipment seemed to be inferior to the Chinese defenders.

The Chinese troops, who had multiple advantages, fought with increasing bravery. Their long guns and short guns inflicted a large number of casualties on the Japanese army. Judging from the content of von Seeckt’s last telegram, the Japanese army would have to lose at least 100,000 men in Shanghai this time to achieve the same result as in the past.

However, Akado also knew in his heart that it was impossible for China to win this war. Within a few hours, the stamina of the Chinese defenders would be insufficient. The Chinese armed forces, which lacked the support of a complete industrial system, could not withstand the consumption of a war of attrition. In the end, just as in history, they would collapse at the last moment and lose Shanghai.

Distant China’s performance this time was commendable, and it was enough to make his own mood much better. At least in this timeline, the Chinese had more confidence in defending their homeland, and their combat capability was also higher. At least in this decisive battle for Shanghai, the overall equipment level of China’s main force, the 9th Army Group, was almost on par with similar German units, which had also given the arrogant Japanese army a taste of the true level of a European army.

But Akado was still not happy, because the telegram he was holding was the last one from von Seeckt. It was indeed the last telegram. This old general, whose health had always been poor, Akado’s old superior, and his teacher in many of the details of military knowledge, had, just half an hour ago, due to accumulated fatigue and excessive emotional fluctuations, closed his eyes forever.

This old man who had voluntarily gone to China to help the poor and weak Chinese people to rally again was gone. This old man who had been praised by President Chiang Kai-shek as a model of international friendship and the cornerstone of China’s national defense was gone. Although under Akado’s careful protection, he had died two years later than in history, he had still left at a time when the Chinese people needed him most.

A secret German intelligence agency stationed in Nanjing had just sent a telegram. The 9th Army Group of the Chinese National Revolutionary Army had just issued an obituary. The Chinese soldiers on the battlefield had spontaneously wrapped their waists in linen. The entire army was wailing, fighting bravely forward, and had even driven a portion of the Japanese landing force back into the sea.

Von Seeckt had been given the highest honors in China. The end of the telegram mentioned a moving matter. Although the flag could not be lowered to half-mast in mourning according to the rites for a national scholar, the Blue Sky with a White Sun flag at the Presidential Palace in Nanjing today had not been raised to the top, but was a full foot short.

Akado just sat there quietly. He knew that that suffering nation had always followed an old saying—”Repay a drop of kindness with a gushing spring.” He knew that von Seeckt, who had left the stage in Germany in disgrace, had found the most memorable and beautiful years of his life in China. With Akado’s support, this old man had done more, much more. And so the Chinese people had remembered this friend, and their repayment was the fervent gratitude of four hundred million hearts.

Akado even felt that he could feel the machine tools producing the large cannons in the Wuhan arsenal turning faster; the workers working overtime to pack one shell after another into ammunition boxes, relying on the slow but never-stopping ox and horse porters to send them to the front line.

Akado even felt that he could feel, on the Shanghai battlefield, those resolute and silent Chinese soldiers, holding their German-inscribed rifles in the cold wind, using their flesh and blood to prove that this nation had never fallen.

That nation, which carried thousands of years of history, that ancient, rigid, stubborn, and unyielding nation, that weak, tolerant, self-abasing, and timid nation, they possessed a straight backbone, a backbone that could not be bent by tanks. They possessed hot blood that could not run dry, that would not cool even if they were to lay down their lives. They possessed a kindness that came from their very bones, so kind that because an old man named von Seeckt was buried in Nanjing, they had forgotten the unpleasantness of Jiaozhou Bay.

How could you have just left like that? Akado thought silently. He remembered their first meeting, remembered von Seeckt’s first meeting with him on the train, remembered the days and nights in the Wehrmacht, remembered his expressionless face as he watched von Seeckt leave in disgrace. What had made his collar wet? Akado reached up and touched it, but when he brought his hand before his eyes, he found that he couldn’t see clearly.

Time is truly merciless. How many familiar people have left just like that? That stubborn god of diplomatic warfare, Stresemann; that wise pride of industry, Karl Benz; that stubborn and powerful Field Marshal, Hindenburg… Now, another old man had left this world, silently but not without renown.

“I don’t think you’ll be too lonely,” Akado sighed. How grand would the funeral be? Would it be full of Chinese customs? Would there also be the white banners to summon the soul, the familiar paper money with the square hole? Would there also be people shedding tears, praying for an old fellow like you?

Anna did not knock. She walked in quietly and stopped behind Akado. She knew that her beloved was in a bad mood. She knew that the respected old man was an elder that Akado cared about very much.

“Führer!” Anna did not use her usual form of address, but solemnly called Akado by his title. She was implicitly reminding Akado that he was now the Führer, the Führer revered by tens of thousands in Germany, the German Führer who had to pull himself together.

“Hah…” Akado let out a long breath, collected his thoughts, and said softly, “What is it?”

“A telegram from General von Rundstedt! Army Group A has captured Sedan. The French 9th Army is in full retreat,” Anna replied.

“I know,” Akado said, slowly standing up. He shook out his SS uniform, and his back was once again ramrod straight. “Send him a reply. Continue the attack according to the original plan… I will await his good news.”

“Attention!” a German officer commanded loudly.

“Clatter.” A neat sound of standing at attention rang out. Rein stood at the front of the line, silently looking at the five crosses made of wooden sticks, still with an expressionless face.

These five graves lay quietly among a field of graves. These new graves were all of German soldiers who had been killed in the river crossing battle. As far as the eye could see, there were nearly a hundred of them. Some soldiers around were crying silently, but Rein just pursed his lips and stared motionless at the central grave. On the grave was a wreath woven of straw, placed there by the commander of tank 125.

“I can’t cry. That doesn’t mean I’m not sad. I know you were a good company commander,” Marcus said softly, standing beside Rein. “I will live on well, for your share too.”

“You’re lying here, which means you didn’t fight hard enough, didn’t kill enough, weren’t brutal enough, there wasn’t enough blood,” Rein muttered softly. “I don’t know how to say it to you. When I’m done with the French, I’ll come back here to see you.”

“I know you are all very sad, but do you still remember the words of our battle song?” the battalion commander said, standing to the side and looking at his men, his face tinged with sadness.

Someone took the lead and began to sing. The voice was a bit tragic, but it was incomparably firm. Soon, everyone was singing along, and the familiar melody became more and more majestic. They were sending off their comrades-in-arms with their song, so they were extremely solemn:

“And if we are abandoned by Lady Luck,

And if we can never return to our homeland,

If a bullet ends our lives,

If we cannot escape our fate,

Then at least our faithful tank,

Will give us a metal grave.”

“Rein!” the battalion commander said, looking at Rein and shouting loudly. “The 1st Platoon is temporarily under your command, until you are killed in action or I find a better candidate.”

“As you command!” Rein replied loudly, standing at attention.

“The company commander will be temporarily replaced by the 2nd Platoon leader,” the battalion commander said, then turned and walked into the distance. “Rest for two hours, then set off west along the highway.”