Chapter 380: The Occupiers and the Occupied Territories

The German army had occupied Paris. A disaster that the French had imagined countless times, but had almost never happened, had now become a

The German army had occupied Paris. A disaster that the French had imagined countless times, but had almost never happened, had now become a reality that they had to accept. Up to this moment, a total of 1.5 million French and British prisoners had been captured by Germany, and Paris had indisputably become a city under German control.

Soon, General von Rundstedt had summoned the commander of the Paris gendarmerie police force, Roger Langeron. He had given this French officer his own assurance: “Your Excellency, General, I hope that you will cooperate with the actions of the German army and ensure that the operations proceed smoothly. If I do not encounter any trouble because of the matters you are in charge of, then I will not trouble you again and waste everyone’s time.”

Soon, the citizens of Paris knew that they had been deceived. The German soldiers had no intention of violating military discipline at all. These frontline combat units had passed through in a hurry, seemingly without even having the time to eat a breakfast at a restaurant or to take a look at the Louvre. Behind these soldiers, only a few hundred soldiers had been left to maintain basic order on the roads.

The rape of women had not happened. Most of the German soldiers were polite and courteous. They poured into the French shops with handfuls of banknotes, buying souvenirs they liked. They ate steak in French restaurants, and soon the beef was sold out, because these things were rationed in Germany and were hard to come by.

What was even more satisfying was that the soldiers finally had a chance to have intimate contact with the opposite sex. Several famous brothels in Paris were places for German officers to enjoy, and as ordinary soldiers, they could only go to some of the poorer entertainment venues. But they did not resort to such places either, because on the streets of Montparnasse, the women who were walking around were shamelessly clinging to any passing German soldier.

“They are French, after all!” The proper people who were passing by all felt extremely ashamed, and the local French people who were drinking coffee nearby also felt a great blow to their self-esteem. But life had to go on, so no one really dared to find trouble with the German occupation forces.

Some people had changed quickly enough, and shamelessly enough. They had already hung up signs on their shops, on which was written in German, “No non-Aryans allowed.” They used this hateful way to win over new customers. If Akado were to see this scene, he would know that, in fact, in any country, there are always those despicable fellows.

There were also many things that had happened that had made even the invaders feel a bit caught off guard. On the second day of the German occupation of Paris, a letter sent by a Frenchman actually had a strange address written on it: “German Paris.” The letter carrier was at a loss for whether to laugh or cry, but the Germans had thought of the symbolic meaning in this. Soon, a “German Paris” commemorative stamp was issued.

Of course, not all friendly attitudes were for the purpose of profit, at least not in Paris. Some women of good lineage should have hated the invaders, but they had found themselves easily moved by the neat and resolute march of the German soldiers.

The German officers were elegant and generous. A beautiful French woman was so scared when she saw the German invading army that her legs went weak. She saw two German officers in trench coats walking toward her, and she was so scared that all she could do was to cover her chest with her hands.

As a result, the German officers had politely stepped forward to greet her, and then had helped the beautiful woman to a table at an open-air cafe and had sat down. This German Wehrmacht major had smiled and had ordered a drink for her, and had chatted with her humorously about all sorts of things.

Later, this beautiful woman confessed, “I drank champagne with the enemy there. Oh, God, he was so polite, he looked like a nobleman. So I left him my address. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Problems like this had caused the most serious consequences in the hearts of the Parisian citizens. A French man had complained with a sigh, “Soon there will be hordes of German children everywhere.” And the taxi driver who was driving beside him had shrugged helplessly. “Can’t be helped. It’s human nature.”

On the first day of the German occupation of Paris, German war photographers and American journalists had respectively captured an incredible scene with their lenses: the occupiers and the women of the occupied territories were strolling leisurely on the streets, hand in hand. Such a thing seemed to have become commonplace from the very beginning.

The short time that the ordinary German soldiers had stayed in Paris had not been able to stop these people’s curious thoughts. Many wanted to experience the inspiration and edification of art and culture, so they had used their short break to appreciate what Führer Akado had called the “miracle of Western civilization.” With a fanatical mood, these soldiers had visited the nearby Montmartre and some other old streets, while the residents of these places had sat in the cafes on the side of the road, trying their best to hide their contempt for these wet-behind-the-ears tourists.

Of course, resistance also filled every corner of this city. By the time the SS troops had charged into the major and minor museums of Paris, they had discovered that in all the collections, including the Louvre, the number of exhibits had been drastically reduced. In the few nights before Paris was occupied, the French government had already transported more than 3,000 precious paintings and sculptures to secret storage locations all over France. Even the legendary Venus de Milo was gone. The SS troops, who had come up empty-handed, had returned without success. To meet the needs of the visitors, the Germans had had to find a replica to make do.

“If they had put half the effort into hiding their art into defending Paris, we would have lost at least 10,000 men,” Guderian said with a sigh, standing in the hall of the Louvre in Paris, covered in dust, in front of Venus. “But I’m not interested in Venus. I prefer Friedrich, the Friedrich rocket launcher.”

In the next few days, a dazzling performance would continue. The songs and dances of the Moulin Rouge were still unforgettable. The energetic choral groups were welcomed by everyone, and the sound of laughter on the stage would replace the sorrow of having lost their motherland. All of this had once again confirmed a critic’s evaluation of the city of Paris—”a city of unparalleled frivolity, boredom, and depravity.”

It was a pity that the German soldiers did not seem to be very interested in the performances where the women had taken off all their clothes and were twisting their bodies to please the audience. A French poet had described the German soldiers who had come to watch the performance: “Under the fairyland-like lights, watching sixty women, stark naked, these soldiers were in a daze, their faces gloomy. It seemed they would rather be back in their distant homes.”

To go home seemed to be an impossible thing, because according to the orders of the German Supreme High Command, Army Group B had moved south and had inserted itself between Army Group A and Army Group C, filling the central void that had been formed after Army Group A’s Sickle Cut operation. Then this huge, infantry-based army group had begun to move south, circling around to the back of the French Maginot Line, directly threatening the flank and rear of the last main force of the French army.

And Army Group A, on the one hand, had launched a fierce attack along the coastline, eating up the British Expeditionary Force that had wanted to escape and the French forces along the coast. And the main force of Army Group A had simultaneously launched a frontal offensive, occupying Paris and delivering the final fatal blow to France.

Because of Gamelin’s suicide, the French army was now all under the command of General Weygand. He had divided the troops into small squares like an international chessboard and had stipulated that the troops in each square must resist stubbornly.

To prevent the Germans from penetrating the defensive line as quickly as they had in early January and destroying the entire defensive system, he had prepared to establish a stable and solid defensive system. But he no longer had any armored forces in his hands, nor did he have any mechanized forces to consolidate the fortresses and to plug the gaps in the defensive line.

De Gaulle, who had wasted the French armored forces, was at this very moment leading his remnants to retreat to Troyes. And his French 10th Armoured Corps now had only a pitiful 30 tanks left. Rather than saying his unit was a tank corps, it was more accurate to say now that his unit was a tank regiment.

In the end, Weygand could only use his tough attitude to admonish his own soldiers, hoping that these subordinates could get through France’s most difficult moment. “The battle that will decide the fate of the nation is about to be fought from the place we are holding. As for retreating, please don’t even think about it! All commanders, from the corps level to the platoon level, must make up their minds to fight to the last moment!”

This encouragement did not seem to be of any use against the Germans. Their positions were lost one after another, and the French defensive line retreated again and again. But it seemed that they had played out their own style on another front. Fifteen divisions of French soldiers had defeated twice their number of Italians and had happily shaken off the curse of their recent string of defeats, passing this unlucky curse on to their Italian neighbors.

While the Germans were singing songs of triumph, the Italians were tasting the bitter fruit of defeat. After losing 15,000 soldiers, Mussolini’s troops were still treading water. The Franco-Italian border had not changed an inch—and this was only because the French army, in order to avoid over-stimulating Italy and causing a larger-scale two-front war, had not taken the initiative to attack Italy.

Even Mussolini now really felt that he had no face left. The first time he had gone to Berlin, the news he had told Akado was that Italy was not ready for war and would not immediately declare war on Britain and France. The second time he had gone to Berlin, the news he had told Akado was that Italy had declared war on France and wanted to snatch a portion of Germany’s victory. This time, he was going to Berlin again, and the news he was telling Akado was to request that Germany, in the matter of France’s surrender, consider Italy’s interests and feelings.

“What face does Italy still have? What face do you still want me to have, to have the invincible Germans consider our bullshit feelings?” Mussolini roared at his subordinates on the plane, but he immediately quieted down, because as these subordinates had said: Italy must get a certain amount of benefit in France.

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