Initiate: Operation Mordhau
Written by Tim Callahan
Edited by Jackson Jewell and Zach Batson
As the resolve of the French Internationale begins to waver in the face of mounting casualties, the lumbering behemoths of the Empire see an opportunity to make a sudden and surprising move. Hoping to resolve the past two years of fighting on the back foot, a long-term plan is hatched to defeat the New Republic. If successful, who would remain to stall the Imperial onslaught?
The Breaking Waves
In the aftermath of the abandonment of Holland and the capture of Mannheim, the Imperials found themselves with a rare moment of wind in their sails. The temporary loss of Holland, a public-facing black eye, was, in actuality, a blessing in disguise, allowing the HRE to focus its reinforcements in the south without losing trust among the citizenry for negligence in the north. French attacks, which were a seemingly unending tidal wave of uncontrolled hordes for the better part of two years, had fallen to a standstill. The NFR’s command structure was likened to a tangled knot, disorganized from a year of political pruning by the Commissariat. Missing links in the chain caused delays in reinforcement, and an overall poor judgement on the field. This also meant that French troops on the front were rarely relieved, only replaced, and advances increasingly resembled death sentences. With the sudden arrival of the British in Northern France in the dawning months of 1940, several of the New Republic’s veteran units, intended to recuperate behind the line, were now tied up in the Calais Pocket. Charles De Gaulle, the one French commander that the Imperial officers regarded with respect, had also defected to Britain in May with great fanfare, and it seemed that even their lesser enemies in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Nordic Union had devoted all of their resources to fighting the Russians. To most everyone in the Imperial High Command, it was obvious that an opportunity had arisen, but few could agree on what to do with it. With the United States soon entering the war in full, and American units already beginning to arrive in France and North Africa, this opportunity would be brief. If this opening were squandered it would certainly prolong the war by years.
The dominant thoughts in most noblemen’s minds were of revenge. The French, undisciplined and barely led in any meaningful capacity, had opened the war by utterly humiliating several of the old guard, making an utter mockery of the defensive fortress doctrines espoused by the Imperial Army. They even directly threatened Frankfurt, which had until recently been locked in a costly siege that devastated the landscape and forced the Imperial court away from their traditional coronation site. The most obvious target to prove that Imperial might was still worthy of respect by both their allies and their enemies was Paris itself, not only the seat of French power, but the very place where the Great War had begun. After months of deliberation, several plans were drafted for a direct “decapitation” strike on Paris, aimed at incapacitating the New Republic and firmly denying a European foothold to the Americans.
Several bold schemes showed promise, in particular a plan by Marshal Richtofen heavily mirroring the success of his aerial capture of Mannheim intrigued many in the war room. However, the conservative, defensive stature of the Imperial nobility remained an obstacle even when planning an all-out offensive. Of particular concern were a number of small Imperial pockets scattered along the borders of the Empire, places where, though the French offensives had died down, allied assets were still locked in and surrounded by hostile territory. As many of these pockets were in fact under the command of the nobles planning the offensive, it became essential for any plan that was proposed to include some manner of relief for these remaining pockets and, of course, breaking the siege of Luxembourg once and for all.
The Killing Blow
The plan that ultimately won out came not from a high-ranking noble but from the commander of the 13th Field Army in Stuttgart, Kuno Ludwig von Moltke. Having already participated in heavy fighting with the French 2nd Army Group, Von Moltke was well aware of the waning French morale, and that Richtofen’s encounter with them in Mannheim was far from out of the ordinary. While the Imperial hesitance to stage any serious offensives kept the French disposition a mystery to most in high command, Von Moltke had witnessed in several probing attacks an army that was not merely disheartened by the harsh conditions of the war they had created, but even outright unwilling to fight. Report after report came to Von Moltke of French soldiers of all ranks simply walking off the field, abandoning their posts when pressed into another potentially suicidal attack. In Mannheim, under Oleksandr Hrekov’s 5th Army Group, he personally witnessed French soldiers diving into the Rhine to escape the Imperial advance. To Von Moltke, the crumbling resolve of the Internationale and the weakening state of its interior departments provided not only hope for the future of the Empire, but the key to how he could bring forth its ultimate victory.
The final proof that the time was upon them came in February of 1940, only two and a half months after the complete seizure of Mannheim and its surrounds. The French salient that now found itself between Mannheim and the besieged Frankfurt gave way, not from any strong offensive, but just minimal pressure from both flanks simultaneously. The Second Siege of Frankfurt had collapsed with barely a murmur, with the aristocrats above Kuno wasting no time to start with self-celebrations. The French 2nd Group, now hemorrhaging troops, fell back to Kaiserslautern, hoping to not lose their grip on the Bonn front. With Frankfurt finally able to rest, he knew the plan he was drafting could be done with no recourse from the rear flank.
Given the audacious name of Operation Mordhau, the plan would capitalize on the failing French morale while building up that of the Empire’s own fatiguing forces. Having swept aside the crumbling 2nd Army at Frankfurt, the Imperial Army would march straight on through Strasbourg to the beleaguered pocket of Luxembourg, and from there move southwest, relieving smaller pockets and driving out scattered French holdouts as they went. The relieved units would then be integrated into a reorganized, “irregular” army group alongside volunteers from Frankfurt, reinforcing the advance with experienced veterans as they swept forward into France. The French, Von Moltke had reasoned, had lost the will to fight (no doubt in part thanks to the loss of the national hero De Gaulle), and upon seeing such a large force of Imperials on the offensive, would very likely offer little resistance of merit against them. Paris would not be a siege, but a military parade.
Gathering Thunder
While the plan was Von Moltke’s, the task of command was given instead to his commander in the 5th Army Group, Hrekov. Having already performed admirably in Mannheim last year as Richtofen’s secret weapon, the Ukrainian had proven himself as a reliable offensive commander who could utilize the heavy armor of the Empire in large, sweeping movements. From Stuttgart, motivated by the realization that the French would not pose a serious threat, they would push the French 1st Group south out of Strasbourg. The 5th Army Group was then briefly divided, with Hrekov leading the relief of Luxembourg (undeniably a political move) and, as a move to satiate Von Moltke, the 13th Army would continue pressuring the French 1st, hoping to set up for their inevitable future invasions.
When Hrekov made his approach for Luxembourg in late June, what he found could barely constitute a siege at all. The 2nd Army was all but destroyed, and was no longer pressuring their northern flank. The 4th, already battered by the siege and a string of humiliating defeats, was now completely demoralized. Many of its veteran units were trapped in Calais fighting a guerilla war with British commandos, with the only “fresh and rested” troops to be found being newly minted trainees. De Gaulle, the great hero of France, was supposed to reinforce them with a fresh wave of armor, a plan which obviously fell apart. Ultimately, the siege was over in a matter of days. What had begun with the fury of unceasing guns and bloodshed ended with relatively few shots fired, with many French choosing to simply quit the field at the sight of the 5th Army Group’s primary force, systematically falling back at best or casting aside their arms and fleeing into the countryside at worst. While Luxembourg greeted Hrekov with open arms, there was little fanfare, as what had been two years of hell had ended in an otherwise mundane fashion. Millions had died on the Franco-Imperial front since the death of the Archduke, and it was obvious to most that the reward for such bloodshed was not to be found by other army.
Von Moltke’s southern campaign was largely another story. French units were diminished down to the bare bones, but what remained to hold the line of the 1st Army Group was tens of thousands of the fiercest soldiers in the revolution. The worst of the fighting encountered by the 13th Army was at Mulhouse in mid-June, just north of Basel. The defending French forces, rallied into action by the delayed retreat of their wounded southward, fought to the last man to slow Von Moltke. While they succeeded in covering the retreat and stalling Imperial momentum, none of the division which stayed behind survived the conflict.
The pattern of Imperial success continued to hold as the 5th Army Group’s liberation of the Imperial borders continued to march south and west, driving out the skeletal French occupiers and collecting both veteran soldiers and enthusiastic new volunteers at every holdout and sympathetic town they crossed. By the time they approached the Swiss border, the ad hoc army forming under the banner of Von Moltke had swollen to a nearly unmanageable size, with it actually being necessary for the advance to briefly stall to reorganize the paperwork that entailed such a large amount of manpower redistribution. When order was restored, the inevitable assault on Basel would double in footprint.
Lost and Found
During the first months of the Great War, the Imperial 1st Army Group “Prinz Heinrich” had undertaken a bold, perhaps overly bold, plan of attack. Driving quickly ahead of their compatriots, they had pushed through the advancing French lines and struck deep into their enemy’s territory. Despite numerous warnings about possible entrapment, they had forged ahead, and promptly found themselves entirely surrounded. Almost two years had passed since then. The Luxembourg pocket had not fallen, but their holdout came at great expense. From Heidelberg to Thionville the wrecks of fallen supply planes and zeppelins littered the earth, and those soldiers who survived wore ragged uniforms and hollow looks alongside their many medals.
A succession of officers had held command of the pocket in the intervening time. Field Marshal Heinrich von Swarzenberg had died four months into the encirclement from a stray bullet while inspecting the forming lines at Verdun, leaving his second-in-command, the newly field-promoted Field-Marshal Erwin Rommel, in charge. He held the post for an even shorter amount of time; a surprise partisan attack behind the lines caught his motorcade with a series of improvised explosives, and thus his stint ended. Third came the somewhat more successful Field-Marshal Friedrich Materna. Under Materna’s command, the pocket transformed into a proper fortress. His Pioneer Corps dug deep trenches, reinforcing them with concrete, stringing massive lines of barbed wire.
On the 6th of March, 1939, the French launched a massive assault into these fortifications, which, despite much bloodshed, did not succeed in establishing a breakthrough. An hours-long artillery bombardment had failed to substantially damage the network of bunkers, leaving the defenders nearly untouched when the assault began. Nonetheless, in December of 1939, Materna received word that his son had been killed in the fighting on the Joseon front, as part of Falkenhausen’s Expeditionary Force. He collapsed from a nervous breakdown and was deemed unfit to serve. He was evacuated on the next zeppelin out, along with many of the wounded.
The last command of the beleaguered 1st Army Group fell to the former commander of the 3rd Army, Field-Marshal Eugen Bregant. Under Bregant, they maintained their defensive posture, but he organized a series of raids on the northern fronts of the pocket, ranging as far as Bastogne. When the relief force arrived in Metz in July of 1940, soldiers on the line could be seen openly weeping.
Their relief turned to subdued horror upon the explanation of the plan going forward. The 1st Field Army - what ragged remains of it still could bear arms- were to be dissolved and reorganized into a temporary formation known officially as “Kampfgruppe Blau” and unofficially as part of “Von Moltke’s Pandurs.” With the all-out push of Mordhau, every man was needed on the drive for Paris, especially hardened veterans such as those from Luxembourg.
Field-Marshal Bregant issued this statement to his forces:
"We have had little relief and less joy these years on the line. It is an impossibility to ask more of any man, and yet, our Empire has done just this. With one last push, we may be able to bring this great war to a close. The Emperor has his request, and I have mine: Two months. Give me two more months, and I promise you, you will have rest, you will have victory, and you will have as many medals as we can possibly mint."
Damn Yankees
Stalled briefly by the bureaucracy, the 5th Army Group and the temporarily organized “Von Moltke’s Pandurs” began their advance into France cautiously. Though morale had been buoyed by the incredible success at sweeping away the French from their homeland, and the sight of hundreds of regimental banners marching side by side swelled the heart of any Imperial patriot, it was impossible to deny the building sense of foreboding in the ranks. The French had only offered token resistance, and the hardest fighting that most had encountered since Mulhouse had been shootouts with bands of partisan guerillas camping on the roads. Was this some sort of trap?
The veteran units in particular had borne the ferocity of the French in battle after battle, some of the Frankfurt soldiers having been on the lines in one form or another for years. The ragged and weary Frenchmen scattering at their feet were not the sight they had grown accustomed to, and to see it only hardened their resolve further. Night sentries in particular had grown exceptionally jumpy, opening fire at the slightest of sounds or the most innocuous of shapes. It was no surprise, then, that when the advance reconnaissance units of the 5th Army Group ran across proper soldiers in the French countryside in the final days of July that they immediately and decisively attacked.
The soldiers that the Imperials had run across, however, were not French veterans waiting in ambush, but American reservists. Having not yet fully arrived in France in force, the American Army in France was largely composed of rear echelon engineers who were preparing the aging European infrastructure to handle their presence. Sent out to survey roads and bridges to make recommendations on what was needed for their own hardware, the soldiers encountered by the Imperials were completely caught off guard. While some put up a resistance, none of the Americans had anticipated or prepared for an Imperial attack, and while not as demoralized as their French allies, they were swept beneath the treads of the Empire all the same.
Not anticipating the Americans to have arrived in Europe so quickly, confusion quickly set into the Imperial ranks, forcing them to once again halt their advance to re-evaluate the situation and determine their best course of action. Not knowing the strength or number of American forces, and still uncertain of the French presence, the ad hoc Von Moltke’s Pandurs were split into a number of smaller scouting forces to probe into the countryside.
Scrambling their defenses, the French had moved the majority of their remaining forces not suffering attrition into the north, desperate to break the Calais Pocket and present a strong front against both the British and the Imperials - possibly even forcing the two to fight one another over Holland. Left to defend the heartland were minimal French forces concentrated east of Paris, and the Americans; consisting mainly of engineers from the 3rd Infantry Division conducting surveys, and the 29th Concordian Cavalry, who were there primarily as a show of good will to France while America organized its main forces. Assured by their own intelligence networks of the Imperial unwillingness to attack, the Americans had taken this assignment loosely, and did not concentrate any of its limited armor or artillery assets.
Circle The Wagons
Scrambling to respond to the sudden emergence of an Imperial force far larger than anything that had been expected, the American commanders quickly settled on the only appealing plan available to them - stall the Imperials. The Concordians would take the offense, and the 3rd Infantry Division, consisting mainly of engineers, would fall back closer to Paris to prepare a proper defensive line to take on the Imperials. Called “circling the wagons” by the Concordians, in reference to the old settler tradition of the Wild West, the Cavalry organized itself into a number of small “harrying” troops. Ordered to make the American presence appear larger than it really was, these units improvised additional markings, insignia, and even made use of French surplus uniforms in order to make it appear as though each company was coming from a separate, much bigger force.
Vastly outgunned and outnumbered by what was effectively an entire Imperial Army Group, the Concordian units cast a wide net across the southeast of France, targeting the Imperials “from the side” wherever possible. Though the damage they did in their skirmishing attacks was minimal, the majority of these harrying platoons only having access to Jackrabbit scout tanks, GPVs, and motorcycles, the effect on the Imperial advance was extensive. Finding themselves being struck from seemingly all angles and by units that did not appear to be related by anything other than nationality, the Imperial momentum had been all but lost. Though the Americans had only been hitting them with small scouting forces, it was unclear just how many of them there were, and as the Concordians started striking far into the rear of their ranks, some fears began to mount that the Americans had in fact completely surrounded them.
While the Imperials hastened to consolidate their position and organize their own scouting parties, the 3rd Infantry Division set to work on the banks of the Marne. The Imperials may have caught them by surprise in the waning heat of summer, but the Americans had a surprise of their own waiting for the would-be conquerors of Paris…
Through it all, humanity keeps marching on.
