I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 128: Can This Be Called War?

The Avros circling above the German artillery positions began releasing smoke bombs.

The earliest version of the smoke bomb had been invented in 1849 by a British officer named Morley, using silver nitrate and ferric acid as the main compounds. However, its effectiveness was limited, producing little more than a vague haze. Charles, however, employed a recipe the Germans had refined two years later, using potassium nitrate and sugar for a smoke ten times denser, inexpensive, and easily sourced.

All Charles needed to do was fill rockets with this improved compound and have his pilots launch them into "danger zones" over the enemy's artillery positions.

Soon, the German machine gunners stationed around their artillery found their line of sight obscured, unable to spot the French planes above them. Meanwhile, the French pilots could still make out the tall artillery barrels below. One by one, the rocket planes dove, releasing volleys of rockets over the German artillery positions.

Though the rockets weren't precise, their quantity was effective. Each plane carried ten rockets, and with over a dozen planes in the attack, that amounted to hundreds raining down indiscriminately on the German artillery.

In the chaos of smoke and explosions, a fire suddenly erupted—an ammunition truck had been struck. The Germans had only two such trucks in the area, and by a stroke of ill luck, one rocket hit one of them directly. It carried over twenty shells in its cargo bed that had yet to be unloaded. The artillery officer frantically whistled and shouted for the driver to move it away, but it was impossible; the truck's cab was ablaze, and even the hand crank for starting it had melted from the heat.

A few soldiers dashed over, throwing damp jackets over the flames and trying to extinguish it with entrenching tools, but the fire raged on, unstoppable.

Then, with a resounding boom, the shells detonated, spreading flames to other nearby munitions and triggering a deadly chain reaction of explosions.

High above, Carter stole a glance at the fiery chaos below before turning his attention to the German planes fleeing from the Avros. Unarmed and outmatched, they were easy targets.

Kroos, the German commander, looked on in frustration and helplessness as his rear lines descended into pandemonium, and German planes were picked off one by one, spiraling to the ground. He felt an overwhelming sense of futility. This was no fair fight. Though his troops held a numerical and tactical advantage, it was like punching into thin air; none of their strength could make a difference.

Meanwhile, the enemy's fragile infantry lay safely in their trenches, barely lifting a finger except for the occasional squeeze of a trigger.

Could this even be called war? To him, it was more like a one-sided massacre.

After a long silence, Kroos gave the order, reluctantly and heavily: "Retreat."

His staff had been waiting for this. It was clear to everyone that the soldiers were enduring needless casualties. As soon as the order was given, the adjutant rushed to relay it over the field telephones.

...

Albert I and General Charles hadn't yet grasped what was happening when they saw the German lines withdrawing in waves. Everything had shifted so abruptly. Watching the German troops retreat like a receding tide, Albert could hardly comprehend it. "Was it the planes that drove them back? Or the artillery?"

In his mind, French artillery fire was usually unsustainable; as soon as it started, it was bound to be overwhelmed by German counter-fire. He had expected the opposite—a crushing German advance in the absence of French artillery, pushing the Belgian line to collapse.

The Germans were on the cusp of victory, he thought, if they'd only pressed on a little longer. Albert had even considered opening the sluices to flood the fields, believing it might be the only way to save Ypres.

Yet, miraculously, the Germans had chosen to retreat.

Questions buzzed in his mind:

Why did they retreat? Why hadn't the German artillery returned fire? And how were the French 75s following them so closely, shelling them as they withdrew?

General Charles, similarly baffled, lifted his binoculars toward the German lines. Then he noticed something startling: every single German observation balloon was gone. Not one remained.

"It was the planes!" Charles said, excitedly. "The planes did it—they destroyed the balloons!"

Following Charles' gaze, Albert saw that above the German positions, there was nothing but clouds and the French Avros ruling the sky. He exclaimed in awe, "Good heavens! Charles didn't even need us to win this battle!"

While this wasn't entirely true—Belgian forces had served their purpose by holding the line and dispatching any isolated German soldiers who managed to survive the artillery—it was clear that the French air and artillery strategy had tipped the scales. Without the Belgians holding the line, some of these "stragglers" might have reached the artillery or even posed a threat to the King and his command.

Albert I didn't know that a contingent of French reinforcements was indeed approaching the area. Leading them on a towering horse, with 200 mounted soldiers trailing behind him, was General Foch.

Upon receiving Gallieni's order to halt his advance, Foch had been indignant—furious, even. The legendary French general couldn't believe it:

"This is absurd!" he'd raged. "Ypres is waiting for our support! There is no 'flash flood' nonsense in our way—there is the bridge, right there!"

"We could reach Ypres tonight, yet we are to stand here until morning. Gallieni must want the Germans to capture Ypres!" Foch had even begun to wonder whether Gallieni was secretly in league with the Germans. But then again, that couldn't be possible. Gallieni had saved Paris; if he had been a German pawn, he would have let the city fall instead of driving the Germans out.

Or perhaps Gallieni wanted the British to arrive first? Or did he have some other reasoning?

Unable to fathom Gallieni's intent, Foch decided to ride to Ypres with a cavalry squadron to assess the situation for himself.

As he approached, racing against his rising anxiety, he was stunned by the sight awaiting him. French forces were not in retreat; they were victorious.

The sky above was dominated by the tricolor insignia on the wings of the Avros, and the Germans were in chaotic retreat under a relentless French artillery barrage. All around, the ground was littered with the shattered remains of German soldiers.

It was a near-perfect victory, with virtually zero casualties on the Allied side.

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