Chapter 30: Franco-German War

“Actions speak louder than words. In the days to come, the Goddess of Victory will bestow her laurels only on those who prepared to act with daring.” – Heinz Guderian.

Rome, Papal States. March 1074

Sextus stood before Pope Gregory VII with a sense of relief. He managed to keep his position and head after Pope Alexander died. Now, after almost a year, Sextus was back in his patron’s favor.

“I advise we don’t expand anymore at this time.”

“And why is that?” Gregory was curious.

“If we keep expanding, the nearby kingdoms may turn against us.”

“That may be. But what about the war between the Empire and France?”

“Let them fight and wear each other out. Can you write a letter to King Philip and Emperor Henry to get them to stop fighting? If you can play peacemaker, it can only increase your influence.”

“Hmm. I like that idea. Can you take the letter?”

“Of course.”

After they wrote the letter, Gregory and Sextus reviewed reports from around the Papal States. The economy of the Papal States was slowly recovering, with Sicily leading the way. Sicily was more cosmopolitan than the rest of Italy and had connections around the Mediterranean. The new connections to southern Italy and Rome added to the wealth flowing to the island. With more wealth flowing to the island, the population kept calm.

Even Sardinia was recovering from the recent invasion. After Gregory took the island, he reinvested some loot from their earlier Sicilian conquest into the Sardinian mines. The increase in mining fueled the industry developing on the mainland. It also increased the need for merchant ships, further straining the small Papal Navy to protect the sea lanes from piracy.

Even though the British had ripped the heart out of organized piracy in the western Med, there was still limited piracy. Most of the remaining pirates operated out of Carthage or one of the nearby fishing villages. None of them were stupid enough to attack British shipping, though. They had learned that attacking British shipping was a death sentence.

Once Gregory and Sextus finished reviewing reports, Gregory leaned back in his chair.

“I have a theoretical question for you, Sextus; what would happen if we cut the British off from trade? I hate the idea of trading with them and making them stronger.”

“Nothing good. We can only get many goods from Britain unless we pay much higher prices.”

“Like what?”

“Tin, rock salt, and manufactured goods are the big ones. Some of your clothes come from Britain. Their cloth is of much higher quality than elsewhere in Europe and sells for much less. Most of the fabric for the army uniforms is made in Britain.”

“WHAT!! Why?”

“Cost. Quality. The local industry isn’t large enough to provide clothing for the army by itself, and many soldiers prefer uniforms made from British fabric.” Seeing the look on Gregory’s face, Sextus panicked and continued. “I beg you, Your Excellency, don’t do anything that can be considered a threat. I was with Alexander when the Byzantines invaded and pinned us in the Castel Sant’Angelo. We would be defeated; there were only 100 men with us, and they had thousands. By God’s grace, Stigand, Archbishop of York, was visiting because his guards turned out to be some of Queen Marion’s Household Guards. The British stripped their civilian clothes and manned the wall when the attack started. With only ten of their quick-firing rifles, they drove the Byzantines back until one of them shot Andronicus of Bari at 350 paces. After that, the Byzantines fled. Alexander was furious when he discovered the British looted church artifacts from the dead Byzantines. If you do something to anger Marion, she will return with an army. They can land at Ostia and be here within a day. Even with our army, we don’t stand a chance against them.”

Gregory stared at Sextus like he had grown a pair of horns. He had heard the tale of the British Salvation, but to hear it from someone who witnessed it added a sense of realism to the tale. What struck Gregory was the fear on Sextus’s face as he told the story; then, it dawned on Gregory that Sextus was scared to death of the British. From their North African raids, Gregory knew the British could reach him if they wanted. He couldn’t imagine the beautiful city of Rome in their hands.

That thought gave Gregory a nightmare that night. In it, he was forced to submit to Marion and resign so she could appoint a woman as pope. Right after that, Gregory woke up panting and in a cold sweat. He looked around and sighed in relief; it was only a nightmare.

Frankfort, Holy Roman Empire. March 1074

Gregory wasn’t the only one having a nightmare, but unlike Gregory’s, Henry’s nightmare was real. Even though the French Army was less than half the size of the German one, the French were, so far, winning the war. Philip had attacked Henry before he was ready; his army was still recovering from their Polish campaign when the French attacked the Kingdom of Burgundy, which was part of the Holy Roman Empire. For the German Army to counterattack the French Army, they had to go through or around the Alps; there were no rail lines in the area.

In addition to the attacks from the West, Poland was in a civil war. This worried Henry because civil wars had a habit of crossing borders. Bolesław II was fighting for his life as the Polish nobles were furious with him for settling with Henry. Never mind the fact he didn’t have a choice. The fact a woman beat him only encouraged them to revolt. Most Polish nobles revolting had their incomes slashed when Henry cut off their trade with the Baltic. The rest didn’t like their taxes going to the Holy Roman Empire.

When Philip attacked, instead of attacking south, Henry decided to attack Paris to end the war as soon as possible. When the Germans attacked Paris, they found the city abandoned and the treasury gone. Things worsened when fires broke out all over the city, driving the Germans out just in time to be hit with an early winter storm. Almost 2,000 men died in the fires or exposure.

If things couldn’t get worse, the French refused to give battle but would circle and hit the German supply lines. The pickings were slim, with most of France still recovering from the British attack several years before. Many peasants didn’t have enough food, so none of the rural homes yielded much when German foraging parties swept through. The French ambushed many of those foraging parties, so the Germans lost the food that had been stolen.

General Roon did have three advantages over King Philip. His troops were battle-hardened veterans who knew how to use firearms and artillery effectively and had winter combat gear. The French barely had clothing; most wore civilian dress, and almost none had shoes. So, while the German soldier was warm and dry, their French opponents were freezing. They should have entered winter quarters, but Philip didn’t want the Germans to get comfortable. This was Philip’s undoing.

On Christmas Eve, General Roon was reading scouting reports when he found something very familiar. The situation was almost identical to when the empress won the Polish War, although it was now snowing. General Roon stood and went to look out his tent flap. The snow was falling harder, although the wind was calm. If he were going to attack, he would have to decide quickly because if he waited, the weather could worsen. He was still staring into the field when an orderly came up.

“Sir. I have another scouting report,” General Roon looked at the man and waited. “The scouts are reporting the French have settled into a small village and appear to be getting ready for Christmas services. Also, when I was coming over, Father Gurther stopped me to ask if you have given orders for our services.”

General Roon didn’t look at the man for a moment, then turned to the orderly.

“We are not having services. Tonight, I want the entire army to get ready to march. I want to attack the French Army at daybreak tomorrow morning.”

“But sir!! It’s Christmas.”

“So, it is. We are going to give those Frankish bastards a present they will never forget. Send the orders; I want the army to begin marching at dusk. I want scouts to start marking the path for the army; that way, we don’t get lost.”

“Yes, sir.”

The orderly took off, and General Roon made a bet with himself. Five minutes later, Father Gurther came waddling up. He was an overweight man with a reputation as a fire and brimstone pastor.

“General, I must protest! It is unchristian to do battle on Christmas!”

“Gurther,” General Roon didn’t like the man one bit. “I am the commanding general of this army, and it is MY responsibility to get as many of these men home as possible while still achieving victory. If I have to make an unconventional attack to make that happen, then so be it.”

“God will punish the men because of you! You may be in charge of their Earthly bodies, but I am in charge of their souls and must demand that you stop this Christmas attack!”

General Roon stood up to his full height, which towered over the father, and stared down at him. The father still hadn’t realized he was on thin ice with the general. When the general saw Father Gurther wasn’t backing down, he called his guards.

“Guards, arrest this man and put him in solitary confinement. Make sure to chain him in place and lock the chains. Once you are done, bring me the keys to the lock. I don’t want the good father here to get any wild ideas regarding tomorrow.”

The guards stared at the general momentarily before they saluted and carried out the order. Father Gurther was cussing while being dragged to solitary confinement. General Roon wanted to ensure there was no chance of Father Gurther alerting the French to his plans. If he was discovered before getting into position, it could spell disaster.

Once the father was out of the way, General Roon and his staff got down to serious planning since they only had a few hours. The planning only took an hour, and once it was done, the cavalry commanders sent his best trackers to mark the path. They would also be the ones to lead the troops on the trail. The plan was for the trackers to be spread along the path to direct the troops toward the next tracker. This way, nobody would get lost, and the trackers wouldn’t have to work so hard.

At dusk, the army began to move out, with General Roon in the lead. None of the officers were on horseback since nobody wanted the horses to alert the French to the threat. That was why the cavalry would be the last soldiers down the path and wouldn’t make the trek until almost dawn.

Since this was a lightning-fast surprise attack, the artillery stayed behind except for the mortars since they were light enough to be carried by the crew. The artillery crews and wounded were responsible for tending the fires and defending the camp.

General Roon had never been so glad to see the enemy as he was that night. It was almost 0200 when he saw the enemy campfires and was exhausted. Since he was on foot, he carried a musket like every other foot soldier in the army. Every officer carried a musket and full field pack. Since they wouldn’t have access to supplies, everything had to be brought with them. Leaving orders to wake him in a couple of hours, General Roon laid down to get a nap. Most of the army did as well since they had a few hours.

At 0530, the watch woke the army. They still had a kilometer to go before they could attack. General Roon stretched and reflected on his current situation. His noble forefathers would be spinning in their graves if they knew what he did, but one look at the soldiers told him it was worth it; they would follow him anywhere.

General Roon allowed the men to have a snack of cold cuts and bread before moving on. He didn’t want them hungry so they wouldn’t be distracted by the food cooking in the French camp. After everyone ate, the army silently moved out and got into position. They were less than 400 meters from the French camp and still hadn’t been spotted. The Germans’ winter camouflage hid them in the falling snow while their layered uniforms kept them warm. The French sentries were busy trying to hide from the snow while trying to stay warm at the same time. Many were huddled around small fires.

The German officers watched their pocket watches, which were all imported from Britain, for the start time. During their last briefing, all their watches had been synchronized with General Roon’s. They watched the seconds tick by until the watches read 0700. Then, as one, they blew their whistles, which hung from their necks. The Christmas attack had begun.

None of the sentries saw who killed them. The first sign they were under attack was when almost 50 whistles sounded simultaneously, and gunfire ripped them to shreds. When advancing Germans hit the first French tents, they swept through them like a hot knife through butter.

King Philip was in the middle of the camp and woke up just as the sun was lighting the sky. It was another cold and snowy day, and Philip regretted not retreating into winter quarters until the weather improved. So far, though, his army was beating the Germans by focusing on their supply lines and foraging parties. He planned to keep this strategy up until the French Army training in Toulouse was ready. Once they were ready, they would be brought up, and they could crush the Germans.

He was sitting on the edge of his bunk when he heard a lot of gunfire; he was too far away to hear the whistles. Philip looked at his aides, and they were just as confused. It was Christmas morning, and no attacks were planned. Walking out of his tent, none of the men around him knew what was happening. Many didn’t have a musket, and a significant minority weren’t dressed.

Suddenly, out of the falling snow, Philip saw a young French soldier running for his life. The soldier’s path took him close enough to Philip that he was able to grab him.

“What is happening?!?!” demanded Philip.

“THEY’RE ATTACKING!!”

“WHAT? WHO’S ATTACKING?”

“THE GERMANS!! They’re attacking through the snow!”

With that, the man broke free of Philip’s grip and took off. Philip stared at the snow falling before him as he tried to wrap his mind around the Germans attacking in a snowstorm on Christmas Day. The amount of danger he was in was driven home when one of his aides was struck down by a musket ball in the throat. When Philip saw the man die, it snapped him out of his paralysis. If he didn’t do something quickly, the army would be annihilated, and he would be captured, ending the war.

“FORM UP!! FORM UP ON ME!!” Philip started screaming so the men could hear. He needed to form up the army so they could safely withdraw. If they routed, odds are they would be cut down, being this was a dawn attack. If it had been evening, Philip would have ordered an immediate retreat and reform in the morning.

The Germans heard the French orders to form up, but they didn’t break their formations. The only reason they could still advance was the smaller German units had managed to keep in formation. General Roon heard the French trying to form up to his right but knew most of his troops were there, so he continued straight forward, all the time wondering what kind of idiot launches an attack during a snowstorm. Sometimes, a person couldn’t see ten meters in front of them.

All along the German line, the smaller units engaged whatever French unit they encountered. Thankfully, it was easy to tell the two sides apart because all the German soldiers wore white uniforms. General Roon had to perform some fancy bayonet work when two French soldiers charged him out of the smoke and snow. The general lunged to his left, catching that soldier by surprise, but the bayonet got jammed in the man’s ribs. Without thinking, Roon rotated his musket to catch the other man in the face with the stock. This broke the man’s nose and teeth and freed the bayonet. With his bayonet free, Roon could drive it into the second man’s chest.

Once Roon pulled his bayonet free, he noticed he felt funny. Looking down, he saw red trickling down his leg. Realizing he was wounded, General Roon pulled out a strip of cloth and tied it around his leaking leg, just below his crotch, since he didn’t have time to figure out where he was leaking from.

After the bleeding stopped, General Roon limped forward, helped by a pair of privates who saw the general struggling. The three kept moving forward and had to battle two other small groups of French before they reached the opposite side of the French camp, where they found a platoon of Germans holding several hundred French prisoners. General Roon decided this was far enough for him and sat down with a medic to figure out where he was bleeding.

It turned out the general’s leg had been hit by a stray musket ball. Ironically, it had been fired by one of his soldiers, who was too far away to see the general under the conditions. Thankfully, it was only a flesh wound, and the medic was able to put a pressure dressing on it until the general could get to the surgeon for stitches.

Back in the camp, Philip was leading a fighting withdrawal so he could hopefully save most of his army. With every step he took, the going got more challenging as more and more German troops were drawn to the sound of gunfire, especially once firing had died down in the rest of the camp.

By the grace of God, Philip finally found the edge of the camp. He wished he had time to grab supplies but had to leave everything behind, including his wounded. Looking around, Philip estimated he had between 500 and 1,000 men left out of a force of 5,500 men who went to bed the night before. They could only escape camp because the snow had increased and was near white-out conditions.

After a few kilometers, the pursuit stopped, and Philip found a small village where they could stop. There, he could finally see the damage done to his army. Many of his men didn’t have weapons, while a number didn’t have appropriate clothing, and none had supplies. Their only chance was to dash southwest toward Toulouse and outrun the Germans while avoiding freezing to death.

Looking into the men’s eyes, many looked dead, and all had the 1,000-meter stare. Philip didn’t doubt for a moment that he had the same look in his eyes. They ended up staying in the village for two days before moving on. Philip reluctantly stripped the village of anything his army could use before ordering the villagers to go west until they were out of the combat zone.

Over the next month, the battered French Army slugged their way southwest. If they weren’t battling the German cavalry, they were battling Mother Nature or the lack of supplies. During the march, half of the remaining French died, deserted, or were too badly wounded to continue. One of the few things Philip was grateful for was his sergeants’ ability to continue recruiting, so the losses were made up in numbers.

On 30 January, Philip crested a hill and saw the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. The city of Toulouse with her walls intact and his standards flying from the ramparts. The men cheered when they crested the hill and saw the city. They were safe and only a day away from hot food and a warm bed.

As Philip saw Toulouse, General Roon began moving again. He had to halt his advance to wait for supplies and give his wounded time to heal. The captured French were dealt with by forming them into work details and forcing them to do most of the physical labor. Many of them were actually happy because they got regular food and warmer clothing than they had before. The German engineers rebuilt bridges and cleared roads. Bridges were built with wood; there was no sense in using stone when the land would be handed back to the French after the war while many stretches of road were fixed with rubble from nearby abandoned houses. Explosives made it easy to produce the rubble.