Calais, German military headquarters for operations against the British mainland. Though it was already deep into the night, Field Marshal Falkenhayn still had not rested. Advanced in years, his health had been worsening by the day. To stay awake through the night, he had even had his adjutant brew a pot of coffee. Whenever he truly could not hold on any longer, he would drink a cup to rouse himself.
"How is the situation at the front?" Field Marshal Falkenhayn asked.
"Your Excellency, the fighting at the front is extremely fierce. The British are attacking our positions like men who do not value their lives. Their artillery is also firing fiercely regardless of the cost, and our frontline troops have suffered very heavy losses," the adjutant reported.
"Can the front hold?" Field Marshal Falkenhayn frowned. He knew that the British had certainly staked everything on this attack. In order to drive the German military into the sea, the British had committed their true main forces. If that was the case, the German military would likely have to pay an even greater price to hold on.
"Your Excellency, according to reports from the front, although our losses are continuing to rise, overall, we have inflicted even greater losses on the British. We should be able to hold!" the adjutant said.
Field Marshal Falkenhayn nodded at last, and the heart that had been hanging in his throat finally settled back into his chest.
"There are only a few hours left until dawn. Tell the frontline troops to hold on. Once daylight comes, they will receive far more powerful fire support. At that time, the Navy and the Army Air Corps will provide them with greater support. Other Army units will also continue landing," Field Marshal Falkenhayn said.
"Yes, Your Excellency!" The adjutant