Hundreds of French soldiers' bodies lay sprawled across the narrow road. Most had been killed by bullets and rockets before they could put up any kind of meaningful resistance.
That was why, even after making three attempts to break through, Lamoricière still had no idea how many enemy troops were blocking the road.
Such probing attacks usually didn't damage morale. But for the soldiers forced to stay behind, it was a major blow.
Watching their comrades return, the soldiers left behind to cover the retreat looked on with scorn.
They couldn't believe the enemy behind them could be any more savage than the German Allied Forces before their eyes. Look at the crumbling walls. Look at the mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. What a bunch of fools who didn't know how good they had it.
The soldiers under General Gaine looked at those so-called main forces with scorn, but jealousy gleamed in their eyes, too.
"Why are we the ones covering the rear?"
At last, one veteran voiced what everyone was thinking. His words burned into the hearts of the soldiers left behind like a brand.
"We've fought for our country and crossed countless battlefields, with the dirt of different nations caked on our boots. Every time, we've been the ones charging ahead, winning one glorious victory after another for our general and for France.
"But why? When the retreat sounds, why are we—the most loyal, the bravest soldiers—the ones who have to leave the battlefield last? Why?
"Back when we were bleeding for our country, those young men were still playing in the dirt!
"We carry rifles with rifling worn nearly smooth, eat biscuits that might have been stored for decades, and wear rags on our backs and shoes worn through at the soles.
"But the new