Chapter 234: Little Spark
Belgian border.
Facing layer after layer of encirclement, more than one hundred thousand men were squeezed against the Belgian border near De Panne.
Some soldiers ignored orders, stripped off their uniforms, and disappeared in droves. Some disguised themselves as civilians and tried to smuggle themselves across the border. Others went even further, directly attacking border posts with their weapons, trying to seize a chance at survival like drowning men desperately grabbing at anything within reach.
For Belgium, this was undoubtedly a disaster.
There was only a thin line between a routed soldier and a thug.
A small number of British and French soldiers, believing that falling into German hands would mean a lifetime of exploitation, allowed their basest instincts to surface in this small border town.
Reports of women being abused and civilians being robbed appeared one after another.
All of these reports were placed on Leopold III's desk.
Looking at the diplomatic dispatch from Britain, which threatened that if Belgium refused to surrender military transit rights, the British and French troops would be allowed to take all necessary measures for survival, Leopold felt his fury surge straight to his head.
"We are merely fulfilling the responsibility of a neutral country."
His voice was cold.
"I can turn a blind eye to their provocations at the border. I can even endure their atrocities against civilians for the sake of avoiding war."
"But what is this?"
His hand slapped the document.
"Are they declaring war on us?"
Leopold took a sip of black tea, suppressing his anger before continuing, "Tell Britain that Belgium is a sovereign nation, not a British colony. We have no obligation to dispatch troops, and no obligation to surrender military transit rights."
"If the British and French troops in the border region do not withdraw and stop provoking the border before tonight, Belgium will directly consider Britain and France to be at war with Belgium."
His gaze sharpened.
"And we will form an alliance with Germany."
The secretary quickly wrote down the order, then nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will immediately relay your order to the Foreign Minister's residence."
Leopold nodded.
Then his gaze drifted toward the gift sent by the German diplomat, quietly placed on his desk.
He opened the black wooden gift box.
Inside, a dazzling golden maple leaf shone softly beneath the light, beautiful and dangerous.
His decision to stand firm at this moment was partly because of his anger at Britain and France interfering in Belgian internal affairs.
But it was also because he could see the decline of Britain and France.
If Belgium took action against Britain and France at this moment, it would greatly win Germany's favor.
Of course, another reason was even more direct.
The day after he chose not to report the British ambassador's inquiry to Germany, a German diplomat had arrived at his residence.
The diplomat subtly brought up the matter and warned him not to stand on the wrong side.
Such terrifying intelligence capabilities were enough to prove that German spies had infiltrated Belgium deeply.
This time, he had survived by not taking a stance because Belgium still had military value.
But after France fell, things would be uncertain.
He did not dare speculate on Jörg's magnanimity, nor did he dare hope that Belgium would remain outside the war by relying on luck alone.
On the other side.
A manor in the suburbs of Berlin.
Since the Northern Campaign was already decided, Jörg did not spend all his time at the Wehrmacht discussing tactical execution. Instead, he rarely made time to accompany the pregnant Lucy while listening to Joseph's report on the Progress Party.
He understood very well that the pressure he placed on the General Staff Headquarters and the officers of the Wehrmacht was too great.
Their rest time was almost equal to his.
He could endure it.
But the staff officers were relying purely on physical resilience. Two days of rest would be beneficial for the entire army.
Knock, knock, knock.
Jörg, who had just finished discussing Progress Party membership fees and the issue of the front-line delegation, was drawn back by the knock on the door.
He said softly, "Come in."
An attendant quickly approached and whispered into his ear, "Sir, Mr. Heydrich has arrived."
"Let him in."
Jörg turned back to Joseph.
"Joseph, the political propaganda work remains unchanged, and I approve the front-line delegation."
After saying that, Jörg signed his name on the document.
At the same time, Heydrich slowly arrived at the doorway. He nodded slightly in greeting to the Führer, then leaned against the door.
Only after Joseph left did he take the hot tea offered by the attendant and report, "Sir, the arrangements on the Bulgarian side have been completed. At that time, we will arrange an assassination and frame the French for the king's death."
Although progress in the Balkans had been slower than Jörg expected, the results were still good.
According to telegrams from the front, the French had already stopped their offensive, and the weak Italians no longer posed a threat.
Based on speculation, Jörg suspected that these powerful French troops would most likely be transferred either back to France or to the Middle East.
It seemed the Navy would be busy again.
However, there was also bad news.
Spain had launched military action against Portugal. According to intelligence received, Portugal had already obtained help from Britain, and there was a high possibility of a British landing in the Bay of Biscay.
Thinking of this, Jörg suddenly felt it would be too regrettable for the King of Bulgaria to die just like that.
Dying now and dying after the French campaign, perhaps after being assassinated by Russians or British agents during the European Peace Council, carried completely different value.
"Put this matter aside for now, Heydrich."
Jörg's voice was calm.
"How is the cleanup of the underground forces in Poland progressing?"
"Since the war against France began, underground forces have proliferated. We suspect MI6 is behind it. These past two days, we have been luring them out. At the latest, we should be able to take down five strongholds within three days."
When speaking about the progress of his work, Heydrich's pace became rapid, almost like a student reporting homework.
"Very good."
Jörg nodded.
"Establish stable rule there, and do not remain in Poland for too long. France is your next destination."
"Yes, sir!"
Heydrich saluted and left the room.
Jörg had long grown accustomed to Heydrich's excessive respect toward him.
Although Heydrich's working ability was impeccable, his social skills were not especially outstanding.
Perhaps because the nature of his work required secrecy and seriousness, whether in the Progress Party, the government, or the military, Heydrich had few friends.
Unconventional was his label.
The Wandering Lone Shark was his nickname.
Jörg shook his head and motioned for the attendant to pour him a fresh cup of tea.
He was just about to put down work for the day and spend time with Lucy when the sudden ringing of the telephone brought a trace of helplessness to his calm blue eyes.
Taking the receiver from the attendant, he said, "This is Jörg."
"Mr. President, the King of Belgium has requested a meeting with you in two days to discuss the possibility of a military alliance agreement."
Leah's voice entered his ears.
As soon as she said this, Jörg was about to ask what had caused Belgium's change in attitude.
But Leah's next sentence immediately answered his doubts.
"We suspect this is related to the British and French troops lingering near the Belgian border. King Leopold also implicitly revealed to us the news that Britain had issued a military threat against him."
Hearing this, Jörg smiled faintly.
He had not expected Germany to avoid a diplomatic dilemma, only for Britain to lose its diplomatic credibility on its own.
"Agree to the meeting."
His finger lightly tapped the table.
"Leak this news as well. Also help me contact the leaders of Denmark, the Netherlands, and Norway."
After hanging up the telephone, Jörg took a sip of hot tea and murmured, "Mr. Churchill has truly made a terrible move."
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