Chapter 545: Winning Through One's Own Strength
Verdun, Fort Saint-Michel Command Headquarters.
The first wave of 100 tractors Charles had sent to the front line arrived just in time. Pétain immediately deployed them along the defensive lines.
Whether for transporting ammunition, food, rain gear, or even towing artillery, in areas without proper roads, the use of tractors greatly increased efficiency.
Yet, at this moment, Pétain was deeply uneasy.
Public calls for Charles to be appointed commander-in-chief were growing louder and more frequent. Would the next commander-in-chief be him?
It was very possible.
Charles had everything: prestige, military achievements, vast financial resources, and considerable control over logistics. Rumor had it he was importing large quantities of supplies from the United States and the Netherlands through a subsidiary of FN and transporting them to France.
How could Pétain possibly compete with that?
He was already 59 years old. If he missed this chance to become commander-in-chief, he might never get another opportunity in his lifetime.
Pétain sighed heavily as he reflected on his difficult past and how his "defensive theory" had long been misunderstood or even despised by others.
Now, after so much hardship, he had finally reached a turning point in his life. His theory had proven its value in actual combat, but now it seemed Charles was about to overshadow him completely.
Just as Pétain was lost in thought, an aide handed him a telegram. "General, a telegram from Major General Charles."
Still immersed in his worries, Pétain snapped out of it like he had been pricked by a needle upon hearing the name "Charles." "What? Charles is here?"
"No, General," the aide replied, visibly puzzled, placing the telegram on Pétain's desk. "It's a message from Charles."
"Oh, alright." Realizing his overreaction, Pétain felt a bit embarrassed.
However, the moment his eyes scanned the contents of the telegram, his weary expression vanished. A glimmer returned to his eyes, and he could not hide his joy.
He couldn't believe what he was reading and looked over the telegram several times, muttering excitedly to himself:
"Is it true? If so, that would be wonderful."
"It makes sense…"
Charles's message echoed the words he had shared with Foch:
"General, I have no intention of becoming commander-in-chief."
"It's not that I don't want to—but I cannot."
"I am a capitalist, a major general, and someone with political influence in Parliament."
"No one wants a powerful figure in France who combines military, political, and economic authority into one."
The more Pétain thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed.
Charles's only fault was that he was too outstanding—a genius not only in business but also in military and political arenas.
And that, ironically, was his greatest weakness.
He had the makings of a dictator. All the conditions were in place. The only question was whether he wanted to become one.
That was something neither the French Parliament nor the French people were willing to accept.
So, Charles shouldn't be seen as the "enemy."
Then who was the real enemy?
Pétain suddenly thought of Foch and was startled.
His true "opponent" had always been Foch. He was the one most likely to be appointed commander-in-chief. Pétain had misjudged Charles as his competitor.
Just earlier, Foch had issued a strongly worded statement to the entire army criticizing Charles.
Clearly, Foch, like Pétain, had misjudged the situation and wrongly taken Charles as an enemy.
This was a great opportunity—an excellent chance to rise above the rest!
Since Foch attacked Charles, Pétain decided he should help Charles strike back at Foch.
Without hesitation, after a moment's consideration, Pétain sent a reply to the "Military Research Center" and also forwarded the message to the press:
"The battlefield is a place where results matter—it cannot be viewed through the lens of conventional thinking."
"Charles achieved victory; therefore, he should be praised, not criticized."
"If others are capable of defying orders and winning battles like he did, they should be similarly rewarded."
"We are in desperate need of victory. That need is driven by the broader context, not blind obedience to orders."
"Moreover, our military intelligence system is flawed, and leaks are common. If everyone rigidly follows orders, even someone like Charles would struggle to win."
…
Pétain's words, though subjective, were not without logic.
To use a Chinese saying, it was akin to "breaking conventional rules to seize opportunity" or "a general in the field does not always obey the sovereign's orders."
Naturally, Foch was not happy and immediately fired back with another telegram:
"Commanding operations in such a manner may yield short-term victories."
"But it is extremely short-sighted and seriously damaging from the perspective of overall military coordination."
"It will lead many officers to disobey orders and act on their own, thereby fundamentally destroying army discipline!"
…
And so the back-and-forth began, an intense and passionate debate.
In the heat of this dispute, Pétain failed to realize that by "supporting Charles," he was gradually being removed from the list of potential candidates for commander-in-chief—by both Parliament and the British.
And Foch, who had not even been on their radar initially, was now catching the attention of both British officials and Parliament thanks to his firm "anti-Charles" stance:
If someone as prestigious and powerful as Foch could be used to counterbalance the soaring Charles—wouldn't that be perfect?
…
Meanwhile, the Somme battlefield had quieted somewhat. The Anglo-French forces had suffered heavy casualties, and without reinforcements, they were unable to continue the offensive. The Germans, wisely, held their defensive positions, leading to a brief period of calm.
Under the falling rain, groups of unarmed French soldiers trudged through the no-man's-land, collecting corpses.
There were so many bodies that burial was impossible. They had no choice but to pile them up like trash—mound after mound—then douse them with gasoline and burn them.
Due to the rain, burning was difficult. Several more barrels of gasoline had to be brought in before they could finally ignite a fire strong enough to burn through the downpour.
As the sickening stench of scorched flesh filled the air, Nivelle was pacing restlessly inside his office. Sometimes he sat with a frown; other times he stood and paced with his hands behind his back.
He had been closely following public opinion at home and understood exactly what was going on.
Being politically savvy, he understood why two people as unrelated as Foch and Pétain were now arguing so loudly in front of the media and the public.
It was all about his position—commander-in-chief.
Those bastards, Nivelle cursed to himself, I've been suffering at the front, commanding troops in battle, and all they're doing in the rear is plotting how to kick me out and take my place!
And the British—traitorous bridge-burners. They were placing all the blame on him, without ever mentioning that the operational plan had originally come from them.
But who could he blame, really? Nivelle was the commander-in-chief. Commander of the French forces and of the allied forces. If anyone had to take the fall, it had to be him.
The idea of bringing Charles in to win the war for him was no longer viable either, because now the public was loudly demanding Charles be made commander-in-chief. That would be practically handing his own title over to him.
Nivelle felt surrounded, besieged. Everyone had their eyes on his seat—everyone was targeting him.
After a long bout of thinking, Nivelle finally made a decision:
There seemed to be only one way to hold on to his position—mobilize all available forces and win a victory with his own hands!
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 30 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/Franklin1