Chapter 546: "The Final Madness"
Foch, Pétain, the parliament, the British, and everyone else—Charles included—had all overlooked one crucial fact.
The "final madness" would not only erupt among the encircled Germans, but among their own ranks as well.
People only knew that Nivelle was unworthy of his position, but they never considered things from his perspective: if this situation continued, his future would be utterly ruined, and he would never have another chance to rise again. But if he gambled everything in a desperate attempt, there might still be a sliver of hope.
So Nivelle threw caution to the wind and mobilized his forces, assembling them along the southern bank of the Somme. In just a few days, he had gathered over 300,000 troops from more than a dozen divisions, including the First Special Artillery Division under Christine, which had originally been slated to move to Verdun.
This division had been fully outfitted with Char A1 tanks. Nivelle thought, since they had been studying Charles's tactics for some time, once deployed on the battlefield, they should perform nearly as well as Charles's own troops.
What he didn't know was that he had assigned the division to attack a heavily fortified and defensible line along the Somme River, where Christine's learned tactics would be of little use.
Yet Nivelle still worried it wasn't enough.
In his capacity as Supreme Allied Commander, he secretly requested that Russian and Italian troops launch counterattacks and also negotiated with the British for a joint offensive along the Somme.
All of this was carried out under the guise of "military secrecy."
This looked remarkably like Joffre's original offensive plan—one that had been shelved due to Charles's objections but was now being implemented under Nivelle's hand.
The only difference? Joffre's plan included Romania declaring war.
But this wasn't a matter of Nivelle being unwilling—it simply wasn't something he could do alone. Contacting Romania required joint action by the British and French governments. As commander, Nivelle couldn't bypass parliament for that.
…
In the early morning, under constant drizzle, the Somme River front lay drenched and bleak.
The air was heavy with the acrid stench of burnt corpses. The soldiers huddled in the trenches had grown used to it. They didn't even bother to hold handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths.
Some crouched on duckboards, but the foul, muddy water still covered their ankles. Others had no choice but to soak in it overnight, the icy water biting at their legs.
They stood shivering in the damp cold, clutching stale bread or cans of spoiled food, forcing it into their mouths with trembling hands, hoping not to drop it or let it get drenched by the rain.
One soldier complained, "It's just early December, and it's already this cold. What happens when the temperature drops further or it starts snowing?"
Another soldier chuckled, "Our friend Duyal's pretty optimistic. He says we'll be lucky to live long enough to see the snow."
Their laughter was bitter.
Many of the troops were fresh recruits, unsettled by the veterans' casual attitude toward death.
Duyal was one of them. His face was pale—whether from fear or cold, no one could say—and his body trembled uncontrollably. "You—you guys… aren't you going to do something?"
A veteran answered flatly:
"What do you expect us to do? Get used to it, Duyal! Unless Charles is leading us, we're not going to last long."
"For France. For victory, right? Except we'll never live to see it."
"Look at the corpses in no man's land—that's our destiny. That's the reality we face!"
…
Before Duyal could respond, three red signal flares suddenly shot into the sky.
Artillery fire followed instantly. Thousands of guns roared in unison, launching round after round toward the German positions, turning half the sky crimson.
But unlike previous week-long bombardments, this one lasted only thirty minutes.
Or more precisely, the shelling was still ongoing when the shrill sound of the assault whistle blew, like a call to doom.
French soldiers swarmed out of the trenches like ants, shouting as they charged the enemy lines.
…
Christine's First Special Artillery Division was part of the assault. His tanks were placed on the flanks of the offensive.
He had protested, "Tanks should be leading the infantry, providing cover—not deployed on the wings like cavalry."
Christine had learned during training that tanks and infantry had to support each other to be effective.
But Nivelle replied, "Infantry don't need cover, General. They'll have artillery cover. That's enough."
"Artillery cover?" Christine objected. "We both know what will happen—the moment our guns fall silent, the Germans will bring out their machine guns. They'll cut our men down like wheat."
"Exactly." Nivelle stepped closer, eyes locked on Christine. "So I don't plan on stopping the bombardment."
"What?" Christine thought he'd misheard. "You plan to send our soldiers charging into our own artillery barrage? That'll cause friendly fire for sure…"
"I know," Nivelle interrupted. "But like you said, if we don't do this, they'll die in droves to enemy machine guns. Better they die to our shells."
Better they die to friendly fire.
At least then, the French troops might breach the German lines and engage in hand-to-hand combat. Otherwise, it would be meaningless slaughter.
Strategically, the latter made more sense in the long run.
Christine was utterly stunned.
It sounded noble—sacrifice for victory, for France. But in truth, it was a blood-soaked road paved with soldiers' lives to secure Nivelle's position.
He's gone mad, Christine thought.
But Nivelle didn't care what Christine thought. He pointed to a map and coldly ordered: "When the infantry begins close combat in the trenches, find a way to cross the anti-tank ditches and breach deeper into enemy lines. Can you do that?"
"Yes, General," Christine replied helplessly. "We can do it."
And he could. Trenches could be filled with sandbags, anti-tank ditches bridged with steel beams.
It was an idea he'd gotten from Charles during the Namur campaign.
Charles used high-tech bridging tanks. Christine had to rely on combat engineers—his tanks carried two steel beams, which would be manually placed to form a bridge.
"Good," said Nivelle, adjusting Christine's uniform. "This is the one that counts. Win this, and you won't have to worry about promotions."
"Yes, General." Christine stood straight.
But his mind was a mess.
Where were the supporting infantry supposed to come from after the breach? What about logistics? What about fuel and ammunition?
He wanted to say something, but after opening his mouth, he just shut it again.
What's the point? Nivelle wouldn't understand.
And besides, the assault was scheduled for the next day—no time to prepare.
Christine regretted not declaring his support for Charles sooner.
If he'd been part of Charles's unit, he wouldn't be stuck in this doomed, senseless battle.
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