Chapter 592: Our Supplies Are Not Free
At the British Expeditionary Force Headquarters in Dunkirk, Field Marshal Haig had returned from the front lines at the Somme River to brief Lord Kitchener on the situation.
Normally, when master and student met, they'd share a bottle of red wine, chatting leisurely about military affairs. Today, however, neither man seemed in the mood. They sat silently before a crackling fireplace, staring blankly into the flames as if no longer able to endure the bitter French winter.
After a long, heavy silence, Kitchener finally spoke, his voice weary: "The situation is very bad, isn't it?"
Haig responded with difficulty, "We've already sustained nearly three hundred thousand casualties, yet our lines have advanced less than a mile."
Another grim silence followed. Neither man wanted to say it aloud, but both silently compared their predicament to that of General Charles: Charles's forces had advanced more than five kilometers while suffering fewer than two thousand casualties—a spectacular achievement by any measure.
"What about the ANZAC troops?" Kitchener asked.
More troubling to him than battlefield losses was the attitude of colonial forces. All eyes along the Western Front, including those from the colonies, were closely watching developments. If both British and French forces suffered setbacks simultaneously, that would be manageable. But if Britain stagnated while France surged ahead, a dangerous sentiment might emerge among colonial forces—that the British Army was faltering and perhaps France should become the new leading world power.
"They haven't shown much reaction," Haig replied, before adding meaningfully, "on the surface."
In reality, the dissatisfaction among colonial troops was quietly brewing. Numerous British officers reported losing control over their colonial soldiers, who increasingly disregarded their commands.
Haig clenched his teeth, his voice bitter with resolve, "We must suppress the French—especially Charles."
If they failed, the British Empire's prestige would face an unprecedented challenge, possibly leading to its fragmentation.
"Wait a bit longer," Kitchener responded more calmly. "The disorder among French troops at Gembloux and the French Parliament's request for our help may yet offer us an opportunity."
Kitchener knew that relying solely on British troops gave them virtually no chance of defeating Charles. General Ives defeating Charles was simply a pipe dream. But with the French Parliament sharing common cause, there might still be hope.
However, that hope was soon extinguished. An aide brought Kitchener a telegram: "Lord Marshal, General Ives reports that upon reaching Gembloux, Charles had already regained control. Our forces weren't even permitted entry into their barracks."
Kitchener sighed softly and tossed the telegram into the fire, watching as the paper twisted painfully in the flames before turning to ash.
Haig suddenly rose, voice hardened, "We still have one card left to play. The French must understand one thing clearly: Our supplies are not free—they must offer something in return."
Kitchener nodded in agreement. It appeared the only leverage left was control over supplies.
"Yet," Kitchener cautioned, "We shouldn't target all French forces indiscriminately. Our action should be precise."
"Precise?" Haig understood Kitchener was referring specifically to Charles's troops, but how could they ensure precision?
"Gembloux taught us something," Kitchener replied thoughtfully. "The French Parliament shares our goal, General—they are our allies."
Haig let out a small sound of realization. Now he understood Kitchener's meaning perfectly.
…
In Paris, winter mornings always arrived shrouded in mist. The Prime Minister's office windows remained tightly shut against the dense, white fog outside, giving the impression that the office was isolated atop a distant cloud.
The room was oppressively silent.
Prime Minister Briand quietly signed documents, barely looking up as Clemenceau detailed the outcomes of the Gembloux incident:
"As expected, General Ives failed completely."
"We've successfully distanced ourselves. The unrest has been contained and hasn't spread further."
"The deputy commander of the 6th Army is Christine, and they've adopted deployments that differ from the other fronts..."
Briand interrupted without lifting his head: "What about public opinion?"
"The public suspects nothing," Clemenceau answered, raising an eyebrow. "They think it was just another mutiny that happened during Charles's absence. Charles returned, and the matter was swiftly resolved."
Briand finally stopped signing, looking up at Clemenceau. "We still lost. The 6th Army is completely under Charles's control now, untouchable."
His eyes revealed a glint of fear. He now could only hope Marshal Foch could keep Charles in check. But this seemed increasingly unrealistic, despite Foch commanding far more troops.
Surprisingly, Clemenceau replied calmly, "I don't agree, Prime Minister."
"What?" Briand appeared confused. Perhaps Clemenceau didn't grasp how dangerous Charles was—a capitalist, inventor, politician, military genius commanding more than two hundred thousand troops!
Clemenceau reached into his coat pocket and handed Briand a telegram. "From the British—specifically from Field Marshal Kitchener."
Briand glanced at it, puzzled. "They're offering to take responsibility for supplying all troops in the Belgian sector?"
When had the British become so generous? The Belgian sector included most of the Northern Army Group—about 300,000 soldiers, including Charles's forces. Supplying them was no minor undertaking.
Clemenceau said nothing, merely giving Briand a meaningful nod.
Suddenly, Briand understood: This was meant to target Charles. If the British controlled supplies for French troops in Belgium, they could precisely throttle Charles's ammunition and fuel supplies, directly weakening him.
Briand smiled. "It seems our decision to move the 6th Army to Belgium was correct."
Yet he quickly frowned again. "But Charles is incredibly wealthy. He's been buying supplies from the Netherlands and the United States. He also collaborates closely with Saint-Étienne and FN factories. Ammunition probably won't be an issue."
Clemenceau spoke confidently, even smugly, "That's an army of over two hundred thousand, Prime Minister. Even Charles can't sustain them indefinitely. Saint-Étienne and FN factories might provide ammunition for rifles and small arms, but artillery shells and gasoline are beyond their capabilities."
Briand nodded slowly. "You're right."
After a brief silence, Briand instructed, "This matter is diplomatic, between France and Britain. Let's have the Foreign Ministry and Army Committee handle it. There's no need for parliamentary approval."
Clemenceau understood immediately and nodded deferentially. "I fully agree, Prime Minister."
Typically, this would have been handled by the War Ministry, as it involved supplying the Northern Army Group. But the War Minister was Gallieni, who certainly would have opposed such a plan.
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