Chapter 488: Strength
The vase had shattered irreparably, reduced to worthless fragments. Joffre had lost, completely and irrevocably. His carefully cultivated reputation was now utterly destroyed, replaced only by scorn. Wherever people gathered, they whispered mockingly:
"Have you heard? Joffre tried blaming Shire for everything—calling it a conspiracy."
"I heard that too. He'd do anything to cling to power."
"Exactly. He threw General Foch under the bus before; now it's Shire. No wonder he doesn't mind sacrificing thousands of soldiers."
Soon, newspapers across France stopped showing Joffre any mercy. Headlines previously crafted with care now bluntly condemned his failures. Newspapers abroad—British, American, Italian, and even Russian—picked up the narrative, asking pointedly:
If Shire could accomplish in one day what Joffre failed to do in years, does this mean Shire was exceptional or Joffre just profoundly incompetent—or both?
Further analysis appeared, questioning Joffre's entire career. Apart from the defense of Paris—which many credited to Gallieni anyway—Joffre had little real success to speak of. These publications began openly wondering: Why had a man like this remained commander-in-chief for so long? Was something deeply flawed within the French military hierarchy?
Under these circumstances, Gallieni naturally abandoned the idea of promoting Joffre to Marshal. Even if Gallieni had proposed it, the Chamber of Deputies would never have accepted it. Joffre was no longer a symbol of courage or competence. Now, he represented only incompetence and disgrace.
At the Paris defense headquarters, Gallieni lay propped up on pillows, leaning back on his bed. Since his health had deteriorated following his recent collapse, he felt continually weak, the old wound constantly aching.
Shire entered, carrying a basket of fresh apples, and placed them carefully on the table. From his pocket, he produced the latest medications from the military hospital, tucking them gently into a drawer.
"The doctors recommended more fruit and soft foods," Shire instructed gently. "Mashed potatoes, vegetable soups—I've already informed Colonel Fernand. He'll ensure your meals include these."
Gallieni murmured softly in acknowledgment, touched yet unwilling to show vulnerability in front of Shire. He didn't want the young officer thinking he was merely a pitiable old man dependent on charity.
"Wait a moment, Brigadier," Gallieni called out as Shire moved to leave.
Shire turned, somewhat puzzled. He'd planned a meeting with Stead soon, but paused respectfully.
Gallieni nodded toward the door, indicating it should be closed. Once Shire complied, he lowered his voice carefully.
"It's true, isn't it? The British intelligence about Belfort—you planted that information to deceive Joffre."
Shire replied without hesitation, "That, and more."
Gallieni raised an eyebrow. "More?"
"Yes," Shire confirmed, quietly.
Gallieni understood immediately. "General Christine—he was your man as well, wasn't he?"
It wasn't difficult to piece together. Joffre had been misled twice: first by the false British intelligence pointing toward Belfort, and second, by Christine's deliberately misleading military advice, prompting the transfer of artillery units away from Verdun.
Gallieni sighed deeply. "I won't debate whether removing Joffre was right or wrong—I myself agree he wasn't fit to command—but your methods trouble me. Do you realize how many regulations you've violated? Joffre was correct in saying he could send you to a court-martial. You've chosen ruthlessness."
"General," Shire calmly responded, "when the outcome is correct, few care about the methods employed. It's like facing an enemy on the battlefield: survival matters, not the methods you used to win."
Gallieni was silent, troubled. Deep down, he understood Shire's harshness was partly motivated by loyalty—to himself. From the moment Gallieni had collapsed, Shire had set his heart on revenge, determined to ensure Joffre paid dearly for every indignity inflicted.
Yet Gallieni hadn't expected Shire's retaliation to be so absolute and merciless, leaving even Gallieni somewhat shaken.
That same night, sea breezes blew gently through Dunkirk, carrying the familiar tang of saltwater. Under the starry sky, moonlight cast silvery reflections upon calm waves, illuminating distant lighthouses.
On the outskirts stood a three-story villa guarded heavily by armed British soldiers, with hidden snipers watching the shadows. Inside was the British Expeditionary Force headquarters. General Douglas Haig, commander of the First Army, sat opposite Field Marshal Kitchener, who gazed thoughtfully out the window, a half-empty glass of wine in hand.
"We must consider more than just military matters, General," Kitchener said quietly, staring into the night. "At our level, politics takes precedence. Military strategy must always serve political ends. When these interests clash, politics must come first."
Haig noticed Kitchener's empty glass and refilled it promptly. "But, Field Marshal, how does this relate to our current situation? I don't see how politics and our military posture conflict."
Kitchener smiled faintly. "Think of our colonies, General—scattered across the globe. Our troops in those far-off lands are limited, yet our authority remains unquestioned. Why do you suppose that is?"
Haig answered instantly, "Our strength."
"Precisely," Kitchener agreed, nodding slowly. "Strength ensures obedience. Those colonies understand if they disobey, our military might crushes them easily, leaving nothing but ruin behind."
He turned toward Haig and raised his glass slightly. "But now, look at France. Under Shire's leadership, they've achieved victory after victory—retaking Brussels, capturing Antwerp, stabilizing Verdun. Meanwhile, here we sit idle at Dunkirk."
Haig finally understood, frowning slightly. "You mean the world sees France's rising power, and our inactivity signals Britain's decline. We risk losing our authority over the colonies."
"Exactly," Kitchener affirmed. "We cannot remain passive. We need a plan—a successful military operation to demonstrate our continued strength. Or at least, British troops must return to the front lines."
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