Things turned out exactly as Mainz had predicted.
When all of France began agitating for the continuation of the war against Germany, seeking to impose a final solution to the so-called "German Question," the other nations—except Belgium, who hoped to profit from chaos—showed little enthusiasm. Some ignored the proposal outright.
Not only did the United States firmly oppose a renewal of war, but even Britain, long aligned with France, chose not to commit.
The result was simple: France would have to fight almost alone, with only Britain standing half-heartedly at its side.
Faced with this reality, the heavy stone that had pressed on Field Marshal Hindenburg's chest finally eased.
"Good boy," he said with rare relief, turning to Mainz. "Your prediction was accurate. You foresaw that Britain and America would stay out. Now, with France as our only enemy, the burden is lighter. This battle will be easier."
Until Britain and America made their positions clear, the pressure on Hindenburg had been unbearable. He knew the strength of the Entente armies. The Second Reich had collapsed because Germany could not withstand their combined power.
Now, Germany was even weaker. At least during the Great War, the entire Reich had supported the army. Under the Weimar Republic, politics and the military were at odds, unrest plagued the nation, and the army could not count on a united home front.
On paper, the Reichswehr still numbered over a million men. But they lacked weapons, ammunition, and reliable supply lines. Sustaining a major campaign seemed impossible.
If Germany had to resist the full might of the Entente, defeat would be certain. But if France stood alone, there was still a chance.
"Marshal," Mainz said quietly, "we must not underestimate them. France and Britain fight with a complete military system, while our rear is unstable. A single hard blow from them could shake us."
The old Marshal nodded gravely. "You are right. It is too early to celebrate. If France intends to fight us to the end, Germany may yet fall. But if we strike them first—if we deliver a wound so deep that they hesitate—we may gain the peace we need."
When word arrived that the French Army was preparing to attack, Germany moved at once.
Troops were rushed to the Ruhr and along the Rhine. The General Staff convened in Berlin, determined to craft a plan that would crush the French swiftly.
Inside the high-ceilinged headquarters, officers crowded around maps spread across long oak tables. The air smelled of ink, pipe smoke, and tension.
"Marshal," one officer began, "the French Army's maximum strength is 1.8 million men. Our intelligence estimates they will commit between 500,000 and 1.2 million."
The officers gave their reports one by one. Their estimates were wide, imprecise, and unsatisfying.
Hindenburg's heavy brow furrowed. He turned to Major General Harut, who had recently returned from Paris. "Your assessment?"
Harut hesitated, clearly uneasy. "Somewhere between 500,000 and a million, Marshal."
Hindenburg's frown deepened. He pressed the other generals. Their answers were even less certain.
Finally, exasperated, the Marshal struck the table with his hand. "Major Mainz. You—what is your judgment? How many will the French send?"
The room fell silent.
All eyes turned to the young officer, whom many considered too inexperienced to sit among them. But Mainz met the Marshal's gaze without flinching.
"No more than 500,000."
The chamber erupted in protest.
"Impossible!"
"They cannot be so reckless."
"France would never risk sending so few men against us!"
"They will mobilize everything—half their nation if they must!"
The staff officers scoffed at Mainz's calm reply. The idea seemed absurd.
"Why?" Hindenburg asked quietly. He did not share their confidence.
He remembered Mainz's earlier warning—that Britain and America would stay out of the war. None had believed it, yet it had come true. Mainz was no reckless braggart. When he spoke, it was with careful judgment.
Now, Hindenburg leaned forward. "Explain yourself."
Mainz's voice was steady, his words deliberate. "Marshal, France has the manpower, yes. But their resources are stretched thin. Their economy is exhausted. The countryside is still rebuilding from the devastation of the Great War. They cannot mobilize 1.2 million men without crippling themselves. Their factories cannot arm such numbers, nor can their treasury sustain them. To commit more than 500,000 would mean draining their reserves to the bone."
He pointed to the map of the Ruhr, where French troops already occupied German coal mines.
"Besides, Marshal, their political leadership is divided. The French people are weary of war. Half a million is the maximum force they can field without breaking their nation's will."
Silence spread across the room.
Even those who had scoffed at him moments earlier now studied Mainz with uncertain expressions. His reasoning struck at truths they had not considered.
Hindenburg's heavy hand came down on the map with finality.
"Then we prepare to meet 500,000."
The room was still for a moment, then filled with hurried whispers and shuffling papers. The Marshal's word was law.
Mainz had spoken—and the course of Germany's war was set.
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