To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [130]
“By all means, sir. I would look forward to that.”
Joffre moved slowly toward the door, stopped, looked again at Pershing. “I hesitate to say this. No. You must know all that is happening. Do you know of General Nivelle?”
“Of course, sir. He commands—”
“He took my place, General. There is no need to be delicate. But if you are not yet aware, you should know that General Nivelle is no longer in command. I am certain the secretary has heard some rumors of this, yes?”
Baker seemed unsure how to respond, said, “Some rumors, perhaps.”
“The rumors are true. Nivelle is a fool, a man who insisted on repeating the same mistakes that every commander in this war has already made. This war has been a continuous flood of disasters. Nivelle has now made his foolish contribution, yet one more disaster.”
He paused, and Pershing could see that Joffre was debating the wisdom of saying anything more.
The old man closed his eyes for a brief moment, then said, “Because of Nivelle’s stupidity, the French army has nearly collapsed. He has been replaced by Henri Pétain. Pétain is not so much a fool, and may be the only man who can inspire our troops to continue the fight. I am violating my government’s orders by revealing this. But you deserve to know the truth about what you are to confront, General. You must understand that no matter how much talk you hear, no matter how many demands are placed on you to comply with French demands or English demands, no matter how your authority is disregarded, there is one inescapable fact. The Germans are firmly entrenched on French and Belgian soil. If this war continues for much longer, I believe they will remain there, possibly forever. Boundaries will be changed, French land will no longer belong to French people. And thus far, no Englishman, no Frenchman has found the means to change that. Without your help, General, without America in this war, we cannot win.”
He turned, moved to the door, pulled it open, looked back again. “Au revoir, gentlemen.”
The commotion in the outer office was immediate, Joffre’s staff rising to meet him. Joffre did not stop, disappeared into the wide hall, the staff following. Baker moved to the door, closed it, and said, “He is a powerful presence.”
Baker moved back behind the desk, and Pershing waited for him to sit, both men in their chairs again. Pershing stared down for a moment, could feel a hollow silence in the room, the old man’s sudden absence leaving an open hole inside of him. Pershing said, “I never expected . . . such sadness. He is a defeated man.”
“Take that seriously, General. Marshal Joffre knows more of what is happening in his country than any man alive.”
“Had you heard about Nivelle’s replacement?”
“Until now, only rumors. The French are keeping very quiet about the whole affair. We’re just so damned far away. Which is why you must leave quickly. Is your staff assembled?”
“Yes, sir. I received your office’s approval of all my selections. However, I am prepared to go over each name if you wish.”
Baker seemed not to hear him, opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a folder of papers. “What? Oh, no, quite all right, General. I do not pretend to know what kind of men you should engage on your own staff.” He held up the folder. “I didn’t want Marshal Joffre to see this. That seems rather ridiculous now. I don’t think we are hiding anything from him. This letter was passed to the chief of staff’s office from Major General Bridges, of the British High Command. It’s rather lengthy. No need for you to read it now. You can take it with you. But the message is simple. The British are requesting that we not bother to give training to our draftees and new recruits, that we simply ship them to England for training, so that they may be best suited for service in the British army.”
“What?” Pershing felt a shock from the volume of his own voice, stiffened, said, “Forgive me, sir.”
“Quite all