To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [196]
“Who’s here? Anyone else?”
Harbord stepped into his office, said, “Yes, sir. Major Drum, Colonel Connor, Colonel Rockenbach, and Captain Patton. We were just going over—”
“Bring them in. Everybody. I want every one of them to know what kind of support we’re getting from Washington. Every man on my staff has been questioned by somebody, some damned reporter, some French officer, all asking the same question. What the hell is wrong with your army? Why are you so damned slow bringing your men to France? Well, I want my people to know the answer. Damn it all!”
The others had gathered behind Harbord, and Pershing shouted again, “Well, come in!”
They filed in, each man standing straight, waiting for what would come next. Pershing looked at each one of them, thought, All good men. I am so damned fortunate. Why does no one in Washington perform like this? He sat down, pushed the letter toward the front of his desk, said, “More talk of delay from the chief of staff’s office. Hand-wringing and apologies for our lack of preparation. No ability to see beyond the moment at hand. No ability to create a plan, and even if I furnish the plan, they have no ability to put it into motion. No assigning of responsibility. No action!”
They stared at him in silence, and Pershing shook his head, looked down for a moment. “As you may know, the French have supplied us with instructors at most of the training facilities in the States. These instructors are assisting our recruits by indoctrinating them in the only role the French expect them to play. They are teaching our soldiers every specific nuance required to defend oneself in a trench. I have written the secretary, I have written the chief of staff, and it has done no good at all. Our own instructors are so new, and so poorly trained, that they defer to French expertise. The French were sent over to assist us, and instead, we have given them complete control, because our officers are too incompetent to know what else to do. The results have become obvious. Did you hear about the grand exhibition at Valbonne? I was asked to attend an exhibition—some sort of mock battle staged for the benefit of the newspapers, and of course, the French. General Bullard was all puffed up with pride, claimed I would be impressed by the skills of the most recently arriving officers. I stood on the damned reviewing stand surrounded by French officials, proudly observing as a regiment of our newest recruits stumbled all over themselves. Instead of showing our allies how well we were prepared, we showed them how poorly we have been training our recruits. I thought the best way to deflect my own embarrassment was to offer some boast to our horrified allies by assuring them that we would do better in a show of marksmanship. I thought Bullard was going to faint right in front of me. There is no show of marksmanship, he says, because there is no marksmanship at all. These men have had no training with a rifle! No one in the War Department has thought it necessary to teach our new recruits how to aim! Why? The French instructors insisted they not waste their time. It isn’t necessary! The rifle is obsolete! It seems all of our West Point training is out of date, out of step with the new era of defensive warfare. Victory by inactivity. Our men are being instructed that they can best defeat our enemy by dying more slowly than he does.”
He stopped, pulled back on his temper, looked at them one by one.
“Regardless of how often our allies insist, I will not commit our soldiers to anyone’s war of attrition. I was trained . . . hell, you were all trained to believe that success on the battlefield comes only from aggression and movement. I have repeatedly expressed my views to Secretary Baker, and I believe he shares my frustration. But it is apparent to me that he is considerably outnumbered by old soldiers in the War Department who are doing everything they can to impede our progress. I cannot understand why this is so, why there is such hesitation. You know