To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [207]
ON FEBRUARY 18, 1918, THE LAFAYETTE ESCADRILLE OFFICIALLY ceased to exist. Those pilots who had chosen to remain with the unit were transferred into the American Air Service as the 103rd Pursuit Squadron, commanded by Major Bill Thaw. Lufbery’s orders were to report to the airfield at Villeneuve, closer to Paris, to serve as senior flying officer for the Ninety-fourth Aero Squadron, as well as assuming the role of primary combat instructor for the newly trained American pilots, the first men who would fly for the American Air Service. There was nothing in his orders about writing pamphlets.
JANUARY 1918
THE CHAOS IN FRANCE HAD FINALLY REACHED A HARD CLAW INTO the civilian government. For several months Paul Painlevé had assumed the role of prime minister, holding together a weak coalition of opposing ministers. Painlevé’s government had no more positive effect on the suffering of the French people than his predecessors, and by November, his fragile coalition had collapsed. Though Raymond Poincaré still held office as president, the title was mostly ceremonial. Poincaré was confined to recommending the men who would serve in the cabinet, where the real power of the civilian government was found. The unrest that had spread through the country called for a prime minister who could inspire the affection of the people. Poincaré sought out the only man who seemed capable of confronting the ongoing despair that had settled over France.
Like Paul von Hindenburg in Germany, Georges Clemenceau was the aging symbol of his country, the grandfatherly leader who brought with him memories of better times. Unlike von Hindenburg, Clemenceau was not a soldier; had climbed to power through the civilian government. He had been semiretired for several years, accepting a post in the French senate that provided him a public forum. Throughout the war, the feisty seventy-six-year-old had become an aggressive critic of the mistakes that had plagued the Allies since 1914. Clemenceau was not a man who feared making enemies, and as the army’s mistakes multiplied, Clemenceau’s unbridled criticism had alienated him from both Joffre and Pétain. But the people of France were hungry for someone who could offer them hope. Despite his crusty demeanor and lack of diplomatic gracefulness, Clemenceau, whose nickname was “the tiger,” seemed to be the only man for the job.
Pershing was learning quickly that powerful civilians made for powerful intrusions into the affairs of the military. In November, the civilian leaders of France, Great Britain, and Italy had met to discuss the immediate crisis of the Italian army’s collapse at Caporetto. But the leaders, especially David Lloyd George, saw the summit as an opportunity for the civilian officials to organize what they labeled a Supreme War Council, each man to play a greater role in the affairs of his army’s frustratingly ineffective strategies. To the military commanders—Haig, Pétain, and Pershing—it simply meant that the civilian leaders had every intention of interfering in military planning far more than they had before.
The interference began almost immediately. Pershing learned that Clemenceau had contacted Washington directly, indiscreetly suggesting that Pershing be ordered to assign American regiments to French front-line divisions as a means of hastening the Americans’ training. Pershing had continued to fend off the same pressure from Pétain, rejecting the proposal for one obvious reason. If American units were made a part of French divisions, they would be used to fill the gaps that the war of attrition had caused. Though a limit might be placed on how much time the Americans would be “loaned” to the French divisions, when that time period elapsed, it would be nearly impossible to recall the Americans into their own divisions without effectively disabling the French units