To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [214]
“Thank you for the compliment, but I am not yet certain—”
“I am only trying to help you understand that you are in the midst of a storm that is far more complicated than you might realize.”
“Why? Why is it important that you tell me these things? I cannot just accept what you say as truth. How do I regard Foch now? Am I not to say anything of this to Pétain? I feel as though you have made me part of some conspiracy.”
Joffre looked down, cradled his round face in his hands, thought for a moment. “You must look beyond such small concerns, John. There is something much greater in motion here. You have heard this before, but I will repeat it. We cannot prevail in this war without the assistance of the Americans. Regardless of what kind of impression the Supreme War Council is trying to make on the world, on your government and mine, Mr. Clemenceau and Mr. Lloyd George are in control of the council, and they are men who know how to use their power. All the rest are like so many birds, perched high on the limbs above, watching the two great cats prowling below. Mr. Lloyd George is not a man who cares for generals, whether they be French or English . . . or American. He is a bit too public in his views, I’m afraid. It is not helpful to morale. It is certainly not helpful to Marshal Haig. Mr. Clemenceau is more practiced in the art of subtlety.”
“Yes, I’ve had some experience with that.”
“The French people are very aware how difficult is the condition of our army. The British have hidden instead behind the strong words of their prime minister. But along the front lines, the British army is in no better condition than ours. Very quietly, they have reduced the strength of their battalions. They simply do not have the reserve of manpower to call upon anymore. The newspapers in London have not been informed of this—the prime minister’s attempt to keep his people’s morale high. Here, we are already bringing into our army boys who normally would not serve until next year. But we cannot afford to wait for them to age. Look at any division in our army, and you will see officers with young faces. Company commanders above the age of thirty are practically nonexistent. They are simply gone. I would suspect that the ranks of British officers have been affected in the same way. The wells have run dry. Except, of course, for the Americans. This is why they fight over you. It is not about good strategy and convenience, it has nothing to do with proper training for your soldiers. It is desperation. Survival. When Lloyd George ridicules Marshal Haig, he points to British success in other theaters of the war, such as Arabia. But that is deception. He knows, as does everyone here, if the Western Front collapses, if the British are backed into the sea, if German troops march into Paris, nothing else will matter, not the defeat of Turkey, not the liberation of Syria. This war will end right here.”
“Do you believe I am wrong to insist that we keep the American army together?”
“Oh my, no, John. Quite the opposite. Your president and Mr. Baker are wise to have chosen you for the storm that swirls around you. A weak man in your position would succumb to the pressure, and the result would be that your army would simply dissolve. The British could temporarily rebuild their battalions. Temporarily. But nothing else would be gained. The Germans are afraid of you, John. That fear could be of great benefit to them, and a very great problem for us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ludendorff knows he has only a short time before you put a serious obstacle in his path. He will act accordingly. He must make his move before your army tips the balance in our favor. If he can crush the British, or take Paris, nothing you can do will alter the outcome.”
“We are doing all we can to fill the American sector. I am confident that before the summer, we will be strong enough to make the fight.”
“I hope you are correct, John.” Joffre glanced back at a clock on a mantel behind him. “You have been more generous than I could have