To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [331]
Pershing drank from a cup of coffee, said, “I was not surprised that Foch agreed to my plan. He had no choice. You know that.”
“Of course. But subordinate commanders are not to speak of such things.” Pétain laughed now. “We must oblige our superiors in their quest for the greater good.”
Pershing did not share the man’s humor. “I did exactly that. The greater good is to push the enemy out of France. We’ve merely taken the first step.”
“Indeed. I hope our good fortune continues.”
Pershing detected the pessimism again, Pétain’s smile gone now. Pétain leaned out over the desk, looked at him with a hard stare. “Perhaps it is old age, John. Perhaps I have witnessed too many disasters. But I must share my concerns over Foch’s strategy. We are about to confront the enemy at his strongest point. In your new front, between the Argonne Forest and the Meuse, he is dug into four strong defensive lines, lines that have been unmolested for nearly two years. I respect what you accomplished at St. Mihiel. But I’m sure you will agree that the enemy was taken somewhat by surprise. I mean no disrespect to your soldiers, John, but at St. Mihiel, the enemy gave way rather than make a strong stand. Ludendorff knows that between the Meuse and the Argonne, there is no giving way. If the Germans are beaten there, they risk the loss of their key rail line, which could threaten their entire front. I hope you are prepared for a difficult fight.”
Pershing felt a small flash of anger, let it cool. He is my friend, he thought. And he’s right. He has seen a great many disasters. He’s entitled to his doubts.
“I have never been one to offer guarantees of certain victory. It is one reason the newspapers find me . . . uninteresting. I have spoken to my corps commanders, and several of my division commanders. Every one of them is energetic and eager to take the field. I have always believed that a confident commander influences the personality of his troops. The AEF no longer has anything to prove to its allies, and I will make no loud claims for instant success. Yes, this will be a difficult fight, and I believe there is no army anywhere that is capable of confronting the enemy with as much drive and dedication to victory as the men in my command.”
“I cannot argue that, John. Might I ask one favor?”
Pershing was surprised to see the joviality returning to Pétain’s expression. “Certainly.”
“The next time you launch an attack against barbed wire, please allow me to watch how it is done.”
THE HEADQUARTERS HAD BEEN MOVED AGAIN, THE SMALL TOWN OF Souilly located squarely in the plain southwest of Verdun, between the Aire and Meuse rivers. Most of Pershing’s First Army had continued their massive shift away from St. Mihiel, leaving that part of the front in the hands of the Second Corps, troops who had no reason to expect the enemy in front of them to do anything but lick their wounds. Despite the strength of the German defensive lines that spread from the Argonne Forest eastward, past the banks of the Meuse River, Pershing had received no reports that the Germans were beefing up their troop strength in anticipation of a general assault. It was immensely satisfying to him, what seemed to be the positive result of an energetic campaign of misinformation. For several days, Pershing’s staff and various senior commanders in the field had done as much as possible to point the Germans in another direction. Counterfeit orders were handled indiscreetly, carbon paper containing details of false troop movements was left carelessly in garbage bins. Communications posts sent wireless radio messages that spelled out how the Americans were strengthening their position at St. Mihiel. At every opportunity, the counterfeit plan was passed along to whoever might be listening so that when the attack began, the goal would be what everyone knew to be Pershing’s original target, the great fortress city of Metz.
SOUILLY—SEPTEMBER 25, 1918
“I’ll hand it to the French, General. They’ve come through