Chapter 703 – Charles Can Only Rely on Himself
Paris City Hall, after working hours. Briand and Clemenceau had not gone home. Instead, they were dining together in the Prime Minister's office.
Briand called it "overtime," and their dinner—steak and escargots—had been specially ordered from the renowned Chartier restaurant.
(Above: Chartier Restaurant, founded in 1903, still in operation today.)
"The steak here is quite excellent," Briand said as he gracefully sliced into it. "Although we really should be eating at the restaurant…"
"Yes," Clemenceau nodded while chewing. "This is the best I've ever had!"
"If we get the chance, we should invite Charles to try it sometime," Briand said flatly.
Then the two men exchanged knowing smirks.
If Charles lost a battle, the look on his face at a dinner like this would be delightful.
After a moment, Briand asked, "Any news from Charles?"
Clemenceau shook his head, his mouth full. "Nothing, as usual. Gallieni doesn't seem willing to share much."
But Clemenceau added, "Don't worry. I admit Charles is brilliant—no one understands the battlefield better than him."
"But…"
"If he doesn't have enough troops, and the Germans know his weakness, I doubt he can pull off another miracle."
Briand nodded and raised his wine glass to clink lightly with Clemenceau's.
"To Charles."
"To Charles."
They smiled again, this time more bitterly.
Just then, the secretary rushed in with a report. "Prime Minister, Colonel Dura requests an audience."
Briand glanced at the table, momentarily embarrassed.
As Prime Minister, enjoying such a luxurious meal while the entire country lived under wartime rationing was a little inappropriate.
But he quickly recovered and motioned to Clemenceau with a slight tilt of his head. "Come on. Let's move this conversation to the conference room."
"Of course." Clemenceau stood, downed his wine, and followed.
…
Inside the conference room, Colonel Dura approached and immediately picked up on what was happening.
Even though Briand and Clemenceau tried to act casually, the smell of wine and roasted meat clung to their clothes—undeniable evidence of their indulgence.
Dura didn't comment. It wasn't his place. Besides, there was something far more important at hand.
"Charles has successfully captured Buzancy," Dura reported.
"Buzancy?" Briand and Clemenceau both looked confused. The name meant nothing to them.
Dura pulled a map from his pocket and spread it out. He pointed to Buzancy. "According to my information, Charles is advancing along the Meuse. I believe his goal is to push all the way to Verdun."
A gleam appeared in Briand's eyes.
Clemenceau smiled faintly. "I thought he'd stay in Mézières. So, he's still choosing to push forward. Typical Charles."
It was exactly what they'd hoped for.
Charles had too few troops. If he hunkered down in Mézières and held out, it would still count as a victory—after all, he had recaptured a key industrial city.
But for them, that would not be ideal.
What they really wanted was for Charles to keep advancing—despite lacking manpower—so he would overextend himself, get surrounded, and preferably… encounter "problems."
And now Charles had done exactly that.
If Charles was going to charge ahead with insufficient troops, then he only had himself to blame.
Let him taste defeat for once.
This arrogant fool had won too many easy victories and probably no longer feared the Germans. Even with inferior numbers, he still dared to gamble everything.
Of course, neither of them said any of this aloud.
"My God," Clemenceau whispered. "Isn't this a bit too reckless? Charles only has a little over 20,000 men, while the Germans around him… at least a few hundred thousand."
Dura nodded. "Our preliminary estimate puts over 300,000 enemy troops north of Mézières."
Briand turned to him in shock. "You mean just north of Mézières there are over 300,000?"
"Yes, Prime Minister," Dura replied.
"Additionally, there are over 100,000 to the east, on the other side of the Meuse, and more than 100,000 near Verdun."
"In total, Charles is surrounded by at least 600,000 troops."
If one really wanted to stretch the numbers, you could say the entire German Western Front—over a million men—was technically "around" Charles.
But in truth, the situation wasn't as bad as it sounded.
Many of those enemy units couldn't reach Charles in time—the battle would be over before they arrived. And if they weren't involved, they didn't count.
(Note: That's why mechanized and armored units are so valuable—they can enter and exit battles rapidly, giving the effect of using the same troops multiple times.)
But Briand and Clemenceau didn't understand this.
They stared at Dura, stunned.
Two divisions—against six hundred thousand?
And Charles chose to attack instead of hold position?
After a long silence, Clemenceau finally muttered, "Can he possibly win?"
Then, as if realizing he'd said too much, he quickly added, "I mean… should we recommend Charles withdraw to Mézières?"
Dura was quiet for a moment, then said:
"Victory is extremely unlikely for Charles."
"He should have attacked Rethel. Foch is leading an entire army group in that direction. If Charles failed to break through, Foch might have been able to rescue him."
Then Dura changed tone:
"But now Charles is attacking Verdun along the Meuse…"
"I don't understand why he chose that route. It's twice as long as the one to Rethel."
"Besides, the German defenses near Verdun are extremely strong. Pétain will not break them any time soon—and frankly, he won't try. He won't attack."
Briand and Clemenceau exchanged looks—and relaxed slightly.
They understood.
Foch's assault on Rethel might have saved Charles.
But Pétain? He was a defensive commander. He wasn't going to attack.
Clemenceau, secretly pleased, tried to act concerned. "Then should we order Pétain to attack?"
Briand frowned and gently shook his head.
"We all know Pétain isn't good at offensive operations."
"And his defenses are solid now. If we force him to go on the attack, we risk throwing it all away."
"We could put Verdun itself in danger."
Clemenceau nodded gravely. "Then Charles is on his own. Let's hope he has some luck."
(End of Chapter 703)
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