novelraw Chapter 575: Many People Do Not Understand the Cruelty of War
Chapter 575: Many People Do Not Understand the Cruelty of War
Fuxu hardly needed to explain to Paris.
In the Prime Minister’s Office at Paris City Hall, two high-ranking officials sat opposite each other by the warm fireplace, leisurely sipping red wine while discussing.
"People are tired of war," Clemenceau said coldly. "Especially the soldiers on the front line. They are always looking to escape."
"Who wouldn’t agree?" Briand nodded in agreement. "They even resort to mutiny and refuse to fight. It’s a disgrace and utterly foolish. If they don’t fight, the whole country, including themselves, will be lost in the end!"
"To prevent similar incidents, we need an offensive," Clemenceau said, shaking his wine glass towards Briand.
Briand was puzzled. "I think it’s best for us to maintain a defensive stance; otherwise, those soldiers might rebel again."
Clemenceau shook his head. "Prime Minister, you seem to have forgotten what happened last Christmas Eve."
This reminded Briand. He recalled what happened last Christmas Eve: a large-scale truce between the enemy and us, reportedly lasting three days, during which they drank, played soccer, and exchanged gifts together...
Briand felt uneasy. "We can’t let that happen. It would affect their morale and fighting spirit."
Briand’s words sounded lofty, but in reality, he did not want to see peace.
The French Army already had morale issues. If another "truce" occurred, the grassroots soldiers and civilians’ call for peace would grow louder, potentially forcing parliament to choose negotiations.
But the Americans were unwilling to negotiate, and the British and French members of parliament who had taken bribes from the Americans were also unwilling to negotiate.
So, there appeared this rather ironic scene: a future Nobel Peace Prize winner unwilling to see peace, racking his brain to prolong this meaningless war for money.
"That’s what I’m saying," Clemenceau said. "An offensive, a must-fight offensive, but not one that would provoke soldier resistance."
Briand understood. What they needed was the "formality of war" to prevent the "Christmas truce" from reoccurring, not for victory or territory, at the cost of a few soldiers’ lives.
"We need to control the measure," Briand frowned. "But this is precisely what we’re not good at."
Politicians only discuss national affairs in their offices; the specific operations on the front lines are not their concern. That’s for the generals to worry about.
At this moment, a blonde, graceful secretary knocked and entered, handing Briand a telegram. "A telegram from the Commander, Prime Minister."
Briand took the telegram, looked at it, and then smiled with relief. "The Commander thinks just like we do. It seems we chose the right person!"
He then handed the telegram to Clemenceau.
After reading the telegram, Clemenceau nodded. "This saves us a lot of trouble!"
The two men exchanged a smile and gently clinked their wine glasses, producing a clear sound.
They didn’t know that this was exactly what Shire hoped for.
...
At the front line at Jangbulu, the snow was falling harder. The ground’s standing water had frozen, and the rooftops and tree branches were the first to be cloaked in white.
In the swirling snowflakes, the French Army soldiers brushed off days of repression and fear, suddenly filled with laughter and joy.
Because Shire had come to see them, bringing lots of food, including beef, turkey, and fresh vegetables:
"All of which Shire bought with his own money, just like last Christmas."
"Of course, the parliament would never give us these; they only push us to the battlefield with guns in hand."
"Lower your voice, you fool. Do you want to be hauled off for questioning?"
"What’s the difference? Tomorrow we’re back on the battlefield, on Christmas Eve!"
...
The combat orders had already been issued ahead of time. By now, everyone knew they were to launch a "limited offensive" on Christmas Eve.
When Shire walked into the crowd, the soldiers erupted in cheers, rushing forward to shake hands with him:
"It’s a pleasure to see you, General."
"We were worried you wouldn’t lead us anymore!"
"Thank you for the food and supplies. We know that’s your personal property."
...
Shire shook hands with the soldiers while answering, "It’s what I should do. We can celebrate Christmas Eve tonight."
Because tomorrow night, they would launch the offensive.
So naturally, the soldiers thought of the offensive tomorrow night. Someone asked, "What’s ’limited offensive,’ General? It sounds a bit strange!"
Shire spread his hands apologetically. "Sorry, I don’t know either."
But that wasn’t true; Shire knew what it was.
Yet, the soldiers were stunned when they heard Shire’s words. They looked at each other in confusion. Could there really be an offensive Shire didn’t know about?
Does this mean that this offensive was not organized by Shire?
Worse yet, does this mean that Shire’s command of the 6th Army Group had been stripped away, as many had suspected?
Shire shrugged helplessly. "I can only say, follow orders. Your officers will tell you what to do!"
Saying this, he patted the soldiers’ shoulders meaningfully and left.
The soldiers seemed to understand the meaning behind Shire’s words. They looked at Shire’s desolate figure and whispered to each other:
"God, our suspicions were correct. Those bastards in parliament have stripped Shire’s command."
"Isn’t it obvious? They took over the 6th Army Group while Shire was on leave."
"Yes, Shire rushed back before his vacation ended, but it was too late; he was powerless!"
...
The more the soldiers talked, the angrier they became. Their gazes at the overbearing officers began to change.
It wasn’t hard to imagine that without Shire’s leadership, they would be sent to die on the battlefield as before. The horrors of the River Somme were still fresh in their minds.
As for the officers’ assurances of "minimal casualties in this offensive, I guarantee it," only fools would believe that. They had always said that.
Nivelle had also said they would be home in a few days to enjoy the victory’s honor, but everyone who believed that died on the battlefield. The River Somme campaign had not ended yet!
And so, a storm quietly brewed within the troops.
But the soldiers didn’t know what to do; some wanted to help Shire regain his command, others contemplated rebellion again, and yet others considered a coup...
Shire sensed these thoughts.
He understood these soldiers, knew what they were thinking, while the officers who came from military schools and noble backgrounds, even those like Ganmelin, known as "France’s smartest general" in the office, knew nothing.
Then Shire found Kristen.
He said two sentences to Kristen:
"The battlefield is chaotic, with no mercy of blades or swords."
"Grievances should be avenged and enmities paid back!"
Kristen glanced at the regiment commanders and staff inserted into the troops, tacitly nodded, and ambiguously replied, "Many people do not understand the cruelty of war, General!"