Chapter 174
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 174
Chapter Title: All Quiet on the Western Front (2)
While the British forces were piling up their casualty lists in Belgium, learning the harsh lessons of modern warfare with their bodies, the French army was stacking mountains of corpses against the Germans along the Marne River.
Peeyeeeee────!!
"Charge! Charge!"
"Don't hesitate! With the spirit of Elan Vital, this time we'll drive out those invading Boche bastards from our homeland!"
Under the now all-too-familiar whistle that made them flinch just hearing it, French soldiers charged once more toward the German trenches.
"Enemy troops approaching!"
"Feuer!"
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat! Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!! Boom! Kaboom!!
And once again, they crumbled in an instant before the hail of German machine-gun fire.
It was a foregone conclusion, one that would repeat itself again after a short interval.
Of course, the French high command was well aware that these repeated assaults on enemy trenches would yield nothing but heaps of corpses.
They had embraced trench warfare doctrine early on, precisely because of that monstrous defensive power.
But why did trench warfare earn such infamy throughout the war in the original history?
Because they couldn't stop the offensives, even knowing the immense sacrifices they would entail.
French generals, especially Commander-in-Chief Joseph Joffre, were desperate to reclaim the territories lost to the Germans as quickly as possible. Staying idle would only allow the growing Allied forces to overwhelm them.
Moreover, there was no way to breach the enemy trenches other than throwing bodies at them directly.
Even to war-loving Europeans, this full-fledged modern warfare was still a novel experience they were just beginning to feel in their bones.
The large-scale artillery barrages from heavy guns offered their only hope, but even those were plagued by shortages far below requirements or mishaps from immature artillery doctrine.
On top of that, the Germans—with their superior equipment and tactics—were forcing a war of attrition on the French, daring them to come if they dared.
In the end, they had no choice but to make up the shortfall with flesh and blood, and the result was countless body bags.
What's more, unlike the early khaki uniforms of the British or the gray-green of the Germans, the French were still wearing their flashy blue tops and red pants, holdovers from tradition.
As a result, French soldiers were soiling their own uniforms with dirt just to avoid becoming easy targets.
"For God's sake, let's change these uniforms already!"
"But it's the tradition of the Grand Army of France, passed down from the days of the Republic..."
"You think you'll say that after we lose the war?!"
Of course, aside from the conservative generals stuck in 19th-century thinking, the French high command took this seriously and had proposed uniform changes even before the war.
But with the World War erupting so suddenly, and not just a few uniforms but the entire army's worth, they couldn't swap them overnight.
Besides uniforms, the French faced a pile of issues: reclaiming seas seized by the Entente, developing new weapons against submachine guns, and more.
"This won't do! We have to turn the tide somehow!"
France needed time.
And to buy that time, they had to reverse this bleak situation somehow.
Otherwise, Great France would collapse before long.
"Everyone, take your seats."
With a voice from Joseph Joffre that sounded a decade older than during the border battles—perhaps due to the dire situation—the generals and staff officers, their faces equally grim, sat down.
"You all know the current state of the war without me saying it."
"......"
"We're losing this war. If things continue like this."
At Joffre's somber words, the French officers groaned regardless of rank.
The situation was indeed too dire to call favorable.
"Gamelin, what's the situation on the Eastern Front?"
"Not good, sir. With Serbia's collapse, Entente forces from the Balkan Front are shifting to the East. And intelligence reports the Germans massing troops in East Prussia— at least four field armies' worth."
Maurice Gamelin, promoted to lieutenant colonel for his merits in the border battles, replied.
"A major German offensive on the Eastern Front is imminent."
The Russians would likely fail to stop it.
Gamelin had inspected the Russian army with Foch and others before the war, seeing their true state with his own eyes.
Besides, was the Russian Empire some stable powerhouse?
It was a shaky realm that could crumble from within at any moment.
That's why France—self-proclaimed experts in revolutions—had advised the Tsar and Russian government on even minor reforms, warning they'd collapse otherwise. But our Nicky, as always, let it go in one ear and out the other.
"We've barely talked the Tsar out of moving the capital to Moscow, and another major defeat for Russia would spell disaster."
"The worse the Eastern Front fares, the heavier the burden on us French."
If Russia collapsed completely, France—barely holding on now—would end that day too.
With Britain ramping up on the Belgian Front by deploying Canadian, Indian, Dominion, and colonial troops, boosting their strength massively, the outlook was utterly bleak.
"And on the Marne, we're not even mounting proper offensives—just attempting a 1km advance costs us ten thousand lives."
"But isn't General Pétain holding the Verdun line admirably?"
Though the German Empire's future knowledge prevented the original history's drastic exchange ratio improvements, rising star Pétain was proving France's finest commander, staving off German pressure effectively.
"Holding the line isn't enough—that's why we're in this mess!"
But the aggressive Joffre, dissatisfied with Pétain's defensive focus and neglect of offensives, raised his voice in frustration.
"We need a reversal. Something to break this stagnant war!"
This wasn't just Joffre's personal view.
The French government, led by Poincaré, was pressuring him to deliver results.
The Allies' situation was too grim to sugarcoat.
France alone was under attack not just on the homeland but worldwide.
In Africa, British, German, newly joined Portuguese, and Belgian Congo forces assaulted French colonies.
In the Far East, Indochina was under siege, and Pacific outposts like New Caledonia fell swiftly to British pirates and their bastard spawn.
Entente navies hunted French supply ships across the oceans, thirsting for prizes, so much so that even the useless French Navy was considering unrestricted submarine warfare.
And the other Allies?
Serbia, valiantly fighting the Austro-Hungarians, fell with Belgrade; Montenegro surrendered soon after.
Russia lost over 400,000 men in under a month, saw its Baltic Fleet annihilated, and had its capital bombed.
Of course, Paris had been bombed too, but France retaliated by hitting London (Berlin was too far), making them better off than the whining Russians who did nothing.
Amid this Allied disadvantage—despite sharp checks from Marquis Hans von Choi, star of the Kaiser effigy burnings in Paris—French diplomats struggled to bolster their side.
"Still no word from Italy?"
"Annoying, but no."
Italy, which had secretly agreed to defect from the Triple Alliance before the war, was dragging its feet.
Prime Minister Giovanni Giolitti, always skeptical of joining, now rode the neutralist wave loudly.
"At least Italian public opinion still leans toward war to reclaim irredenta territories. The historical right and Salandra are starting to move."
Giolitti would soon be ousted, replaced by warmonger Antonio Salandra.
Then Italy would finally lift its heavy rear.
"And President Poincaré has secretly sent old Delcassé to Constantinople to contact the Ottomans."
"Pardon? Aren't the Ottomans pro-German and pro-British?"
Churchill's battleship NTR had curbed pro-British momentum, but still.
Hans von Choi had read the Ottomans' war reluctance perfectly—not forcing their entry and even promising to return Ardahan and Kars lost in the 12th Russo-Turkish War post-war.
Would the Ottomans really join France, ally of their hated Russian Empire?
Gamelin and the staff couldn't fathom their beloved president's thinking.
"I thought it nonsense at first too. But after hearing the details, it seems plausible. Ever heard of Ahmed Djemal Pasha?"
"......Who?"
"One of the Three Pashas dominating the Ottoman Empire, alongside Ismail Enver Pasha and Mehmed Talaat Pasha."
He was less famous than leader Enver or Premier Talaat.
"He likes us French."
"Huh."
Crucially, in original history, he was a die-hard Francophile advocating war on France's side.
"He says Ismail Enver harbors grudges against both Britain and Germany."
"What? Isn't Enver the poster boy for pro-Germans?"
"I thought so too... but who really knows what's in a man's heart, even ten fathoms deep?"
Winning over the Ottomans remained speculative.
But if the president's plan worked, it would hit German and British oil production and, with French Algeria and Italian Libya, sever Britain's lifeline—the Suez.
Of course, to secure Italy and the Ottomans, France first needed a big win against the Entente, framing prior losses as mere buildup.
"But I'm deeply concerned such politically motivated overreach could worsen our front."
"Of course, I'm mindful of that. Lieutenant Colonel Gamelin. That's why we must prepare thoroughly, then counterattack with every means at our disposal."
"Every means...?"
"Our chemists have something ready for the fatherland."
At Joffre's ominous tone, Gamelin clamped his mouth shut, face paling as if choked.
The other generals did the same.
Chemists.
Even the most incompetent knew what that implied.
"Th-that violates the Hague Convention! Has the government approved?"
"They will. Better bear the stigma of breaking international law than let Great France fall to the enemy again."
"It's more than stigma! Tear gas so far was non-lethal, so we could feign ignorance. But this is entirely different! The world—no, our descendants—will call us devils!"
One general shot up, refusing such dishonor, but Joffre's resolve didn't waver.
"This is the path to save France."
From the day he decided to invade Belgium, Joffre was prepared to do anything—even acts God wouldn't forgive—to secure victory for France.
"Commander, urgent from the Far East. Hanoi has fallen to the Japanese!"
"!!!"
And right now, France had no time for warm baguettes over cold ones.
Regrettably.