“Thank you for coming at such short notice, General Foch.”
The general saluted and took a seat. A summons from the prime minister was something any soldier would obey, but in the days following the Deroulede coup, Foch had developed a bond with Clemenceau that went beyond professional courtesy. The men trusted each other.
“Of course, Mr Prime Minister. I assume you wanted to discuss the German war with me?”
Clemenceau nodded. “What else, general? Yes, of course. You will have heard by now that the Russian government has requested we join them in taking Berlin down a peg. What do you think?”
Foch looked intently out of the window for a second before answering: “They certainly could have chosen a more opportune moment.”
“You disagree with the idea?”
The general shook his head. “Not in principle. But no country should knowingly enter a war that has no realistic chance of achieving its objectives.”
“Which this does not?”, Clemenceau asked. “Come on, I called on you for your opinion.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly. Whatever you say stays in this room.”
Foch cleared his throat. “We've spent ten years trying to match Britain and Germany at the same time, and today I can confidently say that we are able to defeat Britain on land and Germany at sea. It pains me to say so, but the money we poured into our beautiful battleships and the conquest of Africa starved us of the divisions we would need to take Metz and Strasbourg. If we were to face the Germans today – we might win, but it will take a miracle. And as a laical Republican, miracles are not my business.”
The prime minister sucked his teeth. He had heard criticism of military policy before, but rarely that harshly and never from men with general's stars, however fresh. “So, you don't give us any chances? The army is not good enough?”
A brief smile flickered over Foch's face before his gloomy stare returned. “What general will ever admit to having enough? No, that is not it. The problem goes deeper. We lack frontline-ready troops, and the means to produce them in enough numbers. The Deroulede government believed in a small, politically reliable army. We lack the siege artillery to break the German fortresses. The funds were put into our navy. We lack the cadre to lead our forces into a modern war. Too many of our officers are superannuated and unreliable. They were promoted for holding the right beliefs, coming from the right families. All of this can be addressed, and it is being addressed, but it takes time.”
Clemenceau nodded. He had feared as much. “You are saying the army's officer corps is unreliable?”, he probed.
“Bonapartists.”, the general listed, his face hard. “Ultramontanists. Boulangists. Too many of those who are not loyal to one or the other pretender fancy themselves as the next emperor of the French. There are many good Republican officers, but too many of them have suffered in their careers and resent others being promoted over them. Among the leadership, the enemies of the Republic are too numerous still. When you fgo to war – you know what you risk.”
“If France were to be gloriously triumphant, I would risk tyranny...” the prime minister began.
“So would I. But more likely you would condemn her to obscurantism, servitude and defeat. The dice are weighted, Sir. If this had come two years later, with the three-year draft in place and the new artillery, we could chance it. Now, you would be mad to do it.”
He spoke with frightening finality. Clemenceaiu knew Foch to be a brave man and a fierce patriot. No fault could be found with his motives, and his judgement – it sounded altogether too accurate.
“Even with Russian on our side?” The question sounded almost hesitant.
Foch snorted dismissively. “The Russians are weaker than they themselves know. Their armies are hollow. Yes, they can hurt the Germans badly now, but not badly enough. They cannot drive into the heart of the country. I would be surprised if they got past the first fortresses. Once Wilhelm has mobilised his forces, he will drive them out. There are then no forces of appreciable value left that could stop his charge. Reservists cannot hope to defeat active duty troops. Russia as our ally only means that we will not suffer defeat immediately. We may even capture bits of Alsace-Lorraine. But we could not hope to withstand the counterstrike when it comes. And all of this is assuming that the British would stay out of the battle.”
The British. That was the elephant in the room. Clemenceau found it hard to read their intentions, but they were close to the Germans. If they went to war – their navy was a terrifying enemy.
“We will see about that, general.” he said. “Incidentally, our intelligence service advises us that the Russian government apparently offered Austria-Hungary an annexation of Bosnia and neutrality vis-a-vis Serbia if they stayed out of the war. What would you make of that?”
Foch's answer was slow in coming, but very certain. “They are lying.”
“My very feelings, Sir. The whole raison d'etre of the new Russian state that Nicholas is talking about is their Slavic empire. Which begs the question, what about the offer they made us?”
This is becoming more and more of a "in the back through the chest into the eye" kind of wank
