Kasespatzle unt Schwartzwald Kuchen

23 March 1918, 18:00 - Montagnes Bridge, northern France

Augustus Heinrich Dungerman was a commoner by birth who had been through four years of pure hell. At age 23 he was only just starting to realize his career in Chemistry at the Bayer labs when the war broke out, his technical degree only just finished a few months before. Like so many men of his generation he eagerly signed up for the army as a 'kapitulant' or long-term enlistee thinking he would be home by Christmas. That turnd out to be much wiser than the one-year enlistees who paid their own way, although he was obligated to serve until war's end, at least he would not die in crushing debt - the last of his schooling costs were paid in mid-1916. Now the 'old man' of the battalion at almost 27 years old and a Vice-Feldwebel, he commanded the men going 'over the top' on this glorious Spring day as part of some damn operation to 'Break the backs of the French and British before the Americans could arrive in full force' as it were. And here he was south of a stinking town of Peronne in France late on the 23rd of March, 1918.

"At least we're moving now, Feldwebel". Johann Schmertz was a country Saxon who knew the look on his friend's face when he was sullen. Schmertz had as much muscle as Dungerman had brains, the odd pair made for an effective reconnaissance team and Schmertz made it a point to do *anything* he asked of his soldiers - including scout trips. The bridge ahead was a key target, the rapid advance in this sector might be halted if the now-British held bridge were not quickly retaken. "And they are on the run, ja"?

"Only for now, freund", noted Dungerman as he found his target with the M1902 Madsen machine gun, an officer rallying his men as he prepared to see the Germans approaching the bridge turned to hamburger. At that moment the officer looked up and moved just out of the way of the shot, finding the pistol at his side and firing to hit Schmertz in the left shoulder and nearly taking Dungerman's head off. The new adrenaline punch allowed Dungerman to duck as he took out his prize Mondragon rifle from the Air Service after the MG14 and MG15 began coming into greater vogue. Self-loading rifles, he thought at the time, were the wave of the future, and where better to learn the damn thing inside and out. He swore he would build a better rifle after the war - for now, he just wanted to survive it. Looking to his left he saw Schmertz bleeding heavily from the wound to his left upper arm as the bullets came close to killing him too.

In a surge of adrenaline, partially for the wound to his left index finger he never felt take the end off and partly from watching his friend turned to hamburger in the resulting gunfire, Dungerman took off in a rapid pace with a captured American M1911 in one hand and his own M1896 in the other. Like a visage of the American cowboy many in Europe sought to read about, he walked into the area blind to his own lethal danger and one by one killed every one of the British men holding the bridge over the next 10 minutes. Twice he ran out of bullets and took out his knife, at one point having to punch a sergeant out cold before he could get to another gun. As the last officer alive - the same one he saw at the beginning of this mess - came before his eyes, he slowly walked over to him with a look that frightened his nominal opponent.

"My name is Lieutenant Alfred Herring of..."

They would be the last words the man would speak. Dungerman was later found mourning his friend perhaps ten minutes later as the Hauptmann arrived with new orders. He looked at the bodies...counting 68 of them in total, 67 apparently British...his eyes went wide briefly to the man who was still standing on the now German bridge. Apparently this bridge was taken back in a brief British counterattack, but now..."...Feldwebel, please stand".

Here we go, thought Dungerman, someone saw me take the knife to him and now I'm a dead man. Brief flashes of the gallows followed by a firing squad pulsed through him, but the response from Hauptmann Fischer was unexpected. "You are now the brevet Leftenant for these men, Offentzer is dead. Our next objective is take Chaulnes and the rail lines around it. I suggest you get moving - we can reach the town while it is still dark and take it by surprise if we hurry".
 
24 March 1918, 04:00 - Chaulnes, northern France

Dungerman felt badly about the brambles and sticks that would plague the feet of the dozen men sent ahead into the town but it would ensure its quiet fall while he led a dozen men across the eastern side while two dozen more went to the northern end of town. He hoped to sneak the first batch into the town in time to capture the place as intact as possible and avoid a firefight or delay in moving forward. The bridge they captured was becoming the focal point for crossing the canal in the region, making it both an important target for shelling and any counter-attacks that might come into the area. Silence was urged as his men quietly began taking sleeping prisoners, binding their hands and mouths before the rest could awaken. Sweeping north and east of the town proved valuable, already two dozen prisoners were accounted for and the night patrol was thankfully either ignorant, stupid, or just apathetic. His men were far enough behind the lines to see evidence of construction underway - this area had not yet been reinforced. They were approaching the back of the front, perhaps if they got far enough the sea of mud would end and green fields become visible again.

Ahead of him his lead man raised an arm as a sign to stop. Three fingers went up as rifles came to bear and they saw a truck arrive, laden with what looked like crates of some kind. Food *or* ammunition would be welcome at this point, and the thoughts of kasespatzle and schwartzwald kuchen - black forest cake and cheesy pasta - almost distracted Dungerman from the task at hand. He ordered his men to let the truck go as the men inside the town would be distracted...

"I smell pork cooking...lord I want something to eat..." the buck private softly muttered from the bushes as he let the smell overtake him. Dungerwald shot him a look of pure terror- the private was among those who deduced what had happened to the young officer the previous nightfall - and his face went lily white. 'Saxon hick', Dungerwald thought, 'your country idiocy could kill all of us'.

Across the road he saw his Feldwebel leading the other men in the unit as the men inside the town caught sight of a dozen nearly-barefoot German troops having infiltrated the town. As a nearby ground-based searchlight shown down the young lieutenant commanding the truck looked over and said something in English that Dungerman could not understand. His confidence was overbrimming and very little noise was still made when a dozen British officers walked out of the house the truck was now slowly approaching. They were smiling with their backs to the Germans approaching as one began to speak in German, "Good evening comrades! I was hoping you could join us for a drink and a few questions, but first, where are your friends, please"?

Dungerman had closed the distance by almost two-thirds when the faces of the 'captured' prisoners should have given him away. "Smiling your way out will not help and trying to distract us is futile. So I ask again, please, where are your comrades in arms? If I have to ask again it might be...unpleasant". He slapped one of the men in question as he ended the sentence as if to make a point, the small man perhaps making himself feel better in physically dominating...well, anyone.

"We wouldn't want that, now would we, mein Herr"?, Dungerman said in a soft voice less than ten feet away, his Mauser pistol pointed at his side.

The British lieutenant smiled. "Shooting me wakes up the whole camp. Do you want a hundred men to descend on you, sir"?

Typical aristocratic British arrogance, the German thought. "If I shoot you it will be irrelevant to your situation. But either way, it looked more like seventy, and we've already taken our number and half again prisoner. That means you're the last group unaccounted for - so let us go inside and enjoy whatever I smell on your breath as I ask you some questions. And let's hope *I* don't have to get impolite, mein herr, for my skin is a bit rougher and my arm a bit stronger than yours".
 
25 March 1918 1715- Harbionneres, Northern France

Lieutenant Ian Percival Marshal was a scholarship graduate of first Eton then Oxford, taking a Geoff in Chemistry and History in four years with the Class of 1910. His lack of blue blood proved detrimental is many ways, but the friendships he forged while there gave him several connections most 'ordinary' students lacked. By work on artificial polymers and nitrogen fixation he netted a prestigious job at a large chemical manufacturer, unfortunately much of his work was now credited to a junior aristocrat known as 'Lord Lacktalent' by those who knew him. That such a man could avoid the draft for two years meant Marshal had little defence against the fraudulent claims of where his work originated, but worse that such a man was drafted as a Lieutenant simply because of his bloodline was all the more odious. Marshal had heard of the capture of Chaulnes - known jokingly as the 'Officer's Medal Warehouse' among the NCOs and line troops for this sector - but Marshal figured the man would get himself in trouble sooner one way or another. Now that he himself was a prisoner, he appreciated being made to learn German and French by his company, all the more as the was now listening in on the conversation between two junior officers nearby. "Leftenant, we are still looking for men to fulfill your request but I am unsure that we will find them in time, it is no easy feat what you ask but we are trying our best..."

"Fuck your best, Feldwebel, get me the men I ask for or it will be your head I offer when command asks where things went wrong"! The man stood a bit taller than the rest, his hands roughened by work unlike so many officers on either side. Immediately that garnered respect from Marshal, and significant caution, for officers earning their way up were either talented, ruthless, disciplined, sociopathic, or a mix of all the above. HE adjusted his head slightly to listen in a bit more. The Hauptmann bowed slightly and proceeded to retreat somewhat into the area facing the rear of the new line.

"Why do we need fourteen English-speaking troops so badly, Augustus? And why must they be university-trained"? The other Feldwebel clearly had familiarity with the officer in question, most officers would not tolerate being called by their first name. If they allowed enough formality to dwindle that they thought of themselves as de facto family and were so comfortable with each other that discipline was maintained without formality, this might be a very effective unit indeed, one that had largely survived the last four years of war largely or at least somewhat intact. If this officer was responsible for that, he just became that much more dangerous.

"Because I have a plan, Michael, and it is not your place to know right now. I am also investigating something, and I need your help".

"Of course, Leftenant, how may I assist"?

"I need eggs, flour, sugar, butter, and a bit of vanilla"

"...Why, may I ask"?

"Because such things are how we will win the war, Feldwebel, do you not see"?, the eye facing away from the prisoner winked as the Feldwebel nodded and walked away, confused but following orders.

Marshal squinted his eyes slightly, the sun coming down far enough away that light was starting to fade but it was a reflex from the question as much as any change in light. It sounded like he was wanted to make a cake...but why...? After almost half an hour he had decided there was something wrong with the situation having told two of his friends earlier that he believed it would be more useful to gather information than resist acutely. Already he had told two of his men to escape if possible and warn Amiens about what was to come, the likelihood of that as the primary objective was obvious. Taking Amien opened the road not only to Abbeville and the coast but to cutting off the bulk of the British army from its supply depots. Taking Amien would also permit the expulsion of most of the British Expeditionary Force from the continent before the American arrived in numbers...as he parceled his thoughts another German Feldwebel approached, saluted, and introduced himself. "Feldwebel Werner Igritz at your command, Leftenant. How may I serve"?

"How is your English, Feldwebel"?

The switch was immediate and uncanny, the British accent almost perfectly Londonian in its tone and melody. "I believe it is fair, sir, four years at Ipswich and I can make it work. Why do you ask"?

"Your first task", stated the Leftenant, "is to interrogate our German-speaking friend here". He pointed directly at Marshal.

The Feldwebel looked directly at Marshal. "Out of curiosity, Leftenant, why do you think the man speak German"?

"Three parts, Feldwebel. First, we captured two of his subordinates trying to escape and one of them talked in exchange for a hot meal from his requisitioned officers' mess. Second, that sniveling officer from Chaulnes reported that there would be a German-speaking officer here and actually tried to offer money for his elimination". Marshal's eyes loosened only just noticeably as the officer switched to mildly-accented English and looked straight at Marshal. "And thirdly you've been listening in to everything I've said for the last 30 minutes or so. Do not worry, Lieutenant Marshal, you will be treated amicably. I read your file and have the letter from your 'comrade' the junior Duke, suffice to say it may be the only copy in existence as it is freshly written. Please note I enjoy this sort of thing, so as an inside joke I detailed the ease of his capture and the difficulty of yours in two letters to my superiors. One will likely make its way to your people but the other will make its way to mine".

Marshal looked up quizzically at the man. "Why would you do that"?

Dungeran laughed. "Because I am making a cake in anticipation of a victory for Germany, good sir, and when the dust settles someone will have to be blamed for the British debacle here. You seem a good man by all reports, indeed your own file has only this man's letters as a barrier to your promotion per your Colonel Fitzjohn. I dislike sycophants and even more those who prey on the talented in the name of self-promotion, so in this case...why not"?

Dungeran smiled as he walked away, turning only to say, "Feldwebel, please treat this man well, he will probably have much to say publically when the war is over. I would like it known we treat our opposition as well as we might treat our own, ja"?

Behind them a young, green-looking line soldier approached, "Who asked for the eggs, flour, butter, and sugar? Is someone making a cake"?
 
26 March 1918 19:00 - Villers-Brettoneux, northern France

"Confirmed over the radio, Colonel. Pull back immediately to a line running along Arras, Doulens, and Abbeville. Our new priority is to protect the railway at Abbeville and create a barrier between the Germans and the Coast. Confirmed in doublet from our station in Amiens".

Colonel Johnson looked at the message with a heavy face. The debacle here was worse than he thought - if Haig and the senior commanders were pulling back to the Channel Ports the abandonment of the Continent might not only be achieved in theory but also in fact. "Confirmed by how many other parties"?

"Fifth Army confirms transmission by secondary source, sir, and our men have spoken directly to the broadcasters. It's a general pullback in our sector".

The colonel's face grew ever tighter. Germany's offensive was a 'gambler's throw' as it were and it looks like they had just pulled up a winning toss. "Who's signature is on the order"?

"Reportedly the order comes from Haig himself, sir. I am unable to raise anyone by telephone but we have wireless confirmation of the orders".

Telephone service out here was difficult at best, while he wished to have more information and a more secure way of confirming the orders this would have to do. "Very well, begin orderly pull back to the line described and initiate a fighting retreat. Where are our forces weakest, Major"?

The younger man revealed a small list of numbers from a sheet of paper in his pocket and proceeded to mark gingerly on a small map on a table in the center of the room. "Fifth Army and Seventh Army, sir, with the area directly in ront of Amiens reading as 'critical', sir. They are not expected to hold out under the current situation, it appears that a division is preparing an artillery assault as we speak. In addition, there are rumors of some sort of new German brigades called 'Storm troopers' wielding rapid-fire weapons using pistol ammunition, sir".

Colonel Johnson had heard rumors of these new 'submachine guns' from elsewhere on the front, though not yet available in numbers their sheer volume of fire was quite impressive even in demonstrations. He could only hope the supply dumps at Amiens could be moved, if not the Germans would reap a terrific reward while the Allies would hurt all the more. "Proceed with the withdrawal in an orderly fashion, continue to bring units back in smaller strength and have oru men begin setting up a new defensive perimeter along the line described. And God help us all, Major".

****************

26 March 1918 21:00 - Amiens, northern France

"I'll be damned, they're actually pulling back. They're actually pulling back, Leftenant"!

"Quiet, Werner, we are not out of the woods yet as it were".

"Sorry, sir". His young Feldwebel was still learning his way about the unit and its people, but while naïve his spirit seemed pure, so Dungeran took some pity on the lad. "But capturing the Allied radio station and putting English-speaking men on the wireless sets was inspired".

Dungeran thought it was radical and would be unexpected. Gentlemen may fight a gentleman's war, but ultimately it was a rich man's war and a poor mans fight. Dungeran wanted as many of his men to tell the story to their grandchildren as fate would allow, and if that meant a bit of trickery to facilitate the situation then so be it. "So we have a general Allied pullback to the lines we have invented"?

"Yes sir, some are pulling back even farther - it looks like there is a potential for general retreat to the Channel if our planned offensive continues to go well".

Local victory would have to do for now. Dungeran did not count on French mutiny, British bungling, or any other 'miracles' to aid his situation here. He had proven lucky in the extreme, any single hold on any single bridge might have stalled the offensive entirely and resulted in a very different situation, but with German flags now flying farther than even 1914, the approaches to the Coast were starting to open. And with any luck those to Paris might loosen up as well.

"Sir, I have some news on the wireless from Berlin...you might want to hear this...Hauptmann..."
 
28 March 1918 06:00 - Doullens, Northern France.

As a younger looking man in a general's uniform surveyed the map in front of him he underlined town after town in red pencil. Methodically, carefully, the younger man moved pins across the large map to survey the extent of the offensive and its gains for Germany. A sergeant approached, saluted, and handed General Hubert Gough papers in an unmarked envelope from his breast pocket. "That will be all, young man".

Sergeant Albert Thompson of the British 5th Army was barely nineteen but spent the last three years at the Western Front, his time making him seem ten years older. His face showed the wear of a man carrying a death knell but his smile betrayed the pessimism. "Sir, if I may ask, how bad is it"?

Normally it was not the place of a general to tell subordinates how dire the situation was but given the current rout the situation was not likely to change. "Dire, young man, dire in the extremes. But the British front is starting to collasce, especially in these sectors. Gouch waived over to the Somme River and its environs, the German advance seemed to slow on its own halfway between Abbeville and Amiens, no doubt being worried about the ability of British naval artillery to hit the Abbeville ports and surrounding area. But the capture of Amiens proved devastating to morale and the fallback was proving disasterous, the discovery of a fake series of radio orders from there ordering a withdrawal proved fatal to so many of the potential counterattacks that now nerves were more frayed than perhaps early 1915. French morale was already low, only the hope of American intervention kept the Allies going at this point...and they were not due to arrive in numbers for another month...

Thompson read over the map and recognized some of the names...Arras, Armentieres, Messine...and a few more he did not know except by name, including Continy, Compiegne, and Festubert. It appeared the major effort of driving the Germans was not to take Paris as initially thought but (perhaps after the offensive began changed to) drive the British into the sea by cutting them off and pushing with everything they could. So far they were succeeding, more movement in the front had happened in the last week than the last 3 years it seemed. "What are your orders, General, sir"?

Gouch reminded himself that the British still had men in the field who could serve, the plan was for the line to re-establish itself at the Lys river then push back before the Germans could consolidate in numbers. The battles to come would be no picnic and death would be the only victor, regardless of whose flag remained on the fields in the days to come.

Another runner entered the command hut with similar unmarked envelope. "Message for you, sir"! He saluted and looked at the general, appearing even younger than the first man.
Gouch opened the envelope to find he was relieved of duty. His replacement was to be Henry Rawlinson, whom Gouch had previously served under. Rumor had it that Petain compared the British leadership here to that of the Italians at Caporetto, not only humilitating but in peacetime a casus belli to let fly a stiff British fist. Apparently the French general spoke with the mind of the British commanders, had Gouch had but the chance to counter the accusations...
"Germans sighted on the far side of Beauquesne as well, sir! They are rapidly approaching and word is they are led by the Poodles"!

Gouch had only heard lately of the unit behind the fake radio broadcasts prompting the British retreats, and while some found it very insulting, the comparison was quite apt. Highly intelligent, faithful to the end, able to leave a terrible bite, and quite fast in an open field, the description was more apt than satirical to Gouch. "Alas, I am no longer in command, young man. Where is Rawlinson in the middle of this mess and how long until he arrives from his section of the front"?

'Brother, may your death not be in vain', prayed Gouch silently, 'for if you can hear me send whatever help that God allows...we need it'

**********************

28 March 1918 07:00

"They call us 'what', Feldwebel"? Dungaran's shock was audible as was his humor.

"Poodles, sir, after the dogs. Quite insulting, no"?

Dungeran paused for a moment and consulted a map. Poodles were smart, aggressive at times, loyal, mildly neurotic if left alone too long...and their coats were waterproof. Hmmm...

"If we should have the title let us earn it in spades, Feldwebel. Call the men together. I have an idea".

Less than half an hour later he made a speech to his men, almost 250 in all now as several fractured companies had gathered to him as the highest ranking officer in the area. Having the paperwork but not the uniform he luckily found a uniform from a dead German captain that was only slightly too large for his own frame. Perhaps he would be more fortunate than its prior owner. "Gentlemen, I propose to you now what may amount to a suicide mission, if you are caught you will be killed, if you are killed you will likely not be buried, and even if we succeed success is not guaranteed. Your names might be loathed and might even be tried, but if that occurs you have my word as an officer that I accept full responsibility. For too long, too many of our men have died for static warfare, and it is time for that to end. I believe an opportunity exists to begin to end this god-forsaken war once and for all. I have an unconventional plan in mind, and its adherence is strictly voluntary, so if you decide this is not your course, I will allow you to remain here under our new Leftenant Ersatz and secure the front as it expands in the name of our glorious Empire. Sturmtroppen, I believe we are now called. For those who wish to join me...step forward, please.

All but eight joined their newly-minted Hauptmann, many more than needed to fulfil his idea of this 'Radical Warfare' concept he had begun pioneering. If he survived the war he determined to explore it further. "Excellent. We have access to some of the captured items from the Amiens depot, yes? Bring me the following, starting with dynamite and all of those new French rifles you can find. And don't forget to send at least five of the others back to Mauser for analysis! Also bring me as many of those new MP-18s as we can scrounge up along with whatever other explosives we can muster. Divide up into four groups of about forty each, Feldweber Werner will lead one, each of the two Leftenants will lead one, and I will lead the final. Each of you will be assigned a specific weapon, plentiful ammunition, and secondary package for the mission. Rest while you can en route, this will be a night mission but to get there on time we need to move out in the next forty minutes". He had only three engineers, but at least fifteen medics made up for it. Thankfully it appeared both sides still respected that to some extent. And he still had twelve of his English-speaking troops along with about that many fluent French-speakers, though most of the men knew at least a few phrases in French having been at the Front for so long now.

One of his new Leftenants raised his hand. "Whatcha got in mind, boss"?

Dungernan smiled slightly as he looked up to meet the man's eyes. "What do you know of the canal between Abbeville and Saint Valery"?
 
After Action Report, 29 March 1918 09:00

Theater: Western

Sector: BEF/Haig

Location: Abbeville - Saint Valery Canal

Event: Railway Sabotage and Destruction

Completed By: Home Office

Date Report Completed: 29 March 1918 09:00

Summation of Events: Four well-armed bands of soldiers likely German in origin but speaking fluent French and English were identified in French uniforms along the Abbeville-Saint Valery Canal late on the hours of 28 March 1918 parallel to the railway connecting Dieppe and Abbeville itself. Their accents and uniforms were sufficient to slip past the defenses along the waterway, their weaponry mostly Lebel rifles and a few of the Fusil Automatique Modele 1917. Moving in boats up and down the canal our soldiers indicated their movement but they were reported to be regular canal patrols, apparently the fate of the genuine patrols is not yet known but we suspect the worst. Traffic on the rail line abutting the canal is markedly heavier of late as it is the only remaining rail connection between our forces in the Dunkirk pocket and the remainder of France, meaning the compromise of this rail line would require almost all supplies to be brought in by sea. Although the canal boats note about fifteen men each, the remainder of the forces in question - perhaps one hundred altogether - was able to briefly occupy the railway and, instead of destroying the train and the track in one fell swoop, halted the train and proceeded to disable it on the tracks themselves. Fusing the main engine wheels to the track, they left the train in place and the rails needing replacement even before the collision with the ammunition convoy. Unfortunately about 1000 feet of track is utterly destroyed and will require replacement but worse is that before the track can be replaced the crater that was the railway will need to be filled in. Strangely, no civilians were harmed, and only higher-ranking officers were removed from the train. As such General Henry Rawlinson is now missing in action and presumed captured, but General Gouch was returned to command only an hour ago and then 'only until suitable replacement is found' as Haig directed his sacking recently. Communications with the line are shoddy at best but the lack of clear command and mistrust of official information the situation continues to deteriorate.

Official estimates of repair in ideal circumstances would constitute a full week of work if all the steel and resources were readily available, but given the war situation and lack of rails to replace the track there is another line being cannibalized to make the needed steel available. Unfortunately we will need to bring in military reservists to both remove the debris and then fill in the craters but this will take time. We give an estimate of ten to twelve days for operational rail service to resume but until then the men trapped in the Dunkirk pocket will be on their own. With the fighting now approaching Doullens and the beginnings of an encirclement now appearing around Ypres, this could scarcely have come at a worse time. In addition, German submarines could make themselves known in numbers near the English channel attempting to cut off the supply line to the BEF entirely, perhaps forcing a rout - or worse - a surrender.
 
30 March 1918 11:00 – Madrid, Spain

“…and that is why we are suited to win, Minister”. Almost a sigh, thought Maximillian von Ratibor und Corvey, the German ambassador to Spain, that was how I seemed to finish that last sentence. Spain proved a valuable neutral to the Allies for her supply of iron ore and especially foodstuffs, the latest victories on the Western Front were arousing attention from the long-silent pro-Central Power factions in government and an offer was made. Spain would get a ‘free hand in Portugal’ while taking Andorra and invading France along the Pyrenees with every department bordering her to become Spanish territory along with one more, in total: Pyrennes Atlantique, Hautes Pyrennes, Pyrennes Orientals, Aude, Ariege, southern Haute Garrone. Essentially, the whole of the Pyrenees and its foothills would be Spanish-speaking once again for the first time in many centuries. Portugal would be addressed after the war, but Spanish forces were already on somewhat tense ground with their newly Republican counterparts of Iberia with eyes already cast on Oporto and Coimbra as capitols of potential future Spanish provinces. Juan de la Cierva, the fourth in a rapid series of hired-and-fired Ministers of War, somehow came to be at this conference as well as his diplomatic counterpart.

“What guarantees do we have that the British and French do not launch offensives against us via Gibraltar and Barcelona? Our men there would be vulnerable to landings and the populations there are not sympathetic”. Cierva was the closest thing to a Germanophile in the highest levels of government and would have preferred a ‘strong monarchy’ system of government, something the Germans would promote, and the social anarchy already existant in Spain threatened to tear the nation apart. Foreign adventures could destroy Spain, perhaps irrevocably…especially if foreign landings on home soil occurred…

“Our intelligence indicates the French have almost no soldiers south of Bordeaux or west of Marseilles, Paris rests comfortably on the assumption that its border with Spain is as secure as the one by the sea. Shatter that assumption and the whole rotten structure should come crashing down, sir”. It was a bit of a stretch - French troops guarded the major passes and highways with a shrunken company at each major railway crossing also covering roads but in total less than 5000 troops were thought present in the six departments. Southern France was ripe for plucking and Spain's entrance into the war should be enough to push the Allies to the table. Corvey wondered how his counterparts in Sweden, Persia, Mexico, and Brazil were faring. He hoped for success with the latter if only for a chance to take an extended vacation on those wonderful South American beaches so many Germans spoke of before the outbreak of war.

“Words are wind, your excellency, your reports are noted and although your man Canaris is quite convincing I must remain pragmatic. Return of Spain’s rightful territory is of course welcome, but what else do you offer”?

Corvey was ready for this thanks to a brief dossier prepared by Canaris only two days before, despite yesterday being Good Friday. Berlin authorized specific key concessions, he anticipated Gibraltar would be one but he lacked authorization to give it up. Northern Portugal and Algeria, however, were on the table, as were the Azores, Madiera, Macao, and key technologies like aircraft engines and machine guns, even the MP-18 if specifically asked.

Standard negotiating tactics seemed best for now. “What would make Spain more amenable to our way of thinking, Mr. Cierva”?

“You know the answer to that, the question is will your government authorize its transfer or not”?

Corvey respected someone who played hardball, and certainly Cierva knew what he wanted. The base in question held huge prestige for anyone who could return it to Spain. “You speak of the British thorn in your southern side, yes”?

“It would certainly help me convince my people to support your cause. We are a nation divided, to push into one camp or the other at this hour means a price must be paid”.

“Let us talk plainly, Mr. Cierva, for I do not wish to promise what I can not deliver. My government is not prepared to promise it to you”.

Cierva appreciated the honesty. Bureaucrats and red tape roused his ire, he might not like the answer but at least it was firm. “Normally I would stop you here and conclude the meeting, but clearly you respect my time and came prepared. What do you propose, your excellency”?

“Licenses to produce the Albatross D.XII, the Mercedes Mb.IVa engine, the American Liberty L-6 engine, four submarines, and several other technologies”.

“What else, Mr. Corvey? Don’t be shy now, you need to show the German generosity to the Spanish people – as well as help me convince my fractured military that there is a reason to fight others instead of its own people”.

Cierva had a point. Whether the rapid promotion of hardline officers like the Captain Francisco Franco was any indication were less important than the existence of juntas and military cliques emerging in Spain. They needed a reason to work in unison. “Again, a free hand in Portugal, but also the Azores, Madiera, Macao, and one African colony”.

“What about Sardinia and Sicily? Goa, Diu, and Daman? How about the Andaman Islands, or better still Cuba and the Phillipines”?

“Sardinia and Sicily are thoroughly Italian, if you like I can ask about them but Sardinia is the more likely of the two, even then it is not particularly likely. Small Indian colonies I should be able to manage, same for the Andaman Islands so long as Germany and Austria also have their place there (Corvey remembered asking why the Austrians wanted those specific islands), and we have no means to coerce the Americans into giving up anything at the moment. Both the latter two territories fall under American pretenses. I *might* be able to convince our people to part with monies from France as a financial incentive though I need something tangible in return. If you want, I could also propose that you join the Zollverein as an additional incentive from my people”.

“I think one answer to the Portuguese question lay in restoring Manuel II to the throne, perhaps with his firstborn daughter being wed to Alfonso’s son and their children reuniting Iberia…but that is a personal opinion, of course, not a state position”. Tactful, Corvey thought to himself, and direct if nothing else. At least there was no run-around here, Canaris had pegged the Minister correctly, Corvey would have to thank the officer for the brief dossier after this was over.

Civera sipped at a small glass of apple brandy in front of him, his second of the morning during the two-hour long meeting. He studied the man across from him intently as he pondered options. Honest with some delivery up front and some talk when pushed. Just enough to whet the appetite but not enough to enthusiastically rally officers and troops for glory or gold, though some of each would be had. The Spaniard poured some brandy into his guest’s glass as well as his own, and again he looked deeply into the eyes of his guest. There was no lying here, he legitimately wanted this to work and likely went a little farther than his people had authorized – so much the better, he thought to himself. “Tell your people we will meet again in three days. You will have your answer then, Mr. Corvey, but see if you can loosen their pockets a bit more. I will need that long to convince my government of the authenticity of your offer and expect that should we require your aid in promoting new domestic policies you might remember your friends. We would consider joining your new European union in exchange for more tangible acquisitions – please see what those might include, and remember to be here Tuesday at 8am sharp”.

“I will, Mr. Minister, and thank you for meeting me on a Saturday before Easter. Again, I hope your Good Friday was well and that your service tomorrow is fulfilling. Here is a written copy of the proposal”.

Civera raised an eyebrow as he read the paper with the offer – almost verbatim with a few promises not listed therein – laid out in front of him. Germany was apparently sure enough of victory to put an offer in writing, something the Allies would not do, and that alone would be enough. He wondered if the man across from him had not just done him a tremendous courtesy by allowing him to make ever-higher demands in the face of the Allied fall in northern France. That document would be enough to convince some by itself. Civera then laughed suddenly, the recent German advance now threatened Abbeville itself and without the rail line to bring supplies his own intelligence service gave the British Expeditionary Force seven to ten days before ammunition and morale reached catastrophically low levels. Already a pool was forming in the intelligence office as to when the BEF might surrender, best odds were for April 8th at about 4:1. He raised his glass, “Here’s to hopeful new friends, God, Glory, and a Spanish sunrise”.
 
31 March 1918 11:00 – Doullens, France

Hauptmann Dungerman – no, Acting Oberstleutnant Dungerman thanks to recent events – stood at attention as General Rupprecht sat at his desk formerly occupied by his British counterparts. With the fall of St. Omers in the north, the pocket here was beginning to collapse quickly thanks largely to the inability to resupply ammunition or food to the British except by sea. Rupprecht read the ‘Radical Warfare’ letter Dungerman sent only the day before and found the concept appealing, the addition of a British general for questioning made Berlin ecstatic and warranted the immediate promotion given the number of dead officers in the last week. The gamble that was Operation Michael paid off in spades so far but the war was not over, so ‘Radical Warfare’ might be needed to coerce the Allies to the table. “Tell me again, Oberstleutnant, of the machinery you found at Pont Remy and the aerodrome there”.

Dungerman stood straight as a board with his eyes peering above the Field Marshal, Crown Prince of Bavaria Rupprecht Leopold Wittlesbach, commander of the German Sixth Army and one of the few aristocratic generals held in general esteem by their troops. Rupprecht had no love of homicidal en-masse charges into machine gun fire, he preferred flanking maneuvers and mobility – making this sort of mobile warfare with hit-and-run tactics much more his style. “We found several items of interest, mein GeneralFeldMarschall, which would you like me to discuss first”?

“Start by minimizing the formality if you like, Dungerman, it is not something you are known for nor would I press it on you right now. I appreciate the respect of rank, but I get enough sycophancy from junior officers like Kaptain Jodl who think they can brown-nose their way up through the ranks”. The staff officer standing next to the table looked at him with wide, disparaging eyes. “Yes, you, Alfred, you were assigned to me so that Berlin could keep watch and close tabs. I’ve known for some time, you stay on the leash I give you and nothing more. Feel free to stay for the conversation however”. The junior officer was shocked that the GeneralFeldMarschal would have the guts to say such things openly but when one has their own kingdom, army, and looks to bear the German standard to the Channel coast if not into Paris itself…

Dungerman was also slightly shocked but remained in control. “Among other interesting items were the Liberty L-12 engine apparently capable of putting out over 400 horsepower…”

“How do you know that, Oberstleutnant”?

Dungerman pulled a small booklet from his left sleeve. “I read the manual, sir”.

“Pass it here, please”. Indeed the engine was rated for over 400 horsepower and put out about half a horsepower per pound - impressive by any standard. Keeping the manual in his sleeve saved it from being bent or folded, unorthodox but otherwise useful. “I see you read English well, you speak it at least passably I presume”?

Dungerman switched over to the foreign tongue. “My accent needs work, but yes, I can, sir”.

His accent needed work but not as much as he might think, and clearly he was conversant. “How about your French, young man”?

Dungerman had more difficulty there but gave it his best. “I do no think me French will do, man, but I understand it”. Clearly he needed more work there both in content and accent, Rupprecht thought, but that would come in time if he survived this mess.

German came back to the surface, Rupprecht read through the list of things taken in front of him and was most curious to know about the Colt pistols the Americans were known for along with the lone 'Browning Automatic Rifle' reportedly captured amidst the numerous British and French supplies. The report of a few dozen FN model 1900s was also of interest. “What else did you find”?

“We found many new war materials already listed in front of you along with a few documents of interest as well, including plans for shoring up the defenses along lines at the highway running from Hesdin to Fruge to Clety and again from Gravelines to Watten to Saint Omer. I think they plan to use the forest as a means of cover until it is either destroyed or they run out of bullets”.

And he can think strategically, not just tactically, Rupprecht thought to himself. He was coming to respect this young man somewhat, even if he had been demoted in 1916 from Feldwebel on the cusp of promotion to Leutnant (or what sounded like ‘Leftenant’ in Dungerman’s somewhat Saxon accent) for having his company ‘needlessly’ charging a machine gun nest, wiping out more than a third of them before Dungerman took over and sniped the position, arguably saving over eighty men in the process. The officer in question was part of old Mecklenberg nobility, however, and the family had ties in the right places. Said officer was killed less than a month later in a similar debacle but the record remained. Rupprecht had pushed this man’s brevet promotion to Oberstleutnant himself, obviously his last week was a flurry of events that would yield applications for a Military Medal for each of First and Second class, a Military Merit Cross, and an Iron Cross of each class – all were pending acceptance but there was little doubt all would be awarded, the extremely rare combination given his promotion made it all the more unusual. Rupprecht was also sure more would come, especially given the ‘Poodle’ moniker and how widely stories of their bravery had already spread. A caricature of just such a dog with disproportionate teeth wielding vampire fangs was already starting to appear, along with the insignia, “Davon Ausgehen, Nichts”, or ‘Do Not Assume Anything’. Somehow it seemed appropriate. “Your assumption is correct, Oberstleutnant, but they fail to account for our capture of Saint Omer or pending capture of Clety and Watten”.

“What of talk that the Belgian King Albert II still resides in Ypres commanding his men despite the current situation, sir”?

“Then you have deduced the mission I have in store for you and your men, then”?, Dungerman’s face lighting up as he heard the words emerge, “You will take your Sturmtroopen to this location”, the finger pointing at a small salient near Wit Huis, “and try to extract the Prince and if present his family, who are said to be preparing to flee the area. You will find them in a building called Merghelinck I believe, it is in the downtown area and has a substantial bunker attached to it. The Canal gives the defenders a perfect place to entrench, this part of the line is the only one north of Verdun not to experience significant movement in the last seven days. And Dungerman, one other thing”.

Dungerman looked up and met the eyes of the Crown Prince. “Yes, sir”?

“You are in the eyes of many now, and your reputation will make you a target for glory-hounds and politicians alike. Choose your actions carefully: tragedies will be magnified, petty theft made intractable loss, and any other crimes made into indefensible atrocities. Failure is also not an option, nor I will not tolerate it as that is the price of my support that you enjoy – come back with the Prince and if possible his family – or do not come back at all”!
 
"But capturing the Allied radio station and putting English-speaking men on the wireless sets was inspired".

Minor technical nitpick, during WWI the battlefield radios were all continuous wave, could only do Morse. Knowing that limitation, field telephones were used for actual voice transmissions between HQs and observation points, but even in 1918, wires going out was not uncommons
 
Minor technical nitpick, during WWI the battlefield radios were all continuous wave, could only do Morse. Knowing that limitation, field telephones were used for actual voice transmissions between HQs and observation points, but even in 1918, wires going out was not uncommons

Thanks! I respectfully disagree though consider your points quite valid.

By April 1918 there *was* some use of radio for relaying orders in voice-transmission capacity though 'radiotelegraphy' was certainly predominate in the early and middle phases of the war. Civilian applications were apparent by 01 April 1918...http://earlyradiohistory.us/1918sld.htm...and military capacity for voice transmission by radio was apparent as early as 1911...http://earlyradiohistory.us/1911sci.htm
 
01 April 1918 – Ypres, Belgium

“Sir, we have *maybe* one hour before this section of the front becomes unstable. German advances into the sector threaten to cross the canal at several different points, the troops are running low on food and bullets, the situation is untenable…”

King Albert I of the Belgians merely looked at the staff officer in question, “…and has been for over three years now, hasn’t it, Major? Do you not think war has its highs and lows”?

The British captain looked at his commander with fluster and a mild sense of panic. “Merville, Coestre, and Godewaersvelde have fallen with Poperinghe on the verge of falling as well. We have already sent your wife and eldest son to Dunkirk but if we are to evacuate you we need to move now! If Poperinghe falls that leaves only one road out of the salient…”

A salient. Albert was no longer sure that the war was going to be won by the Allies, the ‘highs and lows’ seemed pretty bleak at this point, even a week ago it looked pale but now in comparison…“You know that if I leave it means the end, right? It means the end of this part of the sector and the likely surrender of thousands of British, Belgian, and French forces. It means the whole of mainland Belgium is occupied and that the Germans have all but won the war, if only in this region. Belgian tricolors fly at only embassies, the Congo, and *HERE*, and I will not flee while ordering others to stay in my stead. Now please”, he motioned to a chair at the other end of the table, “Take a seat, calm your nerves, and update me with the latest report, Major…what was it…”.

“Major Philip de Fonblanque of the British army, sir, and as you wish”. Sitting down at the table in question, de Fonblanque organized his nerves. King Albert was known for not ordering his men to do what he himself would not, Germans respected him for being at the front, his men followed him because he did not treat them as nameless cattle. Despite national differences, he brought together an effective fighting force whose largest limitation was lack of ammunition and food. Albert would be captured rather than flee, his courage was inspirational if superficially foolish under the circumstances, de Fonblanque thought. “Per dispatches the British Expeditionary Force is to use the forest in this area as a shield until it is leveled or supplies are extinguished. German long-distance artillery, fast-attack torpedo boats, and submarines are proving problematic as they continue to wreak havoc on our smaller supply vessels going into and out of Calais and Dunkirk. Supplies are at critical levels and Haig is thought to be considering a general withdrawal to the Channel ports unless the situation reverses itself. Our planned counteroffensive, Operation Atlas, is planned for three hours from now and we expect it will be necessary to liberate this salient as a cut-off is expected”.

Albert considered the words carefully. “What of the reports of the German ace being shot down over the Western Front”?

“Baron von Richtofen is alive, though seriously injured, and was pulled from the wreckage only because the Germans had just taken that part of the front an hour before”.

Damn, Albert thought, his death might have proven a catalyst for badly-needed morale in this late hour. He listened intently once again. “Any news of the German missions to the neutral countries asking for participation in the war”?

De Fonblanque gathered himself as noise outside the deep bunker almost four stories below ground seemed to intensify. “Mexico declines, Sweden is reportedly gearing up for deployment of troops, and Brazil continues its pro-Allied stance. No word from Spain but inside sources say their government listens to both sides and will make an announcement tomorrow. It is noted that troops under Spanish uniforms are gathering in Madrid, Barcelona, San Sebastian, Zaragoza, Algeciras, and Vigo”.

Spain joining the war put the whole of southern France at risk and would almost certainly bring France to the table in a matter of days. If she stayed out it would only be because of Allied promises for significant concessions. Poor Portugal would pay the price regardless, and with Gibraltar was a key access to the rest of the Mediterranean whoever controlled it could shell any passing vessel with a British or Allied flag. That alone would be enough to bring Spain into the war, he thought, but that was a worry for another time. “What is the position of London in the midst of all of this”?

“London continues to fight and asks that the soldiers already fighting hold out for the Americans who begin arriving in significant numbers within the next 2 weeks”.

Not good enough, Albert thought as he noted silence outside his door, the war will likely be over by then. Using a cease-fire as a means to re-arm and refresh would be seen as dirty pool by both sides, especially by the neutral powers who might not match American numbers but who were certainly capable of giving the Germans food, manpower, and time. “Where does Paris stand”?

An important question to which no one had a definitive answer. “No one knows for sure but a vote on the confidence of leadership in Clemenceau is pending”.

Interesting. “Who is the challenger”?

“Aristide Briand, sir”.

Albert knew the name – and the outcome. If elected he would almost certainly call a cease-fire and begin peace negotiations with Germany, likely at a heavy price though one thought ‘better’ than a dictated peace like Belgium was likely to get under the same circumstances. Being the Kaiser’s cousin mattered little in this case, Albert wondered if the whole of his country might not be annexed under those circumstances to save French territory and keep up appearances. At best he saw himself ruling over a satellite, perhaps as a Duke instead of a king, or worse being exiled entirely…“What is Briand proposing”?

“He talks of negotiations but his specific plan is known only to his advisors, maybe half-a-dozen men in all, rumor has it they would offer to recognize Brest-Litovsk, annexation of Luxembourg, and additional territorial concessions of some kind”.

Probably putting a German border on the Meuse and Saone, maybe with other changes, Albert thought, but who was to say for sure. “Locally, what is our situation right now”?

Two rifle clacks rang out against the otherwise notable silence, a Belgian and French soldier falling just outside the door as a quartet of heavily armed Germans entered the room. De Fonblanque moved for his pistol but was met with a broomhandle Mauser aimed at his gut before he could reach the handle. In walked a German officer – at least a lieutenant colonel or their equivalent from the insignia – and most of the rest moved to mop up the surrounding area.

His voice was accented but fluent enough in English. “Your highness, it is an honor to meet you. My name is Augustus Dungerman, I have the honor to escort you and your officer here to a comfortable holding facility nearby. You will not be harmed nor will any who surrender to us. Please comply quietly that we may get you away from here as safely as possible”.

Albert was shocked. His guards, his men, his army was fading like sands in an hourglass, and almost four years of constant warfare were apparently for nothing. So much loss of life…“And which general should I give my sword to, Mr. Dungerman”?

“As far as I am concerned you may keep it, if Prince Rupprecht says otherwise that is his affair. Your honor and reputation proceed you, if it means anything you have the respect of the men on both sides”.

Albert nodded and went quietly. The offensive came earlier than expected after a glory-seeking German colonel decided to push ahead hours ahead of schedule, but this only meant that the field was made clear for Dungerman and his men to push through to the underground headquarters in the city ruins and extract their prize. Albert’s lingering face began to tell of the pressures of war and the ingratiation of defeat, Dungerman looked over at him and said quietly, “Your family is safe, you have my word. And if nothing else brings consolation, your highness, at least for you the war is over”.
 
Thanks! I respectfully disagree though consider your points quite valid.

By April 1918 there *was* some use of radio for relaying orders in voice-transmission capacity though 'radiotelegraphy' was certainly predominate in the early and middle phases of the war. Civilian applications were apparent by 01 April 1918...http://earlyradiohistory.us/1918sld.htm...and military capacity for voice transmission by radio was apparent as early as 1911...http://earlyradiohistory.us/1911sci.htm

Think LINK has a good listing of what the British Army was using during WWI, even though Marconi had done plenty of Voice transmission before the War started, but was far more difficult to use than the sparkgap units. The US Signal Corps was in advance of that the rest of the Allies were doing, it's one of the few areas that the gear didn't all need to be supplied, unlike the weapons and other gear

Doesn't change your story of what infiltrators could do, though, even if all was Morse, taking over the switchboards located by the radio gear does the same thing for your story.
Like I said, a minor nitpick, not a story breaker
 
02 April 1918 09:45 – Paris, France

“What news of the South”?, came the passionate cry from the Minister of the Interior, Jules Pams. Many thought he was more worried about his home in Perpignan than the state of the nation, but the very sudden Spanish declaration of war and rapid movement of soldiers into the south of the nation was as best unexpected. Though a preliminary line of defense began to coalesce along the Garonne, Tarn, and Herault rivers, this essentially abandoned a large piece of southernmost France to the newest Central Powers member. Sweden’s unexpected declaration for the Central Powers only reinforced this viewpoint and the Allied nations had just lost a significant fraction of their iron resources in two swoops of a pen.

Stephon Pichon, Minister of Foreign Affairs, spoke. “No department centers have fallen yet, good sir, but Bayonne is already seeing fighting just south of the city while the Spanish flag flies over Lourdes, St. Giron, and Prades. Ax remains in French hands but is likely being bypassed while Perpignan, Foix, and Tarbes will likely fall in the next 72 hours or sooner. We are preparing a defense but we are all but out of soldiers in the region, our Allies are reinforcing us as best they can starting with the Americans and British”.

Clemenceau, President and Minister of War, spoke. “Dreyfus alone holds at Verdun where even the Germans salute the man for his unceasing bravery in the face of fire, the British are all but routed, and the Spanish now invade from the South. This is a dark hour indeed gentlemen but one we can still win”.

As the quiet afterwards settled over the room, a tension emerged. No one was willing to disagree with the man who had already imprisoned a former President only a few weeks before for pushing a peace treaty to the detriment of the United Kingdom, his force was waning but no one would likely risk a challenge, even now. Or would they?

“I respectfully disagree, Mons. President”. The lone voice came after a seemingly eternal silence from Louis Lafferre, Minister of Public Instruction and a member of the Radical Party that said former President belonged to as well as a native of Pau in the southernmost part of France. “If the neutrals are joining the Central Powers at this late hour I think they can see what we ourselves will not”.

“Defeatism is unbecoming, Minister, and your partyman is one example of what happens to defeatists”. Clemenceau furled his brow and stared at the man dryly, “Shall I make another”?

“I am not your wife, Mons. President, so do not think to pack me away in a steamer and return me from whence I came simply because you do not like what I have to say”. The audible gasps of the chamber were genuine shock – no one would have thought to challenge this man openly even a week ago. But now…“And Pau is in the hands of the Spanish as of less than an hour ago. We have lost the department seat for Pyrennes-Atlantique, gentlemen, regardless of what you might otherwise say”. The murmuring in the room grew steadily as shock grew and uncertainty loomed. Most chose to stay silent.

“Silence, Minister, lest I see you expelled from this room, this cabinet, this country, and not necessarily in that order! I will not have such defeatism in this building much less in my own cabinet”!

Another long silence came as the men stared each other down. Lafferre slowly raised his hand to his face and removed his glasses, carefully setting them on the table but never relenting his stare to the older man. Clemenceau enjoyed his mistresses, but when his wife Mary took the tutor of their three children for herself, he had indeed sent her packing back to her native United States in third class and had her stripped on of French citizenship. The statement was truthful but to speak of it publically and in this audience – Clemenceau had fought duels for less. Silence almost seemed to grow more powerful as the two men began even breathing in sync.

“Unfortunately I must agree with the Minister, Mons. President”. Most unexpectedly the newest voice was that of Etienne Clementel, a painter and photographer by hobby. As Minister of Commerce, Industry, Posts, and Telegraphs he oversaw much of the internal communication for the nation, but was reputed to be a shy bureaucrat by all accounts. “And I can confirm the fall of Pau to the Spanish as well”. He slid a telegraph into the center of the table which was subsequently passed around.

Clemenceau looked down the table in barely-contained anger. He still held the power in the room even with two challengers, but weakness was not taken lightly nor would it do to have multiple challengers at this point. Overt challenges and gruff behavior would not do, not now, and he had to think fast. His metamorphosis from Fury to Vesper seemed near-immediate. “I see we have discordance in the room as to our situation”. Lafferre turned away, had he continued the staring contest he might have not only tried Clemenceau’s patience but also lost what sympathy he had for failing to press after a political maneuver – Lafferre wished he had thought of it first. “I think we are in need of some refreshment and fresh air, gentlemen, what say you”?

As if on cue, a messenger knocked, entered, ran a telegram to the Foreign Minister, and promptly departed. Less than a minute later came, “No, Mons. President, we are not”. This time it was Pichon who spoke. “We need to consider the possibility that the war is over and whether we need to consider peace feelers, perhaps via Switzerland or the Vatican. To delay at this point would prove potentially fatal to the position of the country”.

“How dare you speak of such things in this chamber! Your cowardice…”

Lafferre became…invigorated. Slamming his hands on the table and standing simultaneously, he shouted, “HOW DARE YOU, SIR”?!, standing at rigid attention, looking across the table to the silent, stunned French Cabinet, he spoke in grave tones. Pointing a finger at Clemenceau, he noted, “When Noyon was under siege at the start of the war, we listened and held steadfast. When victory seemed elusive in the next two years, we endured. And when the next year yielded bodies upon bodies upon bodies upon BODIES of our men, *this* *nation* *held* *firm*. For you to speak of this cabinet as cowardly in any capacity is, in my opinion, not only grossly misinformed but also a sign of your preference for…Napoleonic tendencies…over those of the Republic itself”. To accuse a man who had fought Napoleon III to the end of mirroring said tactics in the face of gaining power was beyond insulting, Clemenceau knew not what to say nor how to answer – such was the shock that anger had not yet had time to formulate. “You were given power to unite this nation, not bring about another Reign of Terror in the face of its defeat nor to slander its people or its government officials simply because you fail to see the reality in front of your own eyes, and if you are incapable of seeing the truth as it is, then the only solution is a vote of no confidence in your leadership, which I now submit”.

A wartime President had not been subject to this before, but then the Third French Republic was not even fifty years old, born from defeat in the face of anarchy but using that anger to excel more than anyone thought possible. Clemenceau began to finally register the reality of what was happening, his face becoming grave and only somewhat hiding a seething anger. “Before your vote, Mr. Minister, I seek audience with you. Outside, with one additional man, and two pistols”.

“I think not, George, instead I challenge you to do the right thing and step outside for the vote”.

“Afraid I would kill you for your slander, sir”?

The shot came suddenly from a small pistol held in the hand of the Minister about fifty feet away, the gun drawn so quickly that no one actually saw it emerge. Clemenceau patted his chest down, took a deep breath, and laughed heartily. “No wonder you do not wish to duel, Monsieur! What a great shot you are sir, what a great shot indeed”!

Only then did the twinge in his left ear begin to resonate. A sting at first and never much more, the drip-drip-drip of blood could be heard against the silence of the room. A perfectly formed hole less than a third of an inch in diameter was in the center of the left earlobe, the bullet having fragmented in the wall behind it and drawing in the guards, who began to restrain the Minister of Public Instruction. “Mons. President, you fail to see what is around you, and that causes you to act with overconfidence but without realizing the danger existent both here and for the nation at large. Today you walk away unscathed because of a choice that is not your own, but what of France and her people? We have lost, Mons. President”, Clemenceau’s face curling at the words, “but it is in your power to choose how much and how honorably we lose, Mons. President. So I ask you plainly, sir, what is to become of France”?
 
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