Chapter 717: Gallieni's True Intentions
Dunkirk — Field Marshal Kitchener was just beginning to recover from the shock.
Only a few days earlier, he thought Dunkirk was on the verge of collapse and had faced a painful decision: should he leave, or stay?
If he left, he would have to break the vow he made to his men—to remain in Dunkirk and live or die with the city. Breaking it would mean losing face as the British Army's highest-ranking officer.
If he stayed, and Dunkirk fell, he would become the first marshal to be taken prisoner by the Germans—a humiliation of historic proportions.
"Damn that Charles," Kitchener growled, full of fury. "This is exactly what he wanted! That's why he refused to send reinforcements despite the pressure! He's a disgrace to the Entente—a saboteur of our alliance! I will see him court-martialed!"
Just then, a staff officer rushed in with a glowing report. "Field Marshal, Charles has taken Mézières!"
"Idiot!" Kitchener snapped. "What good is taking Mézières? I needed reinforcements at Dunkirk—Dunkirk! Nothing is more important than Dunkirk!"
To him, Mézières meant nothing. He thought it was just some town near the Liège fortress.
The staff officer dared not argue. He simply bowed and responded, "Yes, sir."
A few moments later, a radio operator entered with another report, barely containing his excitement. "Field Marshal, the Germans are retreating—full withdrawal! We've won!"
There was no cheering—just sighs of relief, blessings whispered between soldiers, and the overwhelming sense that they had narrowly escaped death.
Kitchener was stunned. "Retreat? Why would they retreat?"
The same staff officer stepped forward cautiously. "Because of Mézières, sir. Charles's capture of the city."
Only now did Kitchener realize that the "Mézières" in question might not be the one he had been picturing.
He turned toward the map. The staff officer pointed at a location. "Here, sir."
Kitchener was taken aback. "Inside French territory? But... that's impossible. The Ardennes Mountains are in the way…"
"Charles's troops crossed the Ardennes, sir. It was the 1st Armored Corps. He came fully prepared."
The realization dawned on Kitchener.
This was why the Germans were retreating en masse.
Mézières was a key logistical hub in the German rear. By seizing it, Charles had choked the lifeline of the German army.
With that move, the entire German position north of the Meuse River was at risk.
Logically, Kitchener should have joined the others in celebrating, grateful for Charles's unexpected reinforcement.
But generals don't always think like others.
Kitchener's expression turned grim. He stared at Mézières on the map, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground audibly.
That bastard… It was all a setup. We were played.
Dunkirk had been bait—bait Charles used to lure the German main force deep into Allied territory.
Charles probably could've taken Mézières earlier, but he held back—waiting for the Germans and the British Expeditionary Force to batter each other.
Then he swooped in to claim the prize.
Now, all the glory belonged to him. He hadn't just retaken valuable territory—he had "rescued" the British Expeditionary Force.
…
"Field Marshal? Field Marshal?"
The staff officer's voice snapped Kitchener out of his bitter thoughts. He looked up, his eyes still blazing with rage.
The staffer flinched, holding up the receiver like a shield. "It's… it's General Gallieni, sir. He's asking about the situation in Dunkirk."
Kitchener snatched the phone like he was disarming an enemy.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a few deep breaths to steady his fury, then brought the receiver to his lips. "I'm well, General. The crisis has passed. The Germans are retreating."
Gallieni's voice came through the line:
"Then I am relieved, Field Marshal. You and your men fought bravely. Without your resistance, Charles would not have taken Mézières so easily."
"I mean, if the German main force had remained at the Somme, they would have had time to encircle or even counterattack at Mézières."
"Charles's victory owes something to your sacrifice. On behalf of Charles—and of France—I thank you."
…
Gallieni was twisting the knife.
Not just opening a wound—but slowly picking at it with a needle before rubbing in a little salt.
And he wasn't done. He continued, his voice both sympathetic and reflective:
"You must have lost quite a few men in this campaign, yes?"
"I regret that, Field Marshal. Was it 200,000? Or perhaps 300,000? Maybe even more?"
"But rest assured, sir—Charles will avenge you and your men. I believe in him."
"And I believe you do too…"
Kitchener's chest heaved, as though a heavy stone sat upon it. His face contorted, his blood boiled—he looked like a demon, wild-eyed and barely restrained.
He gritted his teeth, but Gallieni didn't pause for a second.
Finally, Kitchener exploded. "Enough! I know what's going on!"
Gallieni replied calmly, "Oh? And what is going on, Field Marshal?"
His voice was soft and innocent, like a lamb.
But Kitchener knew better. This was a wolf in sheep's clothing—and there was nothing he could do.
If he dared speak a word against Charles, the newspapers would be filled with it the next day.
And then everyone—including the British public—would point fingers and whisper:
"It's him—the ungrateful one. Charles saved his army, and this is how he repays him?"
"Yes! If not for Charles, nearly a million British troops would've been captured. How dare he speak against him?"
"God help us—we actually made that man Minister of War. He must be jealous of Charles. Willing to say anything to bring him down."
...
So Kitchener swallowed his rage. He sighed and bit out his reply:
"Yes, Minister. I understand what happened."
"That was a brilliant campaign. Charles saved us all—including myself."
"Please… convey my highest regards to him."
Gallieni shamelessly accepted. "Of course, I will, Field Marshal."
But he wasn't finished.
"And what do you think of Charles's military ability?"
Kitchener coughed, nearly choking on his own bile.
After a moment to collect himself, he said weakly, "Yes, Minister… you're right. Charles is a military genius—there's no denying that."
"And his tactics?" Gallieni pressed.
"Yes… his tactics as well."
Finally satisfied, Gallieni concluded:
"I'm glad we see eye to eye, Field Marshal."
"With your recognition, I don't believe anyone will question Charles's leadership again."
"Especially the British Expeditionary Force. Don't you agree?"
Only then did Kitchener realize Gallieni's true intent.
From now on, if any British officer dared to question Charles's command, Kitchener himself would be held up as the ultimate endorsement—a shield Charles could always invoke.
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