Chapter 718: The Declaration of War
Once the Meuse River defensive line had finally stabilized, Dunkirk was at last truly safe.
By all logic, the British Expeditionary Force should now have been pursuing the retreating Germans from behind, trying to snatch some credit from the crumbling enemy lines.
But after the Germans struck back with two devastating counterattacks, Kitchener no longer had the nerve to launch a pursuit.
This wasn't entirely Kitchener's fault—or even Haig's. The British Expeditionary Force was simply drained. After enduring endless losses and betrayals, its morale had collapsed.
Even worse was the condition of the colonial troops.
When the front lines were about to break, Haig repeatedly ordered the colonial units to launch suicidal charges, while British home units cowered behind their trenches in defense.
The result was a simmering rage among the colonial soldiers. British officers had lost their trust completely, and riots or mutiny could erupt at any time.
So Kitchener could only order the expeditionary force to trail behind the Germans cautiously, waiting until they were long gone before stepping forward to "reclaim" the trenches.
The colonial troops, meanwhile, were rotated back to Dunkirk in waves for so-called "rest"—in truth, it was more like damage control.
Kitchener made a great show of disciplining a few officers who had provoked resentment among the colonial soldiers. He distributed extra rations, publicly honored the most courageous among them—and just barely managed to stabilize the situation.
That day, when a physically and mentally exhausted Kitchener returned to his office, he found a man in civilian clothing waiting outside the door, flanked by aides.
Kitchener was puzzled. His command post was a restricted military area—how had a civilian made it this far?
Before he could ask, the man stepped forward, offered a military salute, and extended his hand with a warm smile: "Field Marshal, it is a great pleasure to see you again. I trust you are well?"
Kitchener took a closer look—and suddenly remembered. "Lieutenant General Averescu?"
(Image above: Lieutenant General Alexandru Averescu of Romania, regarded as the most talented Romanian commander. After the declaration of war, he led the Romanian offensive into Transylvania, only to suffer a crushing defeat by the Germans.)
"Yes," Averescu replied, his face lighting up like a boy receiving a medal. "It's been two years, hasn't it? I believe we last met in London."
"At Her Majesty's banquet," Kitchener nodded. "I do miss those peaceful days."
Kitchener ushered him inside. Once a staffer had brought coffee, he looked Averescu up and down. "What brings you here, General?"
"We've declared war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire," Averescu said plainly. "We plan to join the Entente against the Central Powers."
Kitchener's face lit up with delight. He immediately stood and shook Averescu's hand again. "A wise decision, General. I mean it—your king made the right call. Now is the perfect time. You've chosen honor—and victory."
"In return," Averescu said carefully, "we hope your country will support our efforts to reclaim Transylvania and officially recognize Romanian sovereignty over the region."
"Of course!" Kitchener replied without hesitation.
He didn't even know exactly where Transylvania was. It wasn't Britain's territory—what did it matter? Supporting Romania cost him nothing.
At that moment, one of Averescu's aides approached and whispered in his ear. Averescu frowned.
"What is it?" Kitchener asked. "Is there a problem?"
"It's… a bit complicated," Averescu admitted. "Queen Marie is in Paris, negotiating with the French. As you know, we need support from both France and Britain."
"Certainly," Kitchener said with a nod.
"But after speaking with General Gallieni, Her Majesty now believes we should not have declared war. She's recommending that we withdraw the declaration."
"Is it still possible to take it back?" Kitchener asked.
"Yes," Averescu said. "It just so happens the declaration hasn't been delivered yet. Our ambassador has written it and was preparing to submit it."
Kitchener gave a thoughtful hum and replied with false generosity, "Then you still have time to think it through. I agree—you should consider carefully."
"You agree?" Averescu blinked in surprise.
Was Kitchener also against declaring war?
"Of course," Kitchener said, spreading his hands. "If you're acting purely in Romania's interest, then not declaring war might be the safer route. But if your goal is to reclaim Transylvania—that's another matter entirely."
Averescu nodded. Transylvania was Romania's national obsession.
Kitchener went on: "The situation is clear. If you don't contribute anything to the war, the Entente will have no reason to support your claim afterward. And I believe France has even more reason than we do to oppose your offensive in Transylvania."
"Why?" Averescu asked, startled. "Why would France oppose us?"
"Because their interests are at stake, General," Kitchener said, raising his coffee cup. "Think about it—if the Entente wins the war, France will receive reparations from Germany, possibly including territorial concessions."
Suddenly, Averescu understood.
Yes—Transylvania might end up ceded to France instead of Romania.
But Britain was an island nation, separate from the European continent. It had no interest in such territorial prizes.
Realizing the implication, Averescu sprang to his feet. "I must warn His Majesty immediately."
"Of course," Kitchener said, gesturing for him to go.
As Averescu hurried off, Kitchener allowed himself a sly, satisfied smile.
What a fool—so easy to manipulate.
…
Paris, City Defense Headquarters
Charles arrived a little after 9 p.m., still covered in dust and even a bit of blood on his uniform.
He hadn't had time to shower. He'd barely settled things in Verdun when the summons to Paris arrived.
Upon seeing him, Queen Marie gasped. "My God! You're injured, General?"
"No," Charles said calmly, glancing at the blood on his sleeve. "That came from visiting the wounded."
Still shaken, Queen Marie clutched her chest. "Thank goodness! I'm sorry—it's just that… I've never seen a general fresh from the battlefield. It must be so brutal."
Charles raised an eyebrow but didn't answer.
He knew what she was doing—flattering him.
She understood the psychology of men. They always liked to appear heroic and noble in front of women. It made them feel proud.
Gallieni, observing from the side, smiled without comment.
Charles was too shrewd to be swayed by flattery, which made Queen Marie feel slightly embarrassed.
Gallieni stepped in to change the subject. "Let's get to the point, Your Majesty."
"Yes, of course," Queen Marie said, regaining her composure as she gestured for Charles to sit. "As you've probably heard, we may have made a mistake—we've declared war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire."
"Was there no thought of rescinding it?" Charles asked.
"Of course there was," Marie replied bitterly. "But it's too late now."
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