STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT
Dawn found them already paraded in the farmyard, shivering, and not much
better rested than when they had entered the barn of dreadful memory the
night before. Each day the accumulation of fatigue and nerve-strain
became greater; each day it grew harder to drag the weary body to its
feet, and trudge onwards. Though the tide of victory had turned, though
every yard they covered was precious ground re-won, they longed very
intensely for a lull. The Subaltern felt in a dim way that the point
beyond which flesh and blood could not endure was not very far ahead. As
it was, he marvelled at himself.
During the course of the morning the Captain returned to the Company,
with a little map, and a great deal of information concerning the
strategy of the war, about which everybody knew so little.
To begin at the beginning, he said that the Allies had begun the
campaign under two great disadvantages. The first was their very serious
numerical inferiority in forces that could be immediately used. If
numbers alone counted, the Germans were bound to win until the French
were fully mobilised.
The other disadvantage was the pre-conceived notion that the German
Government would keep its word with regard to the violation of Belgian
neutrality. If this had been observed, it would have been almost a
strategical impossibility to turn the Allied left flank. The attack in
force was expected to be made in the Lorraine area. Consequently, when
it became evident that the main German effort was to be launched through
Belgium, all pre-conceived plans of French concentration had either to
be abandoned, or, at any rate, greatly modified in order to meet the
enemy offensive from an unexpected quarter.
After their unexpected set-back at Liège, the invaders met with little
resistance from the Belgian army, which was, of course, hopelessly
outnumbered, and their armies were rapidly forming up on a line north of
the Sambre, which roughly extended south-east by east to north-west by
west. Meanwhile, the initial French offensive which had been launched in
the region of the Vosges had resulted in the temporary capture of
Mülhouse, and had then been abandoned in order to face the threatening
disaster from the north.
It was thought advisable to wait until the concentration of the English
Army was completed, then, to comply with an obvious rule of strategy
which says, "Always close with your enemy when and wherever he shows
himself, in order to discover and hold him to his dispositions," a
general advance was made along the whole centre and left of the Allied
line. The line swung forward, and perhaps some day one of the handful
of men who know will tell exactly what was the object of this movement.
Was it meant to join battle in all seriousness with the enemy, and to
drive him from Belgium, or was it just a precautionary measure to hold
and delay him? Probably the latter. The Allied Generalissimo had
probably made up his mind to the fact that the first battle--the battle
in Belgium--was already lost by the Allies' lateness in concentration.
Regarded in this light the battle in Belgium was undoubtedly the
greatest rear-guard action in History.
On account of a possible under-estimation of the enemy's strength, and
of the completeness of his dispositions, the Allies found themselves,
when the lines first clashed, in a more serious position than they
probably anticipated. The enemy gained two initial successes that
decided, past doubt, the fate of the battle which was now raging along
the whole front from Mons to Mülhouse. Namur, the fortress which had
enjoyed a reputation as the Port Arthur of Europe, fell before the
weight of the German siege howitzer in a few days. The magnitude of the
disaster appalled the whole world, for indirectly the piercing of these
forts laid open the road to Paris. Nor was this all. The enemy forced
the passage of the Sambre at Charleroi, and threatened to cut the Allied
centre from the left. The British Army, on the extreme left, found
itself confronted by a numerical superiority of nearly three to one,
while its left flank and lines of communication with Havre were
seriously menaced by a huge body of Uhlan cavalry. In a word, the
positions taken up by the whole of the Allied centre and left were no
longer tenable. To hang on would have been to court disaster. There was
nothing for it but to cut and go.
But the Allies did not meet with the same ill luck along the whole line.
The small successes gained on the right, in Alsace, had apparently been
consolidated. The German tide through Luxembourg was stemmed, and, even
though the Kaiser himself witnessed its bombardment, Nancy held out. But
the trump card in the Allies' hand was Verdun. De Castlenau clung
resolutely to the chain of forts crowning the heights in front of the
town, and his successful defence saved Paris. Whatever might happen to
the centre and left, the right, at any rate, seemed safe.
The Allied Generalissimo was forced to give way before the fury of the
German onslaught in Belgium. He withdrew his armies while there was yet
time, thus averting irrevocable disaster. According to all the rules of
the game, he should have retired his whole line southwards, in order to
ensure the safety of Paris. But he did not throw his highest trump: he
clung to Verdun, and left Paris exposed. His armies retreated, not on
the Capital, but in a sweeping movement that was hinged upon Verdun. He
realised that the fate of Paris depended not upon its being covered by
the Allies, but upon the fate of the second great battle of the war.
Meanwhile, the great retreat--this hinging movement--continued, very
slowly near Verdun, very, very swiftly on the left. Days passed; no
attempt was made to check the enemy's advance, and the passing of each
day left Paris more exposed. The world gasped at the breathless
swiftness with which disaster seemed to be swooping down upon the
Capital. But every day de Castlenau was consolidating his defence of
Verdun, in face of tremendous odds; and every day the ferocity of the
German onrush waned. The line continued to swing resolutely back, until
such time as a completed mobilisation should allow the Allies to turn
upon the enemy in greater force, in their own time, and on chosen
ground. A premature effort would have spoiled all. They had to wait for
their chance.
Meanwhile, rapid concentrations of reserves were taking place behind the
line, the most famous instance of which was the Reserve Army moved out
of Paris by General Galliéni in taxis, fiacres, and any vehicle the
authorities could commandeer to ensure that the Army should be in its
place in time. It was in its place. Just as the world was beginning to
say that the war was over, General Joffre decided that the iron was hot,
that the time to strike had arrived. "The moment has come," he wrote,
"to die where you stand, rather than give way."
The outlook changed from black to rose with the completeness and ease of
a pantomime transformation scene. The Verdun heights remained
impregnable. The whole line turned and fought where it stood. The
enemy, worn out by his exertions, stretched his line of communications
to breaking-point, and it was said that his supplies of food and
munitions had come temporarily very near to collapse. The Allies checked
him. He could not even hold his own. In two days he was moving back,
away from Paris.
The economic reasons were not the only factors in his downfall. He was
beaten by the Allied morale, and also by the Allied strategy. Von Kluck,
the Commander of the German right, hurrying on in an abortive pursuit of
the British Army, found that he was outflanked by the army of Galliéni,
which, stronger than his own, threatened his line of communications. To
press on towards Paris would have been suicidal. To linger in his
present position would have been to court capture. He, therefore, began
the famous march across the French front, by which he hoped to gain
touch with the army on his left, and as he turned, the British and
French fell upon him simultaneously, as in a vice. For a day the line
wavered irresolutely, then Von Kluck realised that the pendulum of
success was beginning to swing the other way. He had to retire or face
irretrievable disaster.
Thus Paris was saved. The tremendous blow aimed at it was parried, and
it seemed as if the striker tottered, as if he had overreached his
strength. The treachery with which the Germans had inaugurated the
movement, the brutality and cruelty with which they had carried it
through, were brought to nothing before the superior morale of the
Allied troops, and the matchless strategy of their Commander.
The enemy was checked along the whole line, but the Allies were not
satisfied with that. The French flung themselves upon the invader with a
ferocity and heroism that was positively reminiscent of the Napoleonic
legends. General Foch, in command of the General Reserve, achieved the
culminating success in this victory, known as the Battle of the Marne.
He broke the enemy's line: he thrust into the gap a wedge so powerful
that the enemy was forced to give way on either side of it, because his
centre was broken. The victory of the Marne was assured.
Slowly at first, latterly with increasing speed, the Allies were hurling
the enemy northwards. He was becoming more demoralised every day. A
victory even greater than the Marne was in sight.
* * * * *
"And that," said the Captain, "is where we are at present."
"They'll turn on us in a day or two, and then there'll be the devil of a
fight," said the Senior Subaltern.
Everybody laughed at him, but they had an uneasy feeling that he would
be right.