Chapter 564: It Seems I Didn’t Choose the Wrong Person
On the third floor of the Paris government building, in the Military Research Center...
Several assistants pretended to be busy amidst a mountain of files and documents. Meanwhile, Foch sat at his desk, idly twirling a pencil in his hand. The notebook on his desk, intended for jotting down notes, remained utterly blank.
He was racking his brains to craft phrases to "slander" Charles, hoping to make everyone believe that Foch was Charles's "enemy."
However, Charles was nearly flawless.
In this most recent battle, no one could have predicted that he would exploit the Somme River to flank the German rear, ultimately achieving a victory that cost the British and French coalition only a thousand casualties—something that had been unattainable despite the sacrifice of hundreds of thousands in earlier attempts.
This left Foch with nothing to criticize.
Tactics not perfect?
What could possibly be more perfect than this?
Failure to pursue the enemy?
This was dictated by the mutinies at the front. The soldiers needed time to rest and recuperate.
If there was any fault, it was that Charles had angered the British and shattered their ambitions to infiltrate and control the French army.
A faint smile appeared on Foch's face.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
Before Foch could respond, Clemenceau appeared in the doorway. Holding a cane in one hand and a briefcase under his other arm, he asked calmly, "General, may we speak privately?"
"Of course," Foch stood to welcome him, gesturing to the loitering assistants to leave.
Once everyone unrelated had exited, Clemenceau shut the door and approached to shake Foch's hand. "Congratulations, General. On behalf of the Parliament, I’m here to inform you that you are now..."
Clemenceau retrieved a letter of appointment from his briefcase and held it out to Foch. "You are now the Commander-in-Chief of the French Army, and also the Supreme Allied Commander."
Foch's eyes lit up, his joy practically radiating from him. It seemed as though he was glowing with happiness.
"Really?" Foch exclaimed as he eagerly accepted the letter. "Thank you very much, sir. This is truly unexpected!"
In truth, Foch was not surprised in the slightest.
He had already followed Charles's suggestion and engaged in discussions with the British, though he had done so reluctantly.
The Parliament’s delay in issuing the appointment stemmed from the British waiting for the outcome of the Battle of the Somme.
Had Charles lost the Somme campaign, the British would have seized the opportunity to claim "closer cooperation" and freely infiltrate the military and political systems of the French Army.
In that scenario, they would have preferred the more pliable Petain as Commander-in-Chief, even knowing that Petain supported Charles.
But Charles had achieved a decisive victory, stabilizing the frontlines, the army, and the French political situation, leaving no opening for the British.
Thus, as before, they were left with no option but to elevate a rival to Charles within the French Army—Foch.
This was another victory on a different battlefield for Charles, Foch thought. Both the British and Parliament were being played by him.
Clemenceau remained composed. This was not the main reason for his visit, as there would have been no need for a private meeting otherwise.
Foch understood this and invited Clemenceau to sit by the sofa, personally preparing him a cup of coffee.
Even as Commander-in-Chief, Foch dared not offend someone with Clemenceau’s influence in Parliament.
Clemenceau accepted the coffee with thanks, added a lump of sugar, and stirred it gently. His tone was casual, but his intent was probing. "You’re aware that while Charles has achieved significant victories, many believe his youth makes him unfit to command such a large group army. What are your thoughts on this?"
A seemingly innocuous question carried a deeper implication:
Charles is too competent, and Parliament fears losing control. Commanding a division of 20,000 troops might be acceptable, but entrusting him with over 200,000 soldiers is causing sleepless nights in Parliament. Now that the mutinies at the front have subsided, perhaps it’s time to strip Charles of his group army command!
Having spent years navigating the political arena, Foch quickly grasped the underlying message. He hesitated briefly, feigning contemplation, before responding:
"Mr. Committee Member, I believe the issue is not whether Charles’s age qualifies him to command a group army, but his reputation."
"He has just secured a victory—a resounding victory."
"This is crucial for maintaining morale at the front. Especially now, we must not act rashly."
This was a subtle reminder to Clemenceau: Do not burn bridges too hastily. The frontlines had only recently stabilized, and prematurely discarding Charles might provoke backlash.
Clemenceau nodded slightly. This concern mirrored his own.
Taking a sip of coffee, his brow furrowed with worry, but his tone remained even. "I’ve also heard reports of soldiers from other units voluntarily joining the Sixth Group Army at the Somme."
"While we commend such courage," he added, "we must remember that soldiers must remain at their posts; otherwise, the defensive line risks developing critical vulnerabilities."
His true concern was not the Sixth Group Army or the integrity of the defensive line. It was the growing number of soldiers gravitating towards Charles, increasing his influence.
And this was almost inevitable. As long as the Sixth Group Army continued fighting at the Somme under Charles’s command with minimal casualties, it would only grow stronger.
"Of course, Mr. Committee Member," Foch replied confidently. "I will address this issue."
After a pause, he added, "Perhaps relocating the Sixth Group Army to Belgium would be a better solution."
As he spoke, Foch carefully observed Clemenceau’s reaction.
Clemenceau murmured in agreement. It was indeed a good idea.
Compared to other frontlines, Belgium was relatively isolated, surrounded mainly by Belgian civilians and British forces.
"It’s worth considering," Clemenceau said slowly with a nod.
Foch suppressed a twitch at the corners of his mouth. These armchair generals knew nothing about maneuvering on the battlefield. All they cared about was limiting Charles’s troop numbers, failing to realize that relocating Charles’s units to Belgium would consolidate his position there. Even the British would find it impossible to dislodge him.
Clearly oblivious to this, Clemenceau seemed pleased with the suggestion. His approving expression indicated that he believed Foch would be a strong counterweight to Charles.
"There is one more matter," Clemenceau said, setting his coffee cup on the table. "We hope that, upon taking office, you will bring the mutiny issue to a thorough resolution. Parliament does not wish to see such incidents recur."
The unspoken meaning of "mutiny" was the lower ranks of soldiers and civilians pressuring Parliament’s decisions—something Parliament was determined to prevent as it threatened their control over the nation.
"I understand, Mr. Committee Member," Foch replied.
He sighed inwardly. Parliament was eager to begin purging those involved in the mutinies, setting the stage for another storm within the army.