Chapter 581: The Laws of Nature
The frontline at Blou was one hour away from the Christmas Eve offensive.
In the trench manned by the 1st Special Artillery Division, Major General Christine sat on a snow-covered ammunition box, allowing a medic to bandage the wound on his head.
He had just poked his head out to survey the terrain, and the enemy, spotting the glint of a telescope in the sunset, sprayed his hiding spot with a burst of machine gun fire.
One bullet grazed his forehead, leaving a gash so deep the bone was visible.
“General,” the medic said nervously, “if it had been half a centimeter lower, it would have gone through your right eye.”
Christine was indifferent. On the battlefield, “if” meant nothing.
If you survive, you survive. Living meant continuing to endure the torments of this world.
“Do you believe in the laws of nature?” Christine asked abruptly.
The medic was stunned, but as he worked, he replied, “I suppose so, General. But this has nothing to do with natural laws.”
Christine spoke as if to himself:
“You’d better believe in them. Just as summers are scorching and winters are frigid—these are beyond our control.”
“If we fail to respect these laws, if we try to defy or exploit them too much…”
“…we will inevitably face their punishment.”
The medic quietly finished bandaging, not understanding a word of Christine's musings.
Christine did not explain further. His face grew somber, his eyes filled with a murderous glint. He donned his general’s hat, stood, and walked back along the communication trench. The blood trickling from his wound dripped like sweat down his forehead, but he seemed unaware.
After rounding two bends, Christine arrived at a relatively spacious dugout, where the officers of the 1st Special Artillery Division, from brigade commanders to staff officers, had gathered.
(Note: Dugouts were typically located behind hills or high ground, in areas shielded from artillery fire, and were relatively safe.)
There were two brigade commanders, four regimental commanders, and over a dozen staff officers—all recently assigned. Christine had only learned their names a few days prior.
Christine had probed them in conversation and discovered that most were relatives or confidants of capitalists or politicians.
What stood out was how they took pride in this, often bragging subtly to others.
“Gentlemen!” Major General Christine stood before the officers. “I trust you understand what tonight’s offensive entails.”
The officers lazily responded:
“Yes, General.”
“It’s a simple mission.”
“We don’t need to breach the enemy’s defenses, meaning we can order the troops to retreat at any time!”
...
Major General Christine’s gaze turned icy. Staring at the officers, he spoke evenly:
“But there’s a problem.”
“As you’re aware, the 1st Artillery Division, among others, recently experienced a mutiny.”
“The soldiers have significant resistance to the idea of an offensive…”
One brigadier interrupted Christine, “What are you trying to say, General? This is precisely why the high command designated this a ‘simple mission.’ Are you suggesting even a simple mission can’t be accomplished?”
Christine recognized him as Xavier, Clemenceau’s nephew.
The importance of the 1st Special Artillery Division naturally necessitated the presence of a “watchdog” officer like Xavier.
“Yes,” another brigadier chimed in. “Moreover, we’ve been promptly disciplining those unruly soldiers. I see no issue here.”
This was Godevois, a relative of the Gournay Food Manufacturing Group. In these times of scarcity, his status had risen dramatically.
Christine responded with a neutral “Hmm.”
“It’s not that we can’t succeed, gentlemen.”
“But we must consider this: the soldiers mutinied because officers stayed in the trenches, merely blowing whistles.”
“That’s why they liken themselves to ‘sheep’ and officers to ‘shepherds.’”
The officers chuckled, appearing to take pride in their “shepherd” roles.
Christine continued:
“If we keep this up, it won’t work.”
“It’ll leave us endlessly disciplining ‘unruly soldiers.’”
“Do you understand me?”
After a brief silence, the officers nodded.
Christine pressed on:
“Since this is a simple mission—we only need to make a brief foray onto the battlefield before retreating—and we have tanks to shield us from bullets…”
“…why not show them that ‘shepherds’ have the courage to step onto the battlefield, rather than cowering in the trenches?”
Christine scanned the officers before adding, “At least, that’s what I’ll do!”
With that, he wiped the blood streaming down his temple, gestured to the officers, and declared, “I’ve already done it. Do as you wish!”
Sneering, he turned toward the frontline, leaving the officers exchanging uneasy glances.
After a long pause, Xavier stood, intending to follow, but Godevois stopped him.
“Are you really going to the battlefield?” Godevois asked, fear evident in his eyes.
“He’s right,” Xavier replied. “If we hide in the trenches while ordering soldiers into battle, what do you think they’ll make of us? Haven’t you noticed?”
From the moment they joined this unit, Xavier had felt the soldiers’ hostility and disdain. He wanted to change that.
“This could be our chance,” Xavier continued. “Think about it—a low-intensity skirmish. We just go out, look around, and come back. We can retreat at any time.”
“Indeed,” someone chimed in. “This isn’t the Somme.”
“Nor Verdun,” another added. “At Verdun, retreat was forbidden—rear units held machine guns!”
“Even Major General Christine has gone,” one officer said, ashamed. “If we don’t, what will we look like?”
The remark struck a nerve.
If both higher-ups and lower-ranking soldiers went to the front while these politically appointed officers stayed behind, could they really expect to lead this unit?
“Let’s go!” Xavier patted Godevois on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine. We have tanks—Char A1s.”
Godevois reluctantly agreed, though his face turned pale, his breathing labored.
The officers followed Xavier to the frontline, where they found Christine in the forward trench.
“We’ll join the soldiers in the attack, General,” they reported.
“Good!” Christine turned to them, his eyes filled with approval. “Then go find your units. The attack begins shortly!”
The officers dispersed as ordered.
Christine turned his gaze back to the enemy lines and murmured, “War is cruel, gentlemen!”