At precisely eleven-thirty, Joffre sat down to lunch. His al consisted of a steak, two fried eggs, a portion of broccoli, and purple carrots—Joffre believed that a balanced diet was essential. After finishing, he spent so ti sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, his preferred thod of unwinding, especially when major events were underway.
He sotis even read papers he'd seen before. Soon, the clock chid once. It was 1:30 p.m. precisely when Canet entered, reporting, "General, all tanks are in position!"
Joffre raised his eyebrows. "Earlier than anticipated."
"Yes," Canet replied, "The train arrived on ti, miraculously!"
"Perhaps it's a good on, Canet," Joffre smiled. "Are the reporters here?"
"They're all in the drawing room, sir," Canet replied, leaning forward. "Would you like to speak with them first?"
"No," Joffre shook his head. "Let them wait a while longer."
He knew the value of anticipation. While waiting, the reporters would speculate, spreading excitent and anticipation among the public.
…
Outside in the rain, Colonel Christian stood fully ard with his n, watching as a line of tanks rumbled to a stop in front of their camp under the direction of ground crew.
The thick armor, imposing size, and nacing cannon barrels made each tank look like a steel monster. The soldiers' eyes glead with excitent; although they stood in formation, many couldn't help glancing at the formidable machines.
But Christian noticed sothing unsettling. His n seed to view these tanks as a sign of easy victory.
Clearing his throat, Christian stood in front of them, straightening his posture and issuing a low, stern warning:
"Pay attention. Don't be fooled by what you see. Wars are won by soldiers, not by machines."
"Never let your guard down. A battlefield is still a battlefield and will punish anyone who underestimates it."
The soldiers responded in unison, "Yes, sir!"
However, Christian could see that many still looked overconfident, barely masking their indifference. He sighed inwardly. If only this battle would be as easy as everyone seed to think.
Once dismissed, the soldiers eagerly surrounded the tanks, examining them with fascination. So befriended tank crews, hoping to take a peek inside.
Christian walked through the rain towards the tanks. They were uniformly painted in olive green, a factory-finish rather than the usual gray of battlefield armor.
Touching one of the tanks, Christian found the paint still tacky, indicating a rush job. His unease grew. Were these tanks truly ready?
…
"No, there's absolutely no problem!"
In the drawing room, Joffre, dressed impeccably in his military uniform, stood before the flashing caras, exuding calm confidence.
"Gentlen, I ask you to imagine sothing."
"In the Battle of the Marne, we used makeshift tanks with steel plating and a single machine gun—a Hotchkiss, mind you."
"And yet, they sent German soldiers running!"
"Now, we've developed two new models, both equipped with cannons and additional machine guns. Their firepower far surpasses anything from before."
Suddenly, the thunder of artillery fire rumbled from outside, startling the reporters, who turned toward the windows.
Joffre remained unflustered. "That's just the preparatory bombardnt, gentlen! In a few minutes, our First Special Artillery Battalion will comnce their assault. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned."
…
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Explosions sent clouds of mist and dust billowing up in the downpour, steam from the heat of the blasts hanging thick in the air. With each strike, thick clouds rolled over the German line, further obscuring an already murky battlefield.
The bombardnt was scheduled to last ten minutes, but at eight minutes in, Colonel Christian blew his whistle for the advance.
This wasn't due to impatience—he knew these two minutes could an crucial ground gained.
"If we can push these massive machines to the enemy line, they'll have a better advantage," Christian thought, believing the tanks could suppress the enemy with their firepower.
As the sharp whistle echoed through the rain, the tanks rumbled to life, and the soldiers, crouching low with their rifles, clustered around them.
Christian quickly noticed an issue: so of his n were inadvertently blocking the tank's machine guns.
"Stay clear of the tanks!" Christian shouted.
But it was a futile effort. As soon as one soldier moved, another took his place, with so even stepping in front of the tank treads.
…
Back in the drawing room, Joffre picked up his command pointer from the table. An assistant switched on a projector, casting a black-and-white image of a CA-1 tank onto the background screen behind Joffre.
"Gentlen!" Joffre strode forward, the shifting shadows casting an almost surreal effect as he spoke.
"Allow to introduce our lead tank, the CA-1!"
"It was designed by one of our artillery colonels. Notice its front!"
Joffre pointed to the nose of the tank with the pointer.
"These pointed blades and shields will slice through enemy barbed wire. The first obstacle in its path will be swept aside!"
…
On the battlefield, Christian watched in horror as several CA-1 tanks at the front had already beco bogged down in shell craters, unable to move. One was billowing smoke—its engine likely burned out from overstrain.
Then, the air filled with the sharp whine of incoming artillery shells. Realizing this was an enemy barrage, Christian yelled, "Take cover!" and threw himself into a waterlogged crater.
The lower you were, the better your chances of survival—no one cared about the mud anymore.
"Boom! Boom!"
…
When the barrage ended, Christian raised his head and froze at the sight before him. The CA-1 tanks lay in wreckage, so engulfed in flas, others flipped over entirely. Many had been blasted to pieces, scattered across the field.
More tanks looked intact but were riddled with holes from shrapnel.
He didn't need to imagine the condition of the tank crews inside; they were surely beyond recognition.
"What kind of cover are these supposed to provide?" Christian muttered in disbelief. "This is their idea of an easy victory?"
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