Early in the morning, Joffre woke up feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep. He rose promptly at eight o'clock, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and then took a leisurely stroll along the forest path near his command headquarters.
Walking cautiously alongside him, the much smaller Cannès—half Joffre's size—reported on the previous night's battles:
"We failed to recapture Fort Douaumont as planned."
"The Germans were thoroughly prepared, employing a new type of poison gas delivered via artillery shells directly into our lines."
"This has greatly increased the difficulty and danger of night operations."
A brief look of displeasure crossed Joffre's eyes. He replied dismissively:
"In the end, it's their lack of determination in the assault."
"If we could ignore the distraction of poison gas, the casualties would be negligible. We could have easily recaptured Douaumont."
"As long as they press forward, victory is right in front of them!"
Cannès nodded obediently, leaned in closer, and lowered his voice:
"Last night's casualties exceeded twelve thousand, General."
"So discordant voices have erged in Parliant."
"So deputies openly questioned the governnt, saying: 'The na Joffre is no longer synonymous with confidence. Must we really continue tying our fate to him?'"
Joffre cleared his throat slightly, indicating so embarrassnt. Cannès tactfully stopped speaking.
Silence enveloped the forest around them. Only a few blackbirds perched on the branches above chirped accusingly, their eyes staring down as if indicting Joffre's misdeeds.
Joffre knew his precarious position. He had hoped for a successful outco from last night's fighting, believing it would silence his critics. Unfortunately, the battle hadn't gone as he'd hoped.
Cowards, he cursed inwardly, why couldn't they just bravely charge the enemy?
After walking quietly for a few more steps, Joffre suddenly asked, "Does Foch really appear to be ill?"
Cannès was montarily confused; he'd never heard that Foch was sick.
But then understanding dawned, and he quickly replied, "You think so too, General? I thought only Castelnau's staff believed that."
Joffre smiled slightly but said nothing further.
(Footnote: General Castelnau commanded the Eastern Army Group. Known for talent recognition—he promoted Pétain—but had personal disputes with Foch. Castelnau had previously suggested Foch resign as Commander of the Northern Army Group, citing health concerns.)
…
Foch's headquarters had moved to Brussels.
This relocation was for operational convenience. At this ti, telegraph communication was unreliable, and telephones had to be used frequently. Telephone lines between France and Belgium had always been limited, and the Germans had deliberately severed most lines during their occupation.
If Foch attempted to command the Northern Army Group remotely from French territory, communications could easily be cut or intercepted.
Foch didn't pay much attention to the situation at Verdun. Instead, his thoughts centered on offensives against the forts at Leuven and Namur to expand their gains in Belgium.
"If we can advance to Liège and consolidate our gains in Belgium, the German flank and rear will be exposed," Foch confidently told his staff officers. "Therefore, it's our front that will determine the war's outco."
But Belgium, though small, was heavily fortified, and France suffered from a severe lack of heavy artillery—at least artillery suitable for penetrating fortifications. France possessed countless 75mm guns, but attacking fortresses and solid defensive positions required heavier, longer-range artillery like Germany's "Big Bertha."
Without such heavy artillery, French troops advancing would be rcilessly shelled by German fortress guns.
Foch was reluctant to rely further on Shire, as doing so made him feel dependent on Shire's protection.
"How should we attack?" Foch muttered quietly, frustrated. "Does this an we can't fight without Shire?"
Just then, Weygand approached cautiously, holding a telegram. He hesitated, seeming reluctant to deliver it.
Foch, engrossed in a map, sensed sothing was wrong and raised his head. "What is it?"
Without speaking, Weygand quietly handed him the telegram.
Foch glanced at it, stunned into silence. It was from Minister of War ssimy: "Considering your health condition, we've decided to relieve you from command of the Northern Army Group and appoint you Director of the Center for Military Studies. Please report to Paris after handing over command. France is grateful for your service. Vive la France!"
Foch stared blankly at the telegram, looked at Weygand, then back at the telegram, thinking perhaps his eyes were mistaken: "Health reasons? Relieved of duty?"
Weygand sighed softly, explaining quietly, "Negative rumors about you have erged in Paris newspapers. They claim you supported the incorrect decisions at Verdun."
Foch imdiately understood. Joffre had shifted the bla onto him to protect himself.
He stood abruptly, angered:
"If the governnt wants to dismiss , let them do so! But they shouldn't claim I'm sick—that's a lie."
"The greater lie involves Verdun's decisions..."
Foch stopped abruptly, realizing the implication.
He had indeed been Joffre's advisor. Almost every decision Joffre made involved telegrams or phone calls consulting him. It wasn't entirely baseless to say Verdun's decisions had his backing.
However, the information Foch received had already been distorted by Joffre. For instance, Joffre firmly claid to have reliable intelligence that the German main attack targeted Belfort, and Verdun was rely a feint.
Given these assumptions, Foch had supported Joffre's decision. He wasn't truly at fault.
But who would listen to his explanations now?
"Bastard!" Foch cursed bitterly, storming toward the communications room to demand answers from Joffre via telegram.
Of course, Joffre wouldn't admit responsibility. He ambiguously replied, "You're dismissed? Well, I should be dismissed too. We should all be dismissed—we lost! This is war; winners and losers—that's all there is!"
Foch knew the matter was already settled. Joffre had firmly decided to let him shoulder the bla.
He returned weakly to his seat, sitting numbly for a mont before smiling bitterly:
"When you want to kill your dog, you start by saying it's rabid. It's an old, ancient rule with almost no exceptions!"
"This isn't fair, General," Weygand said passionately. "You had nothing to do with the mistakes at Verdun. You've just won a victory yourself."
Weygand proposed tentatively, "Could we ask Shire to speak up? After all, we just cooperated..."
Foch shook his head lightly. "Shire might defeat the Germans, but he's powerless against these politicians."
This was French politics—complex interpersonal connections—an area where Shire wasn't adept.
(Note: This chapter closely reflects historical events. So sources briefly state Foch was dismissed due to Joffre. The biography "Marshal Foch" details the process more extensively. Initially, the French governnt had no intention to remove Foch. It was Joffre who delivered the decisive blow, suggesting Foch's judgnt had beco flawed due to age and deteriorating health, thus shifting public opinion and bla onto Foch.)
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