Verdun Front.
Thunderous artillery fire echoed through the cliffs and valleys of the Marne River basin, with clouds of smoke rolling across the ravaged battlefield like an enormous, grasping hand.
Mountainsides had been blasted apart, sending torrents of rocks and earth tumbling down. Great chunks of soil were hurled skyward, blending with dust and lingering smoke that refused to disperse.
Forests ignited under the shelling, burning intensely. The red glow of flas turned half the sky a bloody hue, relentlessly consuming everything in their path.
The scene resembled hell on earth—a place filled with death, bodies, and blood. Here, life seed trivial and insignificant.
Inside Fort Souville, the elderly commander of the 2nd Army Corps, Major General Lacoste, sat disheartened at his desk, gazing blankly at a battlefield map.
Outside the fortress, enemy shells exploded intermittently. Clouds of acrid smoke seeped through the gun slits, dissipating slowly, leaving only suffocating dust and the sll of gunpowder behind.
"We're finished, Klein," Lacoste sighed heavily, glancing helplessly toward the German positions. "The Commander-in-Chief's orders remain unchanged—attack, attack, and attack. He intends to feed us all directly into enemy artillery."
"General!" Colonel Klein, his chief of staff, was horrified and quickly interrupted, lowering his voice urgently, "We're in the command post!"
A commander could never speak such defeatist sentints openly. Such talk would crush morale and hasten the collapse of the troops.
Indeed, nearby communications officers and staff exchanged uneasy looks. If their commander had given up, should they also prepare to flee?
Lacoste smiled bitterly, "Does it matter anymore? The result will be the sa."
Colonel Klein couldn't argue with this. Charging directly into enemy machine guns and cannons didn't require morale. Higher morale might even accelerate their destruction.
Suddenly, a voice from a communications officer broke in: "General, I've heard that Parliant plans to send Shire to command Verdun. They're discussing it right now."
Excitent imdiately filled the command room. If Shire was truly coming, suicidal attacks would finally end. Shire would surely lead them to victory, just as he'd done repeatedly before.
Lacoste shook his head slightly. Such talk was rely a trick to boost morale. How could Joffre possibly allow Shire to take control at Verdun?
Besides, continuing at this rate, the 2nd Army Corps would be wiped out within two days. What difference would it make if Shire arrived by then?
Suddenly, two figures hurried inside. Their faces blackened by gunpowder smoke, their uniforms caked thickly with dirt and dust, the two officers resembled walking statues of mud. Even their rank insignia was obscured.
The shorter officer brushed off his coat lightly, coughed, and asked bluntly, "Where's the Major General? Lacoste, where are you?"
No one answered.
The staff officers thought this newcor must have lost his mind to speak so rudely to General Lacoste.
"You should salute, soldier," Colonel Klein frowned sharply. "Did no one teach you how to address a superior?"
The shorter officer ignored him, but the taller officer standing beside him stepped forward imdiately, snapping into a crisp salute, "You are the one who should salute your superior officer, Colonel. I'm sure you've been taught military discipline!"
Colonel Klein scoffed angrily, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the revolver at his waist.
Clearly, these two n had been shell-shocked by enemy artillery—such n were dangerous. Klein silently signaled the guards, who approached nacingly, intending to detain them.
But as they moved closer, soone suddenly cried out:
"He…he's Shire! My God, it's Shire!"
"Yes, I recognize him! It's really Shire!"
Everyone, including Colonel Klein and General Lacoste, stared in shock at the shorter officer.
Casually brushing away the thick dirt on his collar to reveal two hidden stars, the smaller officer said calmly, with slight amusent, "What? Hasn't Joffre inford you yet? You're now under my command."
General Lacoste quickly stepped forward, saluting respectfully, "Apologies, Brigadier General. I…I haven't yet received any notification. I'll verify imdiately."
The command room erupted into cheers as officers and soldiers rushed eagerly forward to shake Shire's hand:
"It's unbelievable—it's really you!"
"Welco, Brigadier General!"
So soldiers even ran outside the fortress, shouting excitedly to the n huddled in trenches, "Shire has arrived! Shire is here to command us!"
Indeed, Joffre hadn't inford the frontline troops, believing it impossible for Shire to arrive so quickly. It was now only around one in the afternoon—just three hours after he'd reluctantly agreed.
Parliant's eting was still ongoing, debating the Verdun situation endlessly. Typically, such discussions would drag on for several days or even a week.
anwhile, in his headquarters, Joffre leaned comfortably back in his chair, legs crossed arrogantly. A disdainful smirk spread across his fleshy face as he thought smugly: "One day? He actually thinks he can turn the battle around in a single day using my exhausted troops?"
ntally, Joffre planned his strategy: tomorrow he'd discreetly delay supplies and ammunition, gradually choking off Shire's forces. By the ti Shire realized what was happening, they'd have no bullets left. Then how could Shire possibly "turn the battle around"?
A staff officer hurried in, interrupting his thoughts. "General, we've received a telegram from the 2nd Army Corps. Shire has arrived at the frontline. Should we transfer command to him imdiately?"
Startled, Joffre's feet slipped from his desk. His corpulent body nearly toppled from the chair as he grasped the desk edge to steady himself, staring in disbelief at the officer. "What did you say? Shire is already there?"
"Yes, General," the officer confird. "He has reached Fort Souville."
Realizing Joffre might not be familiar with Souville's exact location, he quickly clarified, "General Lacoste's 2nd Army has established their defensive line there."
Calming slightly, Joffre muttered resignedly, "Fine, transfer command of both the 2nd and 30th Army Corps to Shire."
He couldn't go back on his word after publicly declaring this in Parliant.
Internally, Joffre cursed bitterly. He couldn't blatantly sabotage supplies now—everyone would imdiately suspect him of deliberately undermining Shire, jeopardizing national security and frontline soldiers' lives. Such an act would trigger a scandal he couldn't survive.
But if he did nothing, supplies would flow continuously to the front without interference!
After a mont's bitter reflection, Joffre ground his teeth and decided to do nothing.
After all, Shire only had one day. What could he really accomplish? Joffre convinced himself there was nothing to fear.
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