As twilight gradually enveloped the battlefield, the normally relentless artillery at Verdun montarily fell silent, as though preparing for the onset of night combat.
At the German Fifth Army's command post, Crown Prince Wilhelm stood proudly atop an observation point, binoculars in hand, gazing toward the French lines. Though the dim moonlight barely illuminated the drifting clouds of smoke, he nevertheless pretended confidently, "Our bombardnt seems quite effective. The French positions appear entirely obliterated."
Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Ernst von Falkenhayn, cautiously responded, "We can disdain French bureaucracy, Your Highness, but we should never underestimate the determination of French soldiers. They're tougher than we imagine."
Wilhelm laughed lightly. "All I see are corpses, retreat, and utter collapse. Could my eyes deceive ?"
Falkenhayn remained silent, privately annoyed by the Prince's ignorance. In truth, the Prince's perception was skewed due to Germany's overwhelming artillery advantage. Wilhelm had yet to witness a real, bitterly contested battle firsthand.
Falkenhayn secretly resented Crown Prince Wilhelm's superficial involvent in military operations. Although Falkenhayn himself planned and directed actual combat, Wilhelm enjoyed publicly claiming credit. Normally, Falkenhayn accepted this arrangent—it was politically necessary—but the Prince's frequent, ill-inford interference in battlefield tactics tested his patience.
Unaware of Falkenhayn's frustrations, Wilhelm began descending from the observation post, voicing his impatience, "I don't understand, General. Why don't we just press forward aggressively instead of waiting for them?"
Wilhelm had long criticized the German cautious strategy—holding defensive positions and counterattacking only if the French stopped advancing.
Falkenhayn calmly replied, "Because we don't want to lose, Your Highness."
Wilhelm stopped abruptly, turning toward Falkenhayn, confused. "Lose? Are you implying we could fail if we move beyond Verdun?"
Before Falkenhayn could answer, Wilhelm gestured broadly at the fortifications around them, "Look at these fortresses and trenches—countless defenses. If we easily overco Verdun, nothing can stop us!"
Falkenhayn shook his head softly, "Exactly the opposite, Your Highness. We've concentrated massive artillery and supplies here precisely because Verdun protrudes into our lines from three sides. Since the battle began, we destroyed every railroad and highway leading to Verdun, leaving only one narrow secondary road barely wide enough for two vehicles."
Wilhelm impatiently cut him off, continuing to walk. "There's no contradiction. Once we seize Verdun, we can advance further and create similar conditions elsewhere."
Falkenhayn patiently clarified, "The key factor is Shire's armored and chanized forces. They're unable to operate effectively here. Not just due to terrain, or because we've encircled the area with artillery, but also because this narrow road can't adequately supply both French infantry and tank units simultaneously."
Wilhelm fell silent briefly, considering. Then he asked, half curious, half eager, "Is Shire really as formidable as people say?"
Falkenhayn sighed quietly, realizing Wilhelm secretly desired to confront and defeat Shire himself, seeking fa and glory. He gently cautioned, "You shouldn't think like that, Your Highness. Most of our commanders pray they never face Shire directly. That's the wiser attitude."
Wilhelm shrugged dismissively, casting a defiant glance toward the French positions, privately hoping Shire stood opposite him. Defeating Shire would solidify his military reputation, silencing doubters forever.
…
German headquarters had settled inside Fort Beaumont, a recently captured fortification safely behind German lines. Wilhelm typically ate dinner, read newspapers briefly, and retired early, leaving battlefield command entirely to Falkenhayn.
Tonight, however, the eerie quiet troubled Wilhelm. By nine o'clock, still hearing no French attacks, he suddenly grew uneasy. Rising abruptly from bed, Wilhelm quickly dressed and hurried to Falkenhayn's command post.
Falkenhayn was studying incoming telegrams. Seeing Wilhelm enter, he held up a ssage. "Good news, Your Highness. Reports suggest the French parliant intends to send Shire to command Verdun—but for only one day."
Wilhelm's eyes glead eagerly, "Really?"
"We're verifying, but likely true," Falkenhayn nodded toward the French lines. "They haven't attacked yet, perhaps awaiting Shire."
Wilhelm agreed thoughtfully, then suddenly suggested innocently, "Since they're not attacking, perhaps it's our turn?"
"Certainly," Falkenhayn nodded.
"Allow to issue the orders personally," Wilhelm quickly interjected. "General Bennett's VII Corps, correct?"
"Exactly," Falkenhayn confird, assuming Wilhelm rely sought the satisfaction of delivering orders personally, not realizing the Prince had different intentions.
Wilhelm turned away, hiding a satisfied smile.
…
Wilhelm arrived soon afterward at the frontline command post of General Bennett's VII Corps, a makeshift bunker reinforced with timber and sandbags. Adjusting Bennett's collar affectionately, Wilhelm instructed firmly:
"Tonight's battle differs from previous engagents, General Bennett. You'll continue attacking relentlessly until your n physically cannot advance further. Understood?"
Bennett imdiately perked up, thrilled at finally receiving aggressive orders. Until now, he'd deeply resented Falkenhayn's cautious, limited offensives—wasting lives without achieving decisive victory.
Now, the mont he'd long awaited had finally arrived.
"Understood clearly, Your Highness," Bennett replied eagerly. "We'll attack continuously until we can no longer move forward!"
(Note: Falkenhayn's actual "at grinder" strategy—wearing down French manpower deliberately—was only known to senior German officers. Frontline troops, unaware of this attrition strategy, believed every attack aid to seize territory decisively.)
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