British Expeditionary Force Headquarters, Dunkirk.
Lord Kitchener, the British Secretary of State for War, maintained an office here—a logical arrangent, given the upcoming major offensive operations planned by the British army.
Kitchener had developed a habit of writing his diary every evening after dinner. He found this practice valuable, thinking it might prove useful soday after his retirent. The accumulated entries could beco an effortless basis for a moir—an ultimate reflection on his life's accomplishnts.
Tonight, however, he found himself inexplicably restless. After scribbling only a few lines, Kitchener suddenly lost interest. Closing his diary and placing his pen aside, he picked up a cup of coffee and walked toward the window, gazing thoughtfully northward into the darkness.
What truly mattered was not the act of writing itself but the achievents recorded within the small diary—such as perhaps becoming Pri Minister of Britain one day.
His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock at the door.
"Co in," Kitchener called, turning away from the window.
General Haig entered promptly. Earlier at Chantilly, Haig had seed proud and authoritative. Yet here, before Kitchener, he stood respectfully, almost like a diligent pupil.
"Everything proceeded smoothly, my Lord," Haig reported dutifully. "The French agreed fully with our offensive strategy. As expected, Minister Gallieni proved the only obstacle—but ultimately, he proved powerless."
Kitchener gave a noncommittal grunt, his expression unreadable.
Haig frowned slightly, sensing unease. "You seem dissatisfied with the outco, sir?"
With an expressionless face, Kitchener replied, "Minister Gallieni wasn't the real challenge, General. Our most significant difficulties lie ahead—far too soon to discuss satisfaction."
Montarily puzzled, Haig quickly realized whom Kitchener had in mind. "You're referring to General Charles?"
Kitchener nodded slightly. "You've heard of Saint-Étienne's cooperation with FN Company?"
"I've heard a little," Haig admitted indifferently. He rarely concerned himself with such matters, convinced wars were won by n rather than equipnt.
"I know what you're thinking," Kitchener said with visible impatience. Haig's stubborn traditionalism, his refusal even to acknowledge the value of new weaponry, frustrated Kitchener deeply.
"Even if you personally mistrust new technologies, you cannot deny the facts of Charles's victories," Kitchener lectured sternly. "He developed tanks in Paris, utilized aircraft and Congreve rockets effectively at Antwerp, and employed new landmines at Verdun. Are these all rely lucky coincidences?"
"I don't attribute it purely to luck," Haig responded calmly. "But much of his success ca from catching enemies unprepared. Once the Germans understand these tactics, they'll devise counterasures, rendering his innovations ineffective—such as digging anti-tank trenches."
Kitchener refused to argue further; it seed pointless. Certainly, war involved luck, but repeated victories could never be attributed solely to chance.
Ignoring Haig's obstinacy, Kitchener continued thoughtfully, "Intelligence reports suggest Charles is currently training troops intensively and rapidly producing new equipnt. I believe he's preparing specifically for the coming battle—which is troubling news for us."
Haig understood the implication. If Charles secured another decisive victory with minimal forces, even a large British success would pale in comparison.
Yet Haig's face showed disdain. "Forgive my bluntness, sir, but I think your concerns are unfounded. We've spent months preparing this offensive. Preliminary estimates suggest we can mobilize over 80 divisions—nearly one million n. Charles's comparatively tiny force will barely register."
(Note: Historically, the Battle of the Som involved approximately 86 divisions—54 British and 32 French—totaling over a million soldiers.)
Kitchener rolled his eyes subtly. The true issue was not how many divisions they could mobilize, but how much they could actually accomplish. Could Haig's massive force replicate Charles's swift capture of Antwerp, regaining a third of Belgium overnight while capturing tens of thousands of prisoners?
However, he refrained from openly confronting Haig with such criticism. Haig firmly believed in overwhelming nurical superiority. To openly criticize that belief would serve no useful purpose.
Instead, Kitchener tactfully changed his approach. "Nonetheless, to be cautious, perhaps we should present Charles with a different challenge—sothing unexpected. What do you think?"
Haig's eyes lit up approvingly. He wholeheartedly agreed.
…
anwhile, Charles was occupied deflecting Tijani's relentless pestering.
"I think rocket launchers suit chanized divisions better," Tijani argued insistently, his chatter relentless as they returned from the training grounds. "The armored division already has tanks, capable of quickly closing distance and directly engaging enemies—they have no real need for eight-kiloter-range rockets."
Charles shot back skeptically, "Are you suggesting armored divisions don't need 75mm artillery or Saint-Chamond tanks either?"
"No, of course not," Tijani quickly countered without embarrassnt, "I'm rely saying artillery offers superior accuracy, complenting tanks perfectly. Rocket launchers lack precision, potentially causing friendly fire accidents."
The argunt held so validity, Charles admitted inwardly. However, he promptly challenged Tijani again: "And chanized divisions don't coordinate with armored units? By your logic, you don't need rockets either, correct?"
Tijani opened his mouth but found no imdiate reply.
Charles smirked mischievously, adding slyly, "Besides, wasn't soone recently very insistent about not needing rocket launchers? Surely you haven't forgotten already?"
Feigning ignorance, Tijani shrugged exaggeratedly. "Did I really say that? You must've misrembered."
Charles shook his head incredulously at Tijani's audacity—an unabashed general indeed!
Just then, a British lieutenant entered, saluting respectfully. Removing a sealed envelope from his satchel, he announced, "Top-secret docunts, General. Please confirm your security before opening."
Charles nodded absentmindedly, opening the file imdiately. His headquarters was secure beyond doubt—every individual present was strictly vetted, movents restricted, contacts tightly monitored.
After the British officer saluted again and departed, Charles glanced at the docunts, suddenly uttering a surprised "Huh," brows furrowing deeply.
Curiosity piqued, Tijani leaned in to inspect the papers—battle orders.
Flipping through quickly, Tijani stared at Charles, shocked. "They're ordering us to attack Namur Fortress?"
Charles nodded grimly. He hadn't anticipated this. Previously, he'd assud they would participate in the imminent Battle of the Som—an enormous campaign involving countless divisions. Clearly, the British had other plans, seeking instead to entangle Charles's force in another ssy quagmire.
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