Chapter 479: Nobody Fights Like This!
While nearly every soldier celebrated Shire's arrival, Major General Lacoste was deeply worried.
It wasn't that he doubted Shire's capabilities. Rather, Joffre's telegram confirming the transfer of command had included a troubling condition: "Shire may only remain at the frontline for one day, starting from the moment he takes over command."
What could one day possibly accomplish?
Certainly, Shire's presence had boosted morale dramatically, but once he left tomorrow, the backlash would be immediate. Morale would collapse even lower than before, like a stimulant leaving a soldier exhausted after its effects faded.
Nonetheless, General Lacoste did his best to explain Verdun's current situation, pointing carefully at the battlefield map:
"We can't retreat any further. The Souville line is our last effort."
"But frankly, this defensive line is meaningless, because we're constantly ordered to attack. Someone unfamiliar with the situation might think we're winning..."
Shire interrupted calmly, "That was Joffre's approach, General, not mine. You don't have to worry about that anymore."
"But," Lacoste hesitated, confused, "I've heard you only have one day."
He lowered his voice, wary of others overhearing this discouraging fact.
"Indeed, I only have one day," Shire nodded confidently. "But that doesn't mean I'll order a counterattack."
General Lacoste still couldn't grasp it. "If you're not planning to counterattack, how exactly do you intend to change the situation within one day?"
Shire replied plainly, "I plan to hold our positions firmly, make the Germans pay dearly for every inch, and—if possible—retake a few forts. Wouldn't that qualify as changing the situation?"
Lacoste stared blankly, then smiled bitterly. "You might not fully grasp how dire our situation is, Brigadier General."
Shire gestured calmly, indicating he was ready to listen.
Lacoste explained grimly, pointing at the map, "Our most critical problem is that our defenses are divided in two by the Meuse River. The Germans have concentrated their attacks on the right bank, effectively isolating our 30th Corps on the left bank, rendering them useless."
Shire studied the map closely, asking quietly, "How many men do we have left?"
"Around seven thousand," Lacoste answered painfully. "And many of them are wounded."
Without Shire's timely arrival, the 2nd Corps would have launched a suicidal final assault tonight, collapsing completely. For this reason alone, Lacoste felt profound gratitude to Shire—he'd given them one more day of life, even if it was just one day.
"What about the Germans?" Shire inquired.
"We're not certain, but at least an entire army group—over a hundred thousand," Lacoste said grimly. "Though oddly, they seem in no hurry. Otherwise, they'd have taken Verdun already."
Shire nodded slightly, agreeing silently.
Lacoste's instincts were accurate. Falkenhayn's intention wasn't to quickly seize Verdun, but rather to turn the city into a meat grinder, bleeding the French army dry through attrition. In other words, it was classic encirclement—baiting French reinforcements into a deadly trap.
Suddenly hopeful, Lacoste asked eagerly, "Have you brought your armored units?"
Shire shook his head.
"Then... air support? Will your aircraft arrive to reinforce us?"
Shire again shook his head.
Lacoste's brief hope faded once more. Shire had brought nothing but himself—perhaps a temporary morale boost at most.
"Describe the German attack patterns," Shire redirected the discussion to tactical matters.
Lacoste, exhausted, gestured helplessly at the map:
"The Germans mostly bombard us with heavy artillery during the day."
"As night falls, they become more aggressive. If we stop attacking, they counterattack immediately."
"They start by firing poison gas shells, forcing our soldiers to put on gas masks."
"Afterward, they launch infantry assaults. With gas masks limiting our vision severely, we barely see enemy troops approaching, sometimes until they're upon us."
Lacoste paused thoughtfully, glancing at Shire. It suddenly occurred to him that gas masks were also Shire's invention. Could he perhaps improve the mask's visibility? But he quickly discarded the thought—it wasn't practical, certainly not quickly enough to matter tonight.
"And the artillery?" Shire continued.
"The disparity there is even greater," Lacoste groaned miserably.
"We have barely two hundred artillery pieces left, mostly small-caliber 75mm guns. The enemy has at least two thousand guns of various calibers and ranges."
"The main issue, however, isn't numbers. We can't deploy our guns effectively."
"If placed inside fortresses, our guns lack range. If positioned on higher ground, they're quickly destroyed by German artillery. At night, poison gas shells incapacitate our gunners."
Shire nodded knowingly. The famous French 75mm gun excelled in direct-fire engagements. But here, out-ranged by German artillery during the day and rendered blind by gas masks at night, these guns became essentially useless—which was ironically why many survived.
Without hesitation, Shire pointed decisively at the map, ordering simply, "Abandon the high ground. Pull your lines back."
"Abandon the high ground?" Lacoste stared, shocked.
"Exactly."
"Retreating? Where could we possibly go after abandoning such crucial terrain?" Lacoste became agitated, anger seeping into his voice. He hadn't expected such madness from the man his troops saw as their savior.
"We're not retreating," Shire said calmly, ignoring Lacoste's reaction. Instead, his finger traced a new line on the map about thirty meters behind the current fortress. "We'll construct a new line here."
"But that's—that's impossible!" Lacoste exclaimed in disbelief, staring at Shire's proposed position. "No one fights this way! It's practically—"
"Suicide?" Shire finished coolly.
"Precisely!" Lacoste argued vehemently. "You're surrendering our advantageous high ground!"
He glanced at Colonel Klein desperately, hoping for support, but Klein appeared equally stunned. No one fought like this—giving higher terrain willingly to the enemy was madness!
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