North bank of the River Somme, British Army Command.
Haig sat dazed in his chair, the cheers from the south bank echoed in his ears: "Long live France! We won!"
"Ring ring," the phone on the desk rang.
But Haig felt nothing, as if everything had nothing to do with him. His mind was occupied with one question: why did this happen? What kind of magic does Shire have?
The aide hurried forward to pick up the phone, and after a while carefully handed the receiver to Haig: "General, it's the Marshal!"
Haig quickly composed himself, cleared his throat with a light cough, but still felt powerless when he took the receiver: "It's me, Haig."
On the other end came Kitchener's incredulous voice: "Is it true? Did Shire achieve victory during the counterattack?"
"Yes, Your Excellency," Haig replied with difficulty, even though he couldn't believe it himself, it was indeed the truth.
"How did he do it?" Kitchener asked again.
