Fitz was well known to the guards and walked straight in. It was a girls’ school, with paintings of pets and flowers, and Latin verbs conjugated on blackboards that had been pushed out of the way. The rifles of the sentries and the boots of the officers seemed to offend against the gentility of what had gone before.
Fitz went straight to the staff room. As soon as he walked in he sensed an atmosphere of excitement. On the wall was a large map of central France on which the positions of the armies had been marked with pins. Gallieni was tall, thin, and upright despite the prostate cancer that had caused him to retire in February. Now back in uniform, he stared aggressively at the map through his pince-nez glasses.
Fitz saluted, then shook hands, French style, with his opposite number, Major Dupuys, and asked in a whisper what was going on.
“We’re tracking von Kluck,” said Dupuys.
Gallieni had a squadron of nine old aircraft that he was using to monitor the movements of the invading army. General von Kluck was in command of the First Army, the nearest German force to Paris.
“What have you got?” Fitz asked.
“Two reports.” Dupuys pointed at the map. “Our aerial reconnaissance indicates that von Kluck is moving southeast, towards the river Marne.”
This confirmed what the British had reported. On that trajectory, the First Army would pass to the east of Paris. And, since von Kluck commanded the German right wing, that meant their entire force would bypass the city. Would Paris escape after all?
Dupuys went on: “And we have a report from a cavalry scout that suggests the same.”
Fitz nodded thoughtfully. “German military theory is to destroy the enemy’s army first, and take possession of cities later.”
“But don’t you see?” said Dupuys excitedly. “They are exposing their flank!”
Fitz had not thought of that. His mind had been on the fate of Paris. Now he realized that Dupuys was right, and this was the reason for the air of exhilaration. If the intelligence was right, von Kluck had made a classic military error. The flank of an army was more vulnerable than its head. A flank attack was like a stab in the back.
Why had von Kluck made such a mistake? He must believe the French to be so weak that they were incapable of counterattack.
In which case, he was wrong.
Fitz addressed the general. “I think this will interest you greatly, sir,” he said, and handed over his envelope. “It’s our aerial reconnaissance report of this morning.”
“Aha!” said Gallieni eagerly.
Fitz stepped up to the map. “If I may, General?”
The general nodded permission. The British were not popular, but all intelligence was welcome.
Consulting the English-language original, Fitz said: “Our people put von Kluck’s army here.” He stuck a new pin in the map. “And moving in this direction.” It confirmed what the French already believed.
For a moment, the room was silent.
“It’s true, then,” said Dupuys quietly. “They have exposed their flank.”
General Gallieni’s eyes glittered behind his pince-nez. “So,” he said, “this is our moment to attack.”
Fitz was at his most pessimistic at three o’clock in the morning, lying next to Gini’s slim body, when sex was over and he found himself missing his wife. Then he thought dispiritedly that von Kluck must surely realize his mistake and reverse course.
But next morning, Friday, September 4, to the delight of the French defenders, von Kluck continued southeast. That was enough for General Joffre. He gave orders for the French Sixth Army to move out from Paris the following morning and strike at von Kluck’s rearguard.
But the British continued to retreat.
Fitz was in despair that evening when he met Gini at Albert’s. “This is our last chance,” he explained to her over a champagne cocktail that did nothing to cheer him up. “If we can seriously rattle the Germans now, when they are exhausted and their supply lines are fully stretched, we may bring their advance to a halt. But if this counterattack fails, Paris will fall.”
She was sitting on a bar stool, and she crossed her long legs with a whisper of silk stockings. “But why are you so gloomy?”
“Because, at a time like this, the British are retreating. If Paris falls now, we will never live down the shame of it.”
“General Joffre must confront Sir John and demand that the British fight! You must speak to Joffre yourself!”
“He doesn’t give audience to British majors. Besides, he would probably think it was some kind of trick by Sir John. And I would be in deep trouble, not that I care about that.”
“Then speak to one of his advisers.”
“Same problem. I can’t walk into French army headquarters and announce that the British are betraying them.”
“But you could have a quiet word in the ear of General Lourceau, without anyone knowing about it.”
“How?”
“He is sitting over there.”
Fitz followed her gaze and saw a Frenchman of about sixty in civilian clothes sitting at a table with a young woman in a red dress.
“He is very amiable,” Gini added.
“You know him?”
“We were friends for a while, but he preferred Lizette.”
Fitz hesitated. Once again he was contemplating going behind the backs of his superiors. But this was no time for niceties. Paris was at stake. He had to do whatever he could.
“Introduce me,” he said.
“Give me a minute.” Gini slid elegantly off her stool and walked across the club, swaying slightly to the ragtime piano, until she came to the general’s table. She kissed him on the lips, smiled at his companion, and sat down. After a few moments’ earnest conversation she beckoned to Fitz.
Lourceau stood up and the two men shook hands. “I’m honored to meet you, sir,” Fitz said.
“This is not the place for serious conversation,” the general said. “But Gini assures me that what you have to say to me is terribly urgent.”
“It most certainly is,” Fitz said, and he sat down.
Next day Fitz went to the British camp at Melun, twenty-five miles southeast of Paris, and learned to his dismay that the Expeditionary Force was still retreating.
Perhaps his message had not got through to Joffre. Or perhaps it had, and Joffre simply felt there was nothing he could do.
Fitz entered Vaux-le-Penil, the magnificent Louis XV chateau Sir John was using as headquarters, and ran into Colonel Hervey in the hall. “May I ask, sir, why we are retreating when our allies are launching a counterattack?” he said as politely as he could.
“No, you may not ask,” said Hervey.
Fitz persisted, suppressing his anger. “The French feel they and the Germans are evenly balanced, and even our small force may tip the scales.”
Hervey laughed scornfully. “I’m sure they do.” He spoke as if the French had no right to demand the help of their allies.
Fitz felt himself losing self-control. “Paris could be lost because of our timidity!”
“Do not dare to use such a word, Major.”
