Fall of Giants

“Oh, Fitz!” Maud began to cry. “What about the baby Bea is expecting-your child?”

“How is Bea?” Fitz said, remembering guiltily where he had spent the night.

Maud sniffed and swallowed. More calmly, she said: “Bea looks bonny, and she no longer suffers from that tiresome morning sickness.”

“Tell her I miss her.”

There was a burst of interference, and another voice came on the line for a few seconds, then disappeared. That meant they might get cut off any second. When Maud spoke again, her voice was plaintive. “Fitz, when will it end?”

“Within the next few days,” Fitz said. “One way or the other.”

“Please look after yourself!”

“Of course.”

The line went dead.

Fitz cradled the phone, tipped the head porter, and went out into the Place Vendôme.

He got into his car and drove off. Maud had upset him by speaking of Bea’s pregnancy. Fitz was willing to die for his country, and hoped he would die bravely, but he wanted to see his baby. He had not yet been a parent and he was eager to meet his child, to watch him learn and grow, to help him become an adult. He did not want his son or daughter raised without a father.

He drove across the river Seine to the complex of army buildings known as Les Invalides. Galliéni had made his headquarters in a nearby school called the Lycée Victor-Duruy, set back behind trees. The entrance was closely guarded by sentries in bright blue tunics and red trousers with red caps, so much smarter than the mud-colored British khaki. The French had not yet grasped that accurate modern rifles meant that today’s soldier wanted to disappear into the landscape.

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. Galliéni 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.

Galliéni 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 Galliéni 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 Galliéni’s eyes glittered behind his pince-nez. “So,” he said, “this is our moment to attack.”

{II}

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.