THE Germans still entertained hopes of final victory. The Anglo-French allies realized that they still lay in danger of final defeat. Strain and uneasiness were the lot of the leaders on both sides, accentuated by political or semi-political uncertainties. The German O.H.L. feared that the Government was leaning towards peace. Clemenceau’s anxiety about the state of industrial France may be gauged by the fact that on 21 March four cavalry divisions, invaluable for their mobility, had been held in the interior in case of revolutionary outbreaks. Haig was the worst off. The Government talked of reducing his strength to twenty-eight divisions, though reinforcements were now arriving from Palestine. Eight divisions had been reduced to cadres. Foch backed Haig here. In the end seven of these divisions were recreated, though in some cases with men of low physical category. On the strategic side the British, and especially the Second Army in the north, were dangerously cramped by the German advance. Ports, depots, railway marshalling yards, reinforcement camps, and hospitals were an easy prey, even for short-range aircraft. Serious loss was caused by night bombing, and among the sufferers were women of the nursing services and Queen Mary’s Army Auxiliary Corps, who faced their trial with fine courage.
Ludendorff, though balked in Flanders, was still determined on the destruction of the British forces. He reasoned, however, that he must first prevent the French coming to their aid for a third time. To do this he would launch against the French a great diversionary offensive, give them a terrible mauling, draw their reserves south, and then, as soon as possible, fall upon the British yet again. The very fact that a large proportion of the French reserves were still unusually far to the north would help him. He must strike where it would hurt. He chose the Chemin des Dames sector north of the Aisne, the scene of Nivelle’s offensive in 1917. Though mainly a diversion it was to be a very big thing. The code name was ‘Goerz’. Forty-one divisions were assembled. The inevitable and indispensable Bruchmüller came to conduct his hellish orchestra, and the organization of this bombardment was perhaps the supreme triumph of his art. The country lent itself to the concealment of troops and fine weather made bivouacs no hardship.
Now for the defence, which was strangely inept. The threatened front was held by four French divisions and three exhausted British divisions which Haig had agreed to send to this quiet sector as some compensation for the French reserves on or near the British front. In rear were seven French and two other tired British divisions, making a total of sixteen. Foch and Haig were at one in their belief that Ludendorff meant to attack the British again. They were right—but they had not taken into account the intermezzo on the Chemin des Dames. Here the responsibility falls on Foch and the French intelligence services.
Another curious feature was the dispositions of the troops. The Chemin des Dames ridge, very narrow and dropping away southward to the Aisne valley, was suitable only for an outpost position. Five to six miles in rear was a far better one, an equally obvious main position, between the Aisne and the Vesle. Here the top was broad and the ground sloped back gently, a typical ‘Wellingtonian’ position which would hide the defenders from view while giving them a fine field of fire as the attackers breasted the rise. Surely the line to take was: ‘Now, my friends, you have stormed the Chemin des Dames. Come on and see how you like this position.’ Unhappily, the Sixth Army Commander, General Duchêne—Foch’s capable staff officer in 1914—kept the bulk of his line divisions much too far forward, despite the protests of the British corps commander, so that they were not only on a bad position and terribly exposed to fire but had behind them two unfordable rivers instead of one. In part he was influenced by the prestige of the name ‘Chemin des Dames’, which had cost so much blood. He disregarded orders to establish his defence in depth. But the responsibility is not his alone. It goes through the hierarchy: Franchet d’Espèrey, commanding the G.A.N.; Pétain, Commander-in-Chief; Foch, Generalissimo. The biographer of Franchet d’Espèrey asserts that Duchêne appealed to Pétain and ‘finally obtained authorization to defend himself on the Chemin des Dames’. Pétain and Franchet d’Espèrey blamed Foch for moving so many reserves northward.1
So Bruchmüller was given every chance. The bombardment was shattering. Some men went off their heads in that 160 minutes’ inferno before 3.40 a.m. on 25 April. At that hour the troops of General von Boehn’s Seventh Army crossed the Ailette brook below the north face of the Chemin des Dames ridge and swarmed up. Five divisions crashed into the allied centre, largely upon a single French division which was practically destroyed at a blow. Much the same fate met the British left division.
The allied centre was thus a void. The Germans, scenting an opportunity almost incredible on the Western Front, swept downhill to the Aisne. To their delight they found that the bridges had not been destroyed. Victory was being handed to them on a tray. The British divisions, reinforced by a fourth, put up a fight remarkably stiff in the circumstances. ‘The behaviour of all arms of the British forces was magnificent’, Haig wrote in his despatch.1 They were compelled to wheel back till they faced north-west instead of north-east, but they did prevent an undue widening of the breach. On the left flank the French were pressed back towards Soissons, but they still contained the German right at least partially. But in the centre the breach was gaping open and the French forces entering it were brushed out of the enemy’s path. By evening he had reached the Vesle. This was roughly an advance of ten miles. No such day’s work had been done in France since trench warfare had begun.
The Germans had already accomplished the task they had set themselves. But could they stop with practically nothing in front of them and Paris only eighty road miles away? It was not to be thought of. And the second day was a vast success. Now the pocket was fifteen miles deep and still resistance was unavailing, though French reserves were streaming in. In brief, by 3 June the Germans were once more on the Marne, east of Château-Thierry. Now the road distance to Paris was fifty-six miles, but Hindenburg and Ludendorff were beginning to be worried that the sack was so narrow.
Next something astonishing happened. Up to the Marne came marching new men. They were two divisions only, but they strode proudly through the flotsam and jetsam always present on the fringe of a stricken battlefield. Three United States divisions had already been in line on the French front and the 1st Division in a successful little action at Cantigny, near Montdidier. On 1 June a machine-gun battalion of the 3rd Division put up a grand defence near Château-Thierry. On 6 June the 2nd Division launched an attack and captured the village of Bouresches and the southern part of Belleau Wood. The offensive was then virtually over, so it is an exaggeration to say ‘the Americans stopped it’, but their action and demeanour were bracing. Actually on the night of 3 June the German Crown Prince called a halt, though some attacks were to be undertaken to deceive the French.
Ludendorff afterwards admitted that the offensive had gone on too long. We must acknowledge that the temptation to continue exploiting success was very strong. The disadvantage was that as the front increased he had to make greater and greater efforts and even then could not widen the breach to his liking. In front of Reims the French had stopped him dead on 1 June. On the western flank he was so dissatisfied with the situation that he decided to better it by an entirely new operation at the earliest possible moment. This involved a delay in launching Crown Prince Rupprecht’s offensive against the British in Flanders. It cannot be doubted that he was pretty well bound to halt on 4 June. His Seventh Army had outrun its transport. On the 3rd the French rubbed out the little German bridgehead over the Marne at Jaulgonne. It may be added that one of the later subsidiary operations, an attack on the heights south-west of Reims, was defeated on the 6th by French and British troops, the latter a crumbled handful of men.
Foch had been caught on the wrong foot on the only occasion during his career as Generalissimo. Even so, though twenty-five French and two American divisions had been drawn in, he had not committed the reserves held in his own hand. He had an uncannily good eye for a military situation. On 14 April, when Hazebrouck seemed in imminent peril, he had astonished Haig and Milner by the comment: ‘La bataille d’Hazebrouck est finie.’ He was right then. On the second day of the Aisne offensive he told Clemenceau that he believed it to be a feint.1 As has been related, he was correct again, though it was a very unpleasant feint—and many a time in war a successful feint has been developed into the real thing, the main thrust.
The offensive was followed by a conflict between him and Haig. These two men always held firmly to their opinions. And yet, immeasurably to the credit of both, every wrangle between them ended with one or the other deliberately giving way or compromising if that were possible. This time they disputed the stationing of reserves and came to a compromise. The demand of Foch that five American divisions in the British zone should be transferred to the French, was met with Pershing’s assent, but they were replaced by five other American divisions. Haig also agreed that three British divisions should be placed behind the junction of the allied forces, where Foch thought the Germans might be contemplating another strike. The French Government dealt summarily with Pétain’s complaints that he had been starved in favour of the British. He was placed directly under the orders of Foch, without Haig’s right of appeal to his own Government.
While the Battle of the Aisne was drawing to its close the French had observed signs of an extension to the north in the Oise valley. The date was divulged to them by a prisoner, so that Humbert, commanding the French Third Army, was ready when Hutier attacked astride the Matz, a tributary of the Oise, on 9 June. It was not quite as well-prepared an affair as its predecessors; nor was the numerical superiority as great as usual. Yet it started with another fine success, penetrating six miles on the first day. Thereafter progress became much slower.
That fierce fighting man Charles Mangin, disgraced after the Nivelle offensive, had been given another command, though only that of a corps, now in reserve. He was ordered to launch a counter-attack with five divisions, including the splendid 1st and 2nd American, on 11 June. For lack of time Fayolle was inclined to postpone the operation until next day, but Mangin fought the proposal and Foch supported him. Just before light failed senior commanders were assigned forming up places and bidden to guide their troops into position after dusk. The counter-offensive was only a limited affair and was called off when resistance stiffened, but it stopped the Germans. This was satisfactory, as was the fact that the American troops had behaved admirably.
A number of successful small operations were also comforting. Again the Americans showed their dash and daring in the capture of Belleau Wood and Vaux, on either side of Château-Thierry. Two other actions were of exceptional importance. On 4 July an Australian division with a British tank brigade captured Hamel and Vaire Woods, south of the Somme. This success was won at small cost in human life. It gave the Australians complete confidence in tanks, which they had disliked since being, as they thought, let down at Bullecourt in the spring of 1917. It also inspired the Fourth Army Commander, Rawlinson, to reflect on the possibility of launching an offensive on a far greater scale on similar lines. Most striking of all was the blow dealt on 28 June by Mangin, now commanding the Tenth Army, on the western side of the salient created by the Battle of the Aisne. The object was to seize high ground overlooking Soissons and thus to prevent the Germans making use of its railway junction. The success was great; the resistance unexpectedly weak. To Mangin also came the idea of a major offensive which he believed might blot out the whole salient. This was already in Foch’s mind, but he and his lieutenant had to wait.
However, these combats did little to change the gloomy situation. Foch was in danger. Clemenceau, in whom burnt the old republican ferocity to generals, might strike him down. Pétain was even more seriously threatened, and Guillaumat was brought home from Salonika to be ready to replace him. Franchet d’Espèrey went there in his stead, and, even though to an important independent command, under a cloud. Needless to say, Duchêne was thrown out, to be replaced by a younger man in Dégoutte. Curiously enough, this phase of spiritual feverishness was also one of an amazing corporeal fever, known as ‘Spanish influenza’. It smote down the soldiers by the hundred thousand, though most were quickly on their feet again, and after running out by the first days of August it recurred more viciously in the autumn. In the British armies over 15 per cent entered hospitals. In the German ranks, where the epidemic was known as ‘Flanders fever’, the effects were worse. It was feared that it might cause a postponement of Rupprecht’s offensive.1 That, however, was to be postponed sine die for quite different reasons.
The Hindenburg-Ludendorff combination was not satisfied that the Aisne offensive had drawn in enough French reserves. It was decided to strike yet again on the French front before launching ‘Hagen’, the code name for Rupprecht’s offensive. To the French and British intelligence services it was clear that both were being prepared but hard to say which would come first. On the whole it looked as though it would be that of the German Crown Prince. Foch requested that four British divisions should be moved to the French front. The British Government invited a protest from Haig, but he did not accept the invitation and sent the divisions. Not every commander in his place would have done it while Rupprecht’s arm was upraised to smite.
On the German side the policy was doubtful because the longer ‘Hagen’ was delayed the better Haig would be prepared to meet it. The new offensive was enormous—three and a half armies and fifty-two divisions; but it was faced by the army groups of Maistre and Fayolle in considerable strength—thirty-four divisions including nine American and two Italian, with the first two British just arriving—and in a state of preparedness. The French command had also divined that the attack would be in two parts: east of Reims with the objective of the Marne, here fifteen miles distant; and west of Reims, where the front was close to the river, to gain a deep bridgehead and unite with the other section.
The eastern attack fell upon the Fourth Army of Gouraud, one of the heroes of Gallipoli, where he had lost an arm and had both legs broken. The orders of Foch on defence in depth had been fulfilled here, and the Army Commander had made his troops enthusiastic about it. It worked. The Germans were thrown into confusion by artillery fire as they made their way through the thinly held foremost position and were then shattered upon the defences of the battle zone. All the twenty German tanks were knocked out by the French artillery. It was a grave, very grave defeat.
For a while it looked as though it might be repaired by the quick success west of Reims. Boehn’s Seventh Army overwhelmed the French infantry and artillery by a hurricane bombardment and crossed the Marne at Dormans under a smokescreen. On their right they were held by the American 3rd Division, but they expanded their bridgehead to a depth of some four miles. It was an ugly threat, and endangered Foch in person. Clemenceau declared that he was not the man he had been and spoke of replacing him. Clemenceau would have been astonished to learn that the General-in-Chief was not displeased by the German passage of the Marne. Boehn’s six divisions south of the river were soon shaken by the rain of bombs from the air and shells from the ground upon themselves and their bridges. But this was not all.
A big French counter-offensive against the western flank of the great salient had been planned. It was to be launched on 18 July if the Germans had not attacked by then. Visiting Fayolle on the 15th, Foch learnt that Pétain had telephoned an order to suspend this operation; also that Fayolle was thinking of withdrawing troops assembled for it to reinforce the threatened front on the south-east side. Foch directed that the counter-offensive should go forward.
The Germans had warning, but it came too late and they were ignorant of the scope of the counter-offensive. Mangin’s huge concentration of eighteen divisions with another seven in reserve and his tanks were hidden in the vast woodlands behind his front. Of the three elements of tactical surprise, place, time and weight, Mangin had secured the first two partially and the third completely. Degoutte’s Sixth Army on his right added to the effect by launching its attack three-quarters of an hour earlier. The Germans were already moving northward guns and mortars for ‘Hagen’, the Flanders project, and at the height of the first day’s battle Ludendorff was calmly driving to Mons, headquarters of Rupprecht’s Army Group, to put the final touches to the plans, trying to cook his hare before he had caught it.
Mangin’s men and tanks came swarming forward, dipping into the many hollows, scurrying over the dangerous sky-line of the hills, going slow or halting in front of centres of resistance, but as soon as might be attacking them in flank or even in rear. The defence collapsed. By the time Ludendorff had finished his conference and was ready for luncheon the penetration of the French Sixth and Tenth Armies amounted to over four miles. Then there was a pause, but the field artillery was moved forward with astonishing speed and the advance was resumed. It continued next day, but now found things altogether less easy, the German machine-guns pouring out death while very hard to locate amid the copses and high wheat.
The later attack of the French Fifth and Ninth Armies lacked the advantage of surprise and achieved no such success as that on the west side, but they made ground. It is fair to say that the German infantry, after the first breakdown, showed itself most determined in face of this counter-offensive, the first one on a major scale that it had had to face since its series of offensives began on 21 March. It did not flinch again, though its communications in the salient were being pounded from all directions. Both sides received reinforcements, those of the French including the second pair of British divisions, which came under Mangin’s command, the other two being already engaged under Berthelot on the east side. As the 15th (Scottish) Division relieved the American 1st, the men were saddened by the sight of dead in American uniforms lying in regular lines. It revealed the fallacy of some of Pershing’s ideas. Able man and stalwart soldier though he was, his contention that his troops were trained for open warfare, whereas those of their allies were not, was an exaggeration. So far the Americans had done what they had because in defence they were absolutely determined not to yield at any cost and in attack they meant to get through or die. Many died. They were learning the lessons learnt by the British at Loos and on the Somme.
Stoutly as their troops fought, the German senior commanders knew it could not go on. They abandoned the bridgehead over the Marne and started a steady retirement, clinging with all their might to the shoulders of the salient in order to extricate the forces at the bottom of the sack. The pressure was, however, strong enough to determine the German command to withdraw across the Aisne at Soissons and its tributary the Vesle above the confluence. Foch, who had other plans in mind, decided not to assault this position.
Nearly thirty thousand prisoners and nearly eight hundred guns were the spoils of the victors. The Second Battle of the Marne bore a certain similarity to the First, in that a fine victory, though in no sense a decisive one, was gained and the effects of a disaster were largely expunged; and that one was as much a turning point as the other in the struggle. It caused ‘Hagen’ to be first postponed, then abandoned, though this Foch and Haig did not know for some time. It raised French spirits immensely. It was good for inter-allied relations. Whereas the glory of the counterstroke was French and this was appreciated by the British and Americans, the French were grateful to their allies. The American divisions had more than once been the spearheads. The two pairs of British divisions had fought at the shoulders where the German resistance was fiercest and won the admiration of Mangin and Berthelot.
On 6 August Foch was created a Marshal of France. As will appear, he was somewhat busy during the next few weeks and did not receive the baton until the 24th, at his headquarters, the Château de Bombon. A vision of swift victory had flashed before his eyes one day near the end of July.
‘What am I risking, after all? I asked myself. You can prepare for the worst and another year of fighting, but there is no crime in hoping for the best—decisive victory within a few months.’1