I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 803: Unexplained Pressure

Before Pershing met Shire, he took his chief of staff on a trip to the Nancy front line.

He wanted to see the real battlefield, having only seen it in documents or heard descriptions before.

After a round, Pershing didn't feel much because the battlefield was about what he imagined; he was mentally prepared.

But the chief of staff, Hubbard, was frightened pale, his hands shaking when drinking water.

Just then, the British Army organized another attack, hoping to push the line toward the German Army to compress their attack surface.

Thus, batches of soldiers were driven into the no man's land like livestock, then cold bullets and shells knocked them down row by row.

Everywhere were congealed masses of blood and dirt mixed, bodies piled like a small mountain on the battlefield, left to be gnawed by rats or swollen beyond recognition from rain, emitting a nauseating stench.

Hubbard couldn't hold back and squatted in the trench, vomiting messily.

Pershing calmly put away his binoculars, glanced at him with a sympathetic look: "That's enough, that'll be all for today, we should go find Shire."

...

The car was driving on the road to Bicangxi.

Sitting beside Pershing in the back seat, Hubbard was unable to calm down.

He nervously looked at either side of the road along the way.

Staring at buildings, grass, forests, any place where someone might hide.

Occasionally seeing a soldier with a gun made him jump, instantly reaching for his own holster.

"Relax, James." Pershing said: "This is the West Bank of the Meuse River, controlled by Shire's troops, it's very safe here."

"I, I know, General." Hubbard replied: "But I can't control it."

Pershing nodded in understanding: "Isn't it terrifying? I mean the battlefield."

"Yes, yes it is." Hubbard swallowed hard:

"I didn't think the battlefield would be like this."

"It's simply slaughter, how can they just send soldiers up to face the enemy's bullets and shells?"

"I mean, what's the point? Those are lives, and no one cares if they're injured..."

Pershing interrupted Hubbard: "Because it's unnecessary, James."

"Why unnecessary?" Hubbard didn't understand.

"Because saving one wounded would risk many more." Pershing's voice was cold: "And even if you save them, then what? Is there medicine to treat them? Even if they're treated, can they still fight?"

Hubbard was silent.

Even if saved, they would only consume supplies.

So, no one would do such pointless things.

In their eyes, letting the wounded fend for themselves in no man's land is the best choice.

Pershing sighed lightly: "This is the real battlefield, James, don't be misled by usual propaganda, or you know the consequences."

Hubbard nodded in response: "Yes, General. I'll adjust my mindset."

If he doesn't face this, he could never be the chief of staff of the American Expeditionary Force.

Pershing shook his head: 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"I think you misunderstood."

"The consequences I mentioned aren't about you."

"In fact, you're mainly responsible for logistics and training, so even if you're not adapted to the battlefield environment, it's not a big deal."

Hubbard immediately understood: "You're talking about our troops?"

"Indeed." Pershing showed concern:

"You know, back home, those kids, they're even worse than you."

"They join the military with unrealistic dreams, fantasizing that raising a rifle and pulling the trigger can make the Germans flee in panic."

"Then, they can stand on the enemy's position, light a cigarette, and proudly declare themselves a hero like Shire."

"Reality will give them a harsh blow."

Hubbard agreed: "They'll be terrified by the massacre in this dreadful war of attrition, maybe unable to even move."

Hubbard wasn't mocking; it was a personal experience, his legs still felt weak.

This was also Pershing's concern.

The British and French Armies were forged in one colonial war after another, while the French and Germans still held memories of the Franco-Prussian War decades past.

They've walked here step by step to such a state, soldiers adapted to such battlefields and even prepared for death.

But American soldiers are different.

Raised in comfort, growing up in a peaceful society, blindly longing for the battlefield's romance and beauty.

One day when they truly step onto the battlefield, the huge contrast will instantly break down their psychological defenses.

"What should we do?" Hubbard asked.

Pershing gazed out the car window, where steady drizzle blurred into an impenetrable mist.

"I don't know, James." Pershing replied.

The responsibility was too heavy, involving the lives of millions, and he dared not make rash decisions.

"Perhaps." Pershing added, looking serious: "Shire knows the answer."

If anyone knew the answer, it would be Shire.

...

Bicangxi training base.

Walking into the base, Pershing felt brightened: sidecars, armored vehicles, and truck-mounted cannons.

(Note: Old version 75MM truck cannon, new version 105MM truck cannon still classified, rarely shown)

Pershing turned to exchange a glance with Hubbard; both felt they had come to the right place.

Pershing was particularly interested in armored vehicles, saying to Hubbard upstairs: "We should manufacture this type of vehicle on a large scale."

"Yes." Hubbard agreed: "Ordinary vehicles are too dangerous on the battlefield, soldiers are like naked bodies facing enemy rifles."

Guided by the guards, the two walked into Shire's office.

Pershing hurried forward to shake hands with Tijani: "It's an honor to meet you, Admiral Shire. No exaggeration, I've admired you for a long time!"

Tijani was initially surprised, then realized after translation that Pershing mistook him for someone else.

Shire, sitting at the desk, smiled and said to Tijani: "I look like your sidekick."

Shire had just turned 19 and looked indeed less mature and steady than Tijani.

The translator was somewhat embarrassed, explaining to Pershing: "Admiral, this is Shire General, and before you is Tijani."

Pershing stared at Shire who gradually stood up, unable to react for a while.

This young general, looking like a guard, was surprisingly the renowned Shire.

"Sor-sorry." Pershing shook Shire's hand: "I didn't think Shire would be so young..."

"It's alright, General." Shire led them to sofa seats.

"Would you like some coffee?" Shire asked.

"Oh, yes, please." Pershing replied: "Thank you very much."

Pershing found himself slightly tense.

It was strange, he was always assertive in front of Marshal Kitchener, yet felt an inexplicable pressure facing this "child."

No, I can't be like this, Pershing shrugged to try to relax.

But he frustratedly found he wasn't successful.