and win it quick. There's only one way to do
that. The resources of the Entente are not equal to carrying on two
offensives at the same moment. If our Army in the West will just sit
tight awhile, we here will beat the Turks, and snip the last economic
lien binding the Central Powers to the outside world.

Once more, our game is to _defend_ in the West until the _attack_ in the
East has borne economic fruit in the shape of ships and corn: political
fruit in the sentiment of the Balkans: military fruit in the fillip
given to the whole force of the Entente by actual tactical contact
between the British soldiers and the rank and file of the Ruskies. The
collapse of the Central Powers,--eclipsed in full view of all Asia and
Africa by the smoke from the funnels of the British Fleet at anchor in
the Golden Horn is what we are after here. Even if French and Joffre do
drive the German main hordes back to the Rhine the scope of their scoop
would be far less than ours, for we by getting to Constantinople can
starve those main armies stiff.

How few of our people know anything of the Russians. At least, I have
been attached for eight months to the Armies which fought against them
in the field; have visited Russia and Siberia and have done two peace
manoeuvres as their guest. To send superior officers to Russia only
produces jealousy; to send supplies only breeds dishonesty. But with
50,000 British soldiers as yeast we could leaven 5,000,000 Muscovites;
we could fire their inert masses with our ardour; this is the best of
all uses to which 50,000 British soldiers could at present be put.

From the early days when he told me the New Army should go to Salonika,
K. had an intuition at the back of his big mind that victory would dawn
in the East. But he is no longer the K. of K., the old K. of Khartoum
and Pretoria. He still has his moments of God-sent intuition. First, he
had _absolute_ knowledge that the Germans would come through Belgium: I
repeat this. The assumption was not uncommon perhaps, but he _knew the
fact_! Secondly, when everyone else spoke of a six weeks' war; when
every other soldier I can think of except Douglas Haig believed he'd be
back before the grouse shooting was over; K. went nap on a three years'
war. Pray heaven he was wrong; but, right or wrong, he has already
proved himself to have been nearer the mark than anyone else. Thirdly,
he had a call (by heavenly telepathy, I suppose) that his New Armies
must go ou