Chapter 576: An Unusual Holiday
Charles had originally planned to drop by Kobdo's newspaper office during his leave. There were also visits pending to the motorcycle factory, the artillery plant, and the newly built tank gun testing facility. If time permitted, he wanted to meet with Wells and Steed too.
He was especially interested in Wells, who had reportedly completed the conversion of twelve destroyers for anti-submarine warfare. After several weeks of training, they were ready for deployment. Charles believed it was necessary to go over the operational details with him personally.
For the first time, Charles truly experienced what it meant to be "buried in work." A thousand things demanded his attention, threatening to suffocate him.
At times, he wondered: How did these projects keep running when I was away at the front?
Perhaps it was true—"The more you care, the more it complicates things." Everything had functioned fine in his absence, just at a slower pace.
But in the end, none of those plans were realized.
…
It was the fifth day of his holiday. The rain had stopped, but the cold had only grown sharper. When Charles got up, he saw a layer of white frost on the roof outside his window.
He and Deoka ate breakfast together. Charles planned to visit the artillery plant today. The British 6-inch 26-cwt howitzer didn't have the range of the German 105mm, but when paired with rocket artillery for guerrilla-style tactics and supported by air superiority, it was enough.
More importantly, Charles's goal in producing the artillery was to nurture a domestic industry, building the foundation of talent and infrastructure that would one day allow him to challenge Schneider's dominance.
Camille brought out a plate of frost grapes and set them on the table, then asked Charles:
"Christmas is coming. Couldn't you ask for a few more days off?"
(Illustration note: Frost grapes are a variety that stays on the vine through winter. They're picked in the cold and are extremely sweet.)
Deoka chimed in with anticipation:
"Yes! I checked the calendar. If you just take three more days, you can stay home for Christmas Eve."
"No, Mother," Charles shook his head gently. "That's not possible."
"Why not?" Camille asked, clearly annoyed.
"You've done so much for France, and those bastards in Parliament won't even let you spend Christmas at home?"
"It's not them. It's the army," Charles explained.
Deoka seemed to understand.
"You mean the Christmas truce… from last year?"
"Exactly," Charles nodded.
Camille still didn't get it.
"What does that have to do with you? You were the one who resolved that mess last year."
Deoka sighed.
"It might happen again, Camille. That's why the front will be tense."
Indeed, "tense" was putting it lightly.
To prevent future Christmas truces, Allied high command had developed a brutal solution: launch artillery bombardments or small-scale offensives every December 24th. The idea was to keep both sides hostile and prevent soldiers from laying down arms to sing carols and drink together again.
After a while, Camille muttered:
"Then at the very least, let Charles rest during these few days."
She aimed the comment at Deoka.
He gave a helpless smile. It wasn't his fault—Charles was the one throwing himself into everything.
Charles said nothing, pretending to be busy eating.
If he was honest with himself, it was true: without his input, many things would still function… just far more slowly and less efficiently.
At that moment, a messenger darted past the window.
Then came a rapid knock at the door.
Charles had a bad feeling.
He was right—the telegram was from Foch.
Since he and Foch had been publicly pretending to be adversaries, Charles knew Foch wouldn't contact him directly unless the situation was urgent.
The message was brief. Just a few words:
"Sixth Army Group has been redeployed to Jambes, Belgium."
Belgium?
Jambes?
Charles frowned.
As the commander of the army group, he hadn't been informed of this. He had assumed his troops were still at the Somme.
Christine hadn't reported anything either, which meant the army group had likely been taken over—and even Charles himself had been kept in the dark.
Were they trying to remove him?
Unlikely.
Doing so right after quelling a massive mutiny would terrify the soldiers and provoke another rebellion.
So what was the real purpose?
Control.
Charles realized suddenly: this seven-day leave had probably not been a coincidence. It had been arranged by Parliament—perhaps even by the British.
"I have to go, Mother," Charles said as he stood up. He didn't even have time to gather his belongings. He just grabbed his overcoat and rushed out the door, leaping into Laurent's waiting car.
"Wait, Charles—!" Camille called after him, bundling a few apple tarts and some frost grapes in a napkin.
But when she reached the door, the car was already gone.
Deoka stepped out to join her, watching the car disappear into the distance.
"The front needs him, Camille."
She shook her head, her voice choked with emotion:
"He didn't even get to finish his holiday."
…
It turned out, Foch had underestimated Parliament.
He had spent 25 years as the director of the military academy and only returned to command a year before the war. He didn't understand how Parliament operated.
He thought that placing the Sixth Army in Belgium—uniting Charles's armored and mechanized forces—would secure control and ensure Charles remained in command.
What he didn't know was that while Parliament was terrible at winning wars, they were experts at internal manipulation and controlling the military.
Just before Foch formally took his post, Clemenceau had a meeting with Prime Minister Briand behind closed doors.
(Illustration note: Aristide Briand served as Prime Minister of France eleven times and won the Nobel Peace Prize. Though considered a statesman, he also used the military to violently suppress labor strikes and was accused by the far-left of being a "dictator.")
"The Sixth Army Group is being transferred to Belgium?" Briand reclined on the couch, casually tugging at his beard.
Clemenceau saw the gesture and knew Briand wasn't thrilled.
"We're in a delicate situation, Prime Minister," Clemenceau said.
"We all know Charles is a military genius. If we let him stay at the Somme or move to another front, his influence will grow rapidly across both Central and Eastern Army Groups."
"Placing him in Belgium would be safer. At least there, the British can act as a counterbalance."
Briand swirled his coffee, lost in thought.
"Have you considered… for a man like Charles, all he needs is one army group? He doesn't need two."
Charles had routed the Germans with just 20,000 men. And now they were handing him 200,000?
"Of course, Prime Minister," Clemenceau replied.
"Which is why we've made other arrangements—while he's on leave."
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