Chapter 325: It’s Time to Change the Uniform
The 105th Infantry Regiment made a leisurely circle through the streets, walking for over an hour amid the cheers and shouts of the people of Paris before returning to the police training base.
Once they arrived at the base, the soldiers, as if they had gone mad, ran toward the bathhouse while tearing off their clothes. Their uniforms were discarded along the way, scattered all around. Most of them had already stripped down completely, standing bare in the open, yet still clutching their rifles with their gear slung over their shoulders, resembling wild men.
The uniforms—they no longer had any intention of cleaning them and reusing them. No matter what, they would be getting new ones.
It was only then that Tigani relaxed. He took off his cap and tidied up his hair, which had become tangled, his beard now looking like a broom.
He turned to his side and asked Charles, “You’re going to report to the Defense Headquarters, right?”
“Yes!” Charles replied, then asked in return, “And you, General? Heading home?”
Tigani’s home was in Paris, the 15th arrondissement.
“No,” Tigani shook his head. His gaze shifted to the soldiers, who were celebrating their release, and he said, “I am the regimental commander. I need to be with them at all times unless given leave from above!”
Charles felt a pang of guilt. Just earlier, he had planned to head home after going to the Defense Headquarters.
Tigani was right. If the commander rushed home as soon as he returned, wouldn’t the soldiers be inclined to do the same? This made Charles feel a bit unprofessional, especially since he had never attended a military academy.
...
At the Defense Headquarters office, Gallieni paced anxiously. He stood up occasionally to glance out the window at the street, then sat back down at his desk.
Even he found it strange.
Why was he so impatient?
The man was already back in Paris. Just knowing that he was safe should have been enough!
But everyone understood the logic, and yet, the underlying anxiety couldn’t be suppressed.
It wasn’t until he saw Laurent’s car, carrying Charles, pull up at the entrance of the headquarters that Gallieni finally relaxed. He straightened his uniform and sat back down in his chair, trying to adopt a nonchalant demeanor.
However, when Charles appeared at the hallway entrance to cheers and celebrations from the staff, Gallieni unconsciously stood up.
After a moment of hesitation, Gallieni thought to sit back down, but by then, Charles was already standing in front of him and saluted: “General!”
Gallieni awkwardly grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning Charles. He suddenly realized how much he had grown.
It wasn’t because Charles’ skin had been darkened by the sun, nor was it the bloodstains on his uniform, nor even the stubble on his chin. It was a feeling—a sense that before, Charles had always seemed like a child, but now... now he was a soldier.
Gallieni struggled to maintain his composure, though his voice still trembled with emotion: “How was the battlefield, Colonel?”
“Not bad,” Charles looked down at his dirty red trousers and said, “But I think it’s time we changed our uniforms!”
Gallieni misunderstood Charles’ intent. He nodded and said, “Of course, I’ll have Adrian fetch two new sets of uniforms…”
“No, General,” Charles corrected him. “I mean, our uniforms.”
“What do you mean?” Gallieni asked.
Charles explained, “The red trousers are too conspicuous on the battlefield, General. They make us perfect targets for the enemy. The soldiers do everything they can to dirty them up. Some even prefer to wear corduroy pants from the mud workers.”
Although Charles had known this before, it had never affected him directly, since he didn’t need to go to the front. Now, however, it was a matter of his own life, and it couldn’t wait any longer.
Gallieni responded helplessly, “We all know that, but it’s not something we can decide.”
“Then let them change this decision,” Charles said, referring to the parliament.
Gallieni looked down thoughtfully and then turned his questioning gaze toward Charles: “Perhaps you could persuade them, but that would likely require facing an inquiry from parliament.”
Charles nodded. “No problem.”
Compared to his own life, what was an inquiry from parliament?
This was actually Charles’ thought as well. His influence in parliament might still be too weak to fight the opposition, but he had the support of the French people, and more importantly, he had been on the battlefield himself. That gave him a voice on the matter.
What would happen if parliament disagreed?
They might provoke the anger of the French military and civilians, sparking wave after wave of protests and demonstrations. That was something parliament wouldn’t want to see.
Nonetheless, Charles still took a bath in the Defense Headquarters’ quarters before donning a fresh set of uniform. He didn’t want to return home looking like this.
...
In the town of Davaus, the streets and alleys were abuzz with gossip.
“Did you hear? Charles is back!”
“Yes, someone saw him in Paris this morning!”
“Remarkable! He fought in the decisive battle and even fought the enemy in the trenches. All those who said Charles wouldn’t go to the front can shut up now!”
...
Camille, hurriedly coming back with an empty shopping basket in hand, was holding a newspaper. Her face was pale, and as soon as she entered the house, she grabbed the phone to call Djoka, but Djoka was already at the door.
“Camille!” Djoka jumped out of the car and almost ran inside, his voice preceding his arrival. “Good news, Camille! Charles is safely back!”
Camille slammed the receiver back onto the base and turned to coldly ask, “What do you mean by ‘safely back,’ Djoka? Wasn’t Charles always safe? Didn’t he stay on the warship strategizing and never go to the front?”
Djoka realized he had let something slip and quickly tried to cover up, “What I meant was, he’s safely back from the Dardanelles…”
“But that’s not what I heard,” Camille interrupted Djoka. “They’re saying Charles landed on Gallipoli Peninsula, not a sea route, and he wasn’t on the warship. He was in the trenches, face-to-face with the enemy, holding a gun and defeating them!”
“Well, that’s just… someone else’s version,” Djoka struggled to answer.
Before he could finish, Camille pulled out a newspaper and waved it in front of him. “This is different from the one you showed me. The date is the same, can you explain this?”
Djoka froze, then shrugged, silently admitting defeat.
“The important thing is that he’s back safely, right?” Djoka said.
Camille countered, “What about after? I don’t understand. Why did they have to send Charles to the front? Hasn’t he already done enough for France?”
Djoka was left speechless.
This was something he too wanted to ask: Why did Charles have to go to the front, while those who contributed nothing, like the parliamentarians and their children, or the children of capitalists, didn’t have to?
Just as the atmosphere grew awkward, there came a sudden cry from outside the door: “My God, it’s Charles, Charles is back!”
A neighbor shouted from outside, “Bernard’s wife, Charles is back, it’s really him!”