Chapter 425: Victory and Turmoil
France was in a frenzy due to Charles' stunning victory. Crowds poured into the streets to celebrate, with bars, clubs, and restaurants packed to capacity. Even those without reservations gathered at entrances, reveling in the moment.
Everyone was abuzz with discussions about the astonishing day:
"This is the best National Day ever. Charles ended the campaign before the day was over."
"Incredible! Everyone, including military experts, thought this battle would last at least six months. Charles finished it in a single day. One day!"
"I wasn't even mentally prepared, and it's already over."
"We thought winning in half a month or a month was 'mythologizing' Charles. The truth is, he's far more miraculous than we ever imagined!"
...
The madness wasn’t confined to France; the world was in awe of Charles’ godlike maneuver.
At the same time, Luigi Cadorna, the Chief of Staff of the Italian Army, was directing operations at the front.
A few days earlier, he had ordered the 2nd and 3rd Italian Army Groups (19 divisions, nearly 200,000 soldiers) to launch a three-pronged attack on Austro-Hungarian positions east of the Isonzo River, while the Italian Navy blocked maritime traffic around Trieste.
Cadorna believed that sustained bombardment and continuous assaults would soon collapse the enemy, whose logistics would fail.
What he hadn’t anticipated was the issue of his own supply lines: although Italian logistics weren’t blockaded, the demands of prolonged bombardment and attacks consumed resources many times those of their opponents.
In just a few days, over a month’s worth of ammunition reserves had been depleted, with more than 20,000 casualties and no progress made.
(Note: The First Battle of the Isonzo lasted only 14 days, ending abruptly due to ammunition shortages. Italian commanders failed even basic ammunition planning.)
While Cadorna was brooding over his map, a staff officer rushed in with a telegram, exclaiming excitedly, "General, Charles has liberated Brussels, the capital of Belgium! He has also captured Antwerp, a Belgian fortress, enabling the French to encircle over 200,000 German troops."
The others in the command center, overhearing this, turned their stunned gazes toward him, which were soon followed by cheers as though they had won the battle themselves.
Logically, Cadorna should have felt humiliated.
Charles had used a smaller force to encircle over 200,000 enemies in a single day, while Cadorna, commanding 200,000 troops against a weaker opponent, found himself in dire straits within days.
Yet, Cadorna felt no such shame, and neither did his jubilant staff.
The Italians’ natural optimism precluded them from dwelling on unfavorable or embarrassing circumstances.
"Excellent," Cadorna nodded with a self-satisfied smile. "This proves our decision to join the Entente was correct. With Charles on our side, victory is only a matter of time!"
The command staff all chimed in their agreement.
"General," one cautious officer, Riccardo, interrupted amidst the self-congratulation, "we still have an immediate problem. What should we do now?"
"Don't worry," Cadorna replied breezily. "At worst, we won’t advance an inch. But as long as France wins, so do we! What is there to worry about?"
Little did Cadorna know, the worst-case scenario would far exceed merely "failing to advance an inch."
...
In London, the First Lord of the Admiralty sat despondently by the window of his villa, gazing at the bustling Thames River traffic.
Not long ago, he had resigned from his post, retreating from the political center to take up a token role on the Dardanelles Committee.
This humiliation stemmed from the dismal state of the Gallipoli campaign.
In truth, "dismal" was an understatement; it was a complete disaster.
Reports from the front painted a grim picture:
The air reeked of corpses, drinking water supplies barely sufficed to stave off thirst, and the blazing sun over Gallipoli offered no respite. Enormous flies infested the area, swarming any opened tin of food.
Worst of all, disease was rampant, claiming soldiers by the score—not in combat but through sickness.
The First Lord, who had championed and guaranteed the campaign’s success, had become a scapegoat. Under mounting pressure, he was forced to resign.
As he stared blankly out the window, a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. His butler entered with a telegram. "Sir, General Winter has sent a message. He says Charles achieved a decisive victory last night..."
The First Lord froze, doubting his ears. "I recall Charles only began his offensive yesterday morning."
The butler hesitated, offering the telegram. "Shall I confirm, sir?"
"Of course." The First Lord skimmed the telegram, still in disbelief.
As the butler left to verify, the First Lord chuckled. "Impossible. One day? The soldiers' rifles wouldn’t even have warmed up. This must be an April Fools' prank!"
Or perhaps General Winter was mocking him.
However, when the butler returned, he reported, "It's been confirmed, sir. Charles advanced over 100 kilometers in a day, encircling over 200,000 German troops."
The First Lord was utterly stunned.
Over 100 kilometers in a day?
Encircled over 200,000 Germans?
It was true?
My God, he has achieved an unprecedented feat, rewriting history!
How did he do it?
The First Lord's admiration was tinged with envy for this brilliant young strategist—a true military genius.
His thoughts soon turned to the debacle at the Dardanelles. If anyone could salvage the campaign, it was Charles.
The First Lord wasn’t thinking of the soldiers’ suffering but of his political career and his vow to personally take up arms if the Dardanelles campaign failed.
Hesitating briefly, he dashed to the telegraph room and wired General Winter: "Ask Charles if he’s willing to return to the Dardanelles and take command."
It was shameless.
When the campaign had faltered previously, Charles had turned the tide, leading many to believe victory was near.
Yet it was the First Lord who had maneuvered to drive Charles away, spreading rumors that the Germans would stop at nothing to kill him if he remained on the front.
Now, with the Dardanelles once again in dire straits, he shamelessly sought Charles' return to save his political skin.
But "shameless" was evidently not a word in the First Lord's lexicon.