Chapter 487: This is What Charles Really Wants
The autumn wind was mournful, and the falling leaves fluttered.
On the highway from Lagardonne to Paris, three small cars formed a line, speeding along the road. All of them were filled with soldiers, and the soldiers in the back seats held rifles, their eyes vigilantly scanning both sides.
Joffre sat in the front passenger seat of the middle car, staring thoughtfully at the scenery passing by outside the window.
He had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, that everything seemed too well-arranged.
In particular, Charles's directional mines used at Verdun—while simple in structure—were certainly not something that could be mass-produced in a day or two, considering there were ten thousand of them.
In other words, this entire situation was most likely a trap set by Charles.
But why did he do this?
After thinking for a moment, Joffre suddenly figured it out: Charles wanted to completely defeat him, to ruin his reputation beyond repair!
Without this "agreement for one day," Joffre would only have failed to protect the position of Commander-in-Chief. Now, however, he was being vilified by everyone.
The contrast was too stark: Under Joffre's command at Verdun, the daily casualties numbered in the tens of thousands with no progress made, but Charles took over and easily recaptured the most crucial fortresses and lines with only a few hundred casualties.
As a result, people naturally blamed all the previous losses on Joffre.
What a despicable bastard!
Joffre gritted his teeth. This must be the case!
This was also why Charles had cut off communication between Verdun and the Commander-in-Chief. Only by doing so could Charles inform the press and make sure the whole world knew about it.
Now, everyone knew that Joffre was not a qualified Commander-in-Chief. He was unfit to be a commander at all and was a murderer who had caused the deaths of countless French soldiers!
Joffre could not believe that Charles would resort to such methods. He hated himself for not realizing this sooner, for falling into the hands of this scheming man.
Was he really going to admit defeat like this?
No, absolutely not!
Joffre furrowed his brow and quickly devised a counter-strategy:
The victory last night was not Charles's achievement; it was the result of the 2nd Army's efforts over the past few days. Even if Charles hadn't arrived, they would have won. Charles only rushed to Verdun yesterday because he saw this opportunity.
It must be this way!
And he used directional mines.
Although the directional mine was Charles's invention, if I had such equipment, I too could have commanded a victory like this!
Joffre suddenly felt confident. He turned to the driver beside him and ordered, "Speed up, we need to make it to the meeting this afternoon."
"Yes, General," the driver replied, honking twice to signal the car ahead, then gently pressing the accelerator to speed up.
...
At the Bourbon Palace, after a brief rest and lunch, the members of parliament began their afternoon meeting promptly at two o'clock.
Charles had taken a nap at the hotel. The all-night vigil had left him feeling worn out, and his eyes still ached when he was woken up by Major Jules.
He must be getting old, Charles thought to himself. Time is unforgiving.
"I heard that Joffre is coming to lobby in person this afternoon, Major," Major Jules explained. "I think it's best that you attend, otherwise, I wouldn’t have woken you."
Charles grunted in response and struggled to get out of bed.
He did need to meet Joffre, not because he was worried about what he might say, but because he wanted to give him the final blow.
As luck would have it, Charles yawned and stumbled into the square just as a convoy pulled up. Joffre, with his corpulent frame, squeezed out of the car and hurried toward the House of Commons with his head down.
Major Jules showed a look of disdain in his eyes, clearly not wanting to deal with Joffre. He had no intention of greeting him.
Instead, it was Charles who stepped forward, blocking Joffre's way. "Good day, General. It’s finally a pleasure to meet you," he said.
Joffre paused for a moment. He did not recognize the young man in front of him.
But when his eyes caught the two stars on Charles's coat collar, he understood. "You're Charles?"
"Yes," Charles replied, smiling and nodding.
"Very well," Joffre's eyes flickered with a cold gleam. "Are you here to mock me? But I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, Major. I won't be so easily defeated!"
"No, General," Charles shook his head. "I'm here to remind you."
"Remind me?" Joffre narrowed his eyes.
Charles leaned in slightly, still smiling, but lowering his voice. "The information from the British—I'm talking about Belfour—it was me who released it."
Charles then gave Joffre a friendly nod and turned to walk into the House of Commons with Major Jules.
Joffre stood frozen, bewildered. He didn’t understand what these words meant.
But after taking a few steps, he suddenly remembered the intelligence the British had provided: "The Germans' real target is probably Belfour. All the actions at Verdun could be a feint."
My God! Joffre stood there, staring at Charles's retreating back.
It was all this guy's doing! He had deliberately misled me into diverting the troops to Belfour, which was why Verdun had failed.
That bastard!
Joffre was furious, his face flushed with rage as he hurried into the House of Commons, shoving General Carnes off the stage, who had been awkwardly facing the members.
"Gentlemen," Joffre’s eyes blazed with fire as he clenched his fist and swung it through the air, "Let me tell you the truth."
"What you see is not the truth. Everything is Charles's conspiracy."
"He misled the British and then used the British to mislead me. We’ve all been deceived..."
One of the members raised a confused hand. "What do you mean, General?"
Joffre shot a glance at Charles and answered, "The intelligence, gentlemen."
"The British intelligence—they believe that the Germans' attack at Verdun was a feint, and their real target is Belfour."
"This information was released by Charles. We’ve all been fooled by him."
Joffre, trembling with rage, pointed at Charles. His fingers shook from his excitement.
"The real culprit is him."
"He used such vile methods to feed me false intelligence, using tactics meant for the enemy against his superiors, against his Commander-in-Chief!"
"He’s the one who caused the deaths of the soldiers at Verdun! He disregarded national security, ignored military discipline. We should send him to a military tribunal, to the guillotine!"
Everyone's gaze turned to Charles.
Charles spread his arms helplessly and replied, "I confess, gentlemen! Everything was my doing!"
The members burst into laughter.
"I can't believe it. Joffre is really this kind of person."
"Yes, he shifted the blame to Foch, and Foch was dismissed because of it. Now, he’s trying to shift the blame to Charles."
"Has he lost his mind? Charles doesn't need to do this. Joffre can’t win any battle, but Charles wins them all!"
...
"No, no!" Joffre flailed desperately on stage, "What I’m saying is the truth! Charles told me this himself. This is the real truth!"
But no one believed him. Some even looked at him with pity, disgust, and sadness, seeing him as a dog backed into a corner, biting at anything it could reach. They thought he had gone mad.
Joffre gazed helplessly at Charles, whose face bore a faint, mocking smile, his eyes full of disdain.
Joffre suddenly realized—this was exactly what Charles had wanted! Once again, he had fallen into Charles’s trap!