Chapter 565: British Priority
Charles handed over command of the 6th Army Group to Christine, intending to dry his clothes and return to Paris for his vacation.
However, he was delayed by a telegram from Petain:
"Incredible—Foch has become Commander-in-Chief, he's actually the Commander-in-Chief!"
"Facts have already proven that his offensive theories are wrong, utterly wrong! The army has suffered heavy casualties under such impractical combat doctrines, yet they chose him as Commander-in-Chief."
"Compared to your achievements, his merits are trivial, especially since you just won the victory at the Somme. Yet, they still made such a decision!"
...
Charles sensed the anger and divisive undertone in the telegram; Petain hoped to provoke a confrontation between him and Foch.
Charles, of course, was not going to fall for it. He replied:
"I’m surprised as well, General. I’ve always thought you were the most suitable candidate for Commander-in-Chief, and I still believe that."
"Although I have some achievements, as others have noted, my age is a concern. I still need more experience, and more importantly, I can't completely sever ties with the capitalists."
"Frankly, I’d rather give up my identity as a soldier and be a pure businessman. Sometimes I don't even understand what I'm doing or why. I could be lying in a warm home enjoying life, so why am I here, rolling in mud and danger?"
"I also feel it’s unjust for the contributions you’ve made at Verdun, General. You can say that you saved France!"
Though Charles's words sounded like complaints, they were meant to convey one thing to Petain: I have no interest in being Commander-in-Chief, nor would Parliament ever select me. But you’re different—you have Verdun's achievements, which can be said to have saved France at a critical moment. How could they not choose you?
As a result, Petain’s attempt to sow discord between Charles and Foch backfired, and he found himself instead riled up by Charles’s reply.
When he received the telegram, he angrily flung his coffee cup onto the table. It made a crisp sound as coffee splashed across the desk, staining documents.
A staff officer hurriedly stepped forward to clean up.
Petain walked to the observation window by himself, looking out at the distant German lines. Gloomily, he said, "While we fight the Germans, Foch sits in a warm office by the fire, smoking cigars. All he does is denounce Charles, and then he becomes Commander-in-Chief."
Perhaps clouded by his anger, Petain didn’t connect "denouncing Charles" with "becoming Commander-in-Chief."
Otherwise, he might have figured out the relationship between the three men.
It was precisely because Petain failed to see through this that an ironic situation emerged: Petain and Foch were rivals, but they were simultaneously both allies of Charles.
...
The sky darkened as dusk fell. Charles's convoy trudged through the rain on a bumpy road.
The convoy consisted of Charles’s communications team and a guard platoon—three vehicles and one car, all headed to the train station.
Flying might have been faster to reach Paris, but planes at that time were "open-top," and with it being winter and raining, flying was far from a pleasant option.
Charles doubted he’d survive the trip to Paris without freezing to death.
However, Charles did not anticipate that traveling by train—especially wartime trains—would be just as troublesome.
The train station was located in the small town of Saint-Seine, fifteen kilometers from the front line. This distance ensured that the Germans’ 105mm artillery couldn’t shell the station to destroy warehouses and supplies.
It was also a logistics hub. Supplies and reinforcements were sent here before being transported to the front, while wounded soldiers awaiting transfer back gathered here.
When Charles's convoy entered the town, they were greeted by the sight of the wounded—both severely and lightly injured.
Most of them sheltered themselves from the rain with a rain poncho over their heads. Some huddled under eaves, clutching their raincoats and shivering in the cold wind. Others slumped motionless in corners; it was unclear whether they were dead or merely asleep.
Doctors, nurses, and volunteers trudged back and forth in the rain, dragging their weary bodies. Many were so exhausted they resembled zombies dragging their legs. Despite their efforts, the overwhelming number of patients left them struggling.
The wounded cast pitiful gazes at the convoy heading to the train station, as if hoping the vehicles might give them a lift.
Charles sighed inwardly. These were likely the injured left behind during Nivelle’s tenure. The casualty numbers had been so high that they still hadn’t been evacuated.
But Charles didn’t know this was only part of the reason.
The closer they got to the train station, the more wounded there were. The station's exterior was packed with injured soldiers, to the point that armed troops had to maintain order. They barely managed to clear a path for the convoy to enter.
Charles noticed something unusual.
"Why are the guards and those maintaining order all British soldiers?" Charles asked. Despite the poor visibility, the distinctively shaped Brodie helmets made the British soldiers easy to identify. "If I didn’t know this was the Somme, I might think I was in Britain."
"I’m not sure, General," replied Adrian, his aide-de-camp. "It might have something to do with the British handling supplies."
Charles nodded. The guess made sense. At this time, French military supplies largely depended on the British, especially since Nivelle was practically half-British and would naturally have granted the British some privileges.
Soon, however, Charles realized that Nivelle had granted the British more than just "some privileges."
The convoy proceeded along the path and eventually stopped in front of the train.
A British captain illuminated Adrian’s travel pass with a flashlight, then casually swept the beam over the guards before handing the pass back with an air of arrogance. He impatiently waved his hand, barking, "Carriage five, move it!"
Adrian frowned. This man dared to use such a tone with Charles?
The guards also glared angrily, and if not for Charles stopping them, they might have struck the man with their rifle butts right there.
Charles had no intention of making a fuss. Maintaining order wasn’t wrong; creating chaos at the train station could delay traffic or even cause a blockade, which would be disastrous for the front lines.
However, as Charles boarded carriage five, he suddenly noticed something strange.
With one foot already inside the carriage, he abruptly turned back, scanning the surroundings with confusion.
"What’s wrong, General?" Adrian, who was following him, stopped in his tracks.
Charles asked, "Have you noticed that all the wounded around us are British?"
Adrian glanced around and guessed, "This train might be dedicated to transporting British wounded."
Charles shook his head, his expression growing colder. "But all the waiting wounded outside are French!"
It dawned on Charles: the British were leveraging their control over supplies and their influence over the puppet administration to prioritize evacuating their own wounded.