Chapter 566: Only Charles Could Do It
Charles did not approach the British first; instead, he sought out the stationmaster, a Frenchman named Donadi.
Charles believed that the British, being "not of our kin," would always take advantage where they could, adhering to the law of the jungle. But what angered him more were the Frenchmen who betrayed their own country's interests.
However, Donadi's response left Charles unable to hold onto his anger.
Faced with the fierce presence of the guards and the realization that this Major General was the world-renowned Charles, Donadi began trembling uncontrollably.
"General," Donadi stammered, his voice shaking. "Please, believe me, I don't want to do this either. But these are orders from above. If I don't carry them out, I’ll immediately… lose this hard-earned job!"
His eyes pleaded with Charles, as if to say: why must the struggles of the mighty torment us little people, leaving us caught in the crossfire and our families starving?
Charles was momentarily at a loss for words.
This was Nivelle's doing. He was pro-British—or even half a Brit himself.
Although Nivelle had stepped down, Foch had yet to take over, leaving the command structure in a transitional vacuum.
Just then, a British captain, perhaps noticing the commotion, marched over with several guards in tow. With an air of superiority, he loudly demanded, "What’s going on here? Why haven’t you boarded the train yet?"
Charles did not answer but instead fixed his gaze on the British captain and coldly retorted, "Since when did you have priority?"
The captain shone a flashlight, finally realizing he was addressing a major general. His arrogant demeanor softened somewhat, though he maintained an irritatingly haughty posture as he answered with puffed-up chest: "I can’t quite recall, General, but I’d say it’s been since the day of the offensive!"
He then countered, his tone aggressive:
"Isn’t this how it should be? We’re here fighting your war, or else the Germans would have reached Paris long ago!"
"We’ve made tremendous sacrifices for France, General. Tens of thousands of British soldiers die daily!"
"We only want to evacuate the wounded as quickly as possible. I see nothing unreasonable about that."
Charles had never heard such an argument before: that Britain was fighting for France?
The British had entered the war not because of France but because Germany invaded Belgium. Even before that, Britain and Germany were locked in a naval rivalry.
Was the war being fought in France simply because of geography? And now Britain was trying to infiltrate and control France, yet they called this "help"?
"Captain," Charles interrupted, his voice steady yet laced with gentlemanly sarcasm. "If you truly believe you’re helping France, why not withdraw your troops and leave this war?"
The British captain was stunned, having never expected such a response.
"I hope you understand one thing," Charles added mockingly. "If Britain joined the war out of its own interests, then this is not 'help.' Furthermore, with Britain’s record-breaking single-day casualty of 100,000 troops, you owe us a thank-you for cleaning up the mountain of corpses."
The guards erupted in laughter. The British disaster and subsequent attempts to hide the truth had long been a scandal, especially under Haig's command.
The British captain turned pale with anger, dropping his pretense of civility. Raising his voice, he responded, "I hope you understand as well, General, that many of France’s supplies, including medicine and medical equipment, come from Britain. So—"
Charles cut him off: "Were these supplies not bought with French money and blood?"
The captain was instantly speechless. The supplies Britain provided were indeed purchased by France, not given freely—some even through high-interest loans.
And as for "blood," he knew Charles was referring to the many French wounded still waiting for transport.
Charles had no intention of wasting more words on the British captain. He issued a direct order: "The war has been ongoing for nearly a month. You’ve had priority transport for a month. From now until next month, priority will go to French wounded."
"No, you can’t do this!" The British captain stepped forward, his right hand instinctively reaching for the revolver at his waist.
Before he could act, the guards moved in unison, rifles immediately trained on him.
"Captain," Donadi whispered nervously, trembling as he spoke, "this is Charles. There’s nothing he can’t do!"
The captain froze. He now realized who stood before him—this young major general was Charles, the so-called "Mars of France," who had just defeated the Germans at the Somme and advanced five kilometers. He had assumed Charles was some nobleman playing soldier on the front lines.
By now, news of the incident had spread rapidly from the station, growing more exaggerated with each retelling:
"Did you hear? Charles got into a dispute with the British over wounded transport."
"What? Charles fought the British? Over the wounded?"
"Are you serious? The British tried to shoot Charles?"
...
French soldiers quickly mobilized. Whether they were workers, wounded soldiers, or townsfolk rushing to the scene, anyone who could move joined in. Even nurses and doctors armed themselves with pistols, shouting and cursing as they surrounded the British.
"You bastards! This is France!"
"Stay away from Charles, or you’ll regret it."
"Get out of here! France doesn’t need your kind!"
...
The crowd pressed forward, brandishing weapons and glaring menacingly, some provocatively jostling the British soldiers, just waiting for them to make a move.
The British soldiers, pale and trembling, retreated step by step. Some glanced back at their captain, silently begging him to yield.
Charles raised his hand, signaling the crowd to stop.
He glanced at the British captain before addressing the crowd:
"I’ve already reached an agreement with the British."
"Given the larger number of stranded French wounded, priority transport will go to French soldiers from now until next month."
"Both sides agree this is reasonable."
He then turned to the British captain, his gaze meaningful as he asked, "Am I correct, Captain?"
The captain’s face twisted with discomfort, but he reluctantly nodded. "Yes, General. I fully agree."
Cheers erupted throughout the station. The wounded wept tears of joy, spreading the news as fast as they could.
This was a victory Charles had won for them. Only Charles cared for them, and only Charles could achieve this—fighting time, securing lives, and restoring dignity from the overbearing British.