Chapter 567: A Telepathic Connection
In the small town of Lavaz, Camille had been unable to find peace of mind recently.
Although news of Charles' victories was everywhere, and she had read related reports in the newspapers, even marveling along with her neighbors—"He used the Somme River to flank the Germans; how did he even think of that?"—she remained uninterested in such matters, as always.
But anything concerning Charles was different. It seemed like an invisible force compelled her to know more, as if only through understanding could she find solace.
Ironically, the more she learned, the more anxious she became.
"Dear God, that's the Somme River," Camille lamented to Djoka.
"How could they send Charles to a place like that? He was always stationed in Belgium, and he's just fought a major battle!"
"I heard that 100,000 British soldiers died in a single day, and the French suffered 40,000 casualties in one day as well."
"That place is too dangerous. They can't expect Charles to solve everything. He's only 18!"
Djoka looked at Camille incredulously. "But we all know Charles defeated the Germans there. He’s already won, Camille."
"That’s now," Camille retorted. "But hasn’t the Battle of the Somme not ended yet? That means the danger is still there!"
Djoka couldn’t argue back; Camille seemed to have a point.
But on second thought, as long as Charles remained in the military and the war continued, danger would always be present, regardless of whether he was at the Somme or not.
Still, Djoka kept silent.
He understood that a mother who worried about her child would never let go of her anxiety—unless Charles stood before her in person.
…
At around four in the morning, the dark town was suddenly illuminated by faint headlights, and a few dog barks echoed through the rain.
Camille awoke suddenly. She sat bolt upright in bed, straining to catch any sound outside the window.
“What’s going on?” a groggy Djoka muttered, turning over.
“Someone’s here,” Camille replied. “It’s the sound of a car!”
“Come on, Camille,” Djoka grumbled. “You’re too tense; you’re getting paranoid.”
But in the next moment, the car engine’s noise roared clearly from downstairs.
Camille hurried to the window, drawing the curtain aside slightly to peer outside.
Djoka, now fully awake, held his head in disbelief. "Are you going to check every passing car? That can’t be Charles, Camille. He’s still at the Somme. He’s the commander of the Sixth Army Group, leading over 200,000 men. He can’t just leave his troops and come back whenever he wants!"
But Camille suddenly exclaimed, “It’s Laurent’s car! It’s Charles, Djoka! It’s Charles!”
With that, she rushed downstairs in excitement, only to hurry back moments later to grab an umbrella before dashing out again, her footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs.
Djoka couldn’t believe it. Could this be some telepathic connection? Could Camille sense Charles’ arrival?
Half-doubtful, he got up and went to the window, just in time to see Camille, still in her nightgown, welcoming Charles under her umbrella.
She guessed right. Djoka shrugged, conceding defeat to her intuition.
…
After returning home, Charles didn’t even shower. He exchanged a few words with Djoka and Camille before heading to his room, collapsing onto the bed.
Though he had slept for a few hours on the train, train sleep was always restless, leaving one both asleep and exhausted.
Still, it was better than sleeping in the trenches.
It wasn’t until five in the afternoon the next day that Charles woke up groggily.
He scanned the room, finding the familiar yet slightly unfamiliar environment spotless. Only he seemed out of place, dirty and unkempt, with his muddy pant cuffs and stiffened sleeves dried by heat.
After washing up and changing into clean clothes, Charles realized he was so hungry his legs felt weak.
It had been more than 20 hours since he’d eaten or drunk anything. His head ached, and he felt congested, as though he were coming down with a cold.
Charles frowned. Perhaps the exhaustion on the battlefield had caught up to him. Once he relaxed in a comfortable setting, he found himself uncommonly fragile.
As he descended the stairs, he was surprised to see both Djoka and Camille sitting in the living room, engaged in a quiet discussion.
Upon seeing Charles, Camille rose to embrace him, affectionately ruffling his still-damp hair. "You must be starving. Dinner is ready!"
“I heard you have a week’s leave?” Djoka asked as they moved to the dining table.
“Yes,” Charles replied, taking a seat. “Though one day has already passed.”
“Many are curious about your battle at the Somme,” Djoka said with pride in his voice. "No one expected you to use navy landing craft and amphibious boats on the Somme River."
Camille brought over a steaming apple pizza, carefully slicing it. “The key was the Somme River. Everyone was wondering how our Charles would break through the Germans' impenetrable defenses. And you surprised everyone by leveraging the river.”
She handed a slice of pizza to Charles.
As Charles accepted it, he shot Camille a surprised look. It wasn’t like her to make such comments.
Djoka noticed his expression and laughed. “Don’t be skeptical. Camille has been reading the newspapers. She’s learned quite a bit about military matters.”
“How did you come up with that idea?” Camille asked, her eyes glowing with admiration for her son.
Mouth full, Charles replied indistinctly, “It was quite simple. If there wasn’t a better plan, there would only be one outcome…”
Suddenly, Charles realized he’d said too much and hastily stopped, sneaking a quick glance at Camille.
He quickly covered his slip. "I mean, it would have led to heavy casualties. To avoid that, I had to do everything I could."
Camille nodded lightly, pretending not to understand the full implications while forcing a smile, though there was a heaviness behind it.
Djoka changed the subject, reminding Charles, "Last time you were home, we had an agreement."
“Did we?” Charles feigned ignorance.
In truth, he remembered Camille’s request all too well: "Next time, you must bring her along. I know her name is Lucia."
Camille raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking a bite of pizza. "I know she works at the officers’ club. Tell me, if we asked Major Laurent to fetch her, would she come willingly?"
“No, Mother…” Charles was flustered.
Djoka chimed in, “Major Laurent said if that didn’t work, Colonel Fernand could intervene. He knows her well.”
That bastard Laurent, Charles cursed inwardly. Always unreliable!
“Choose,” Camille pressed. “Will you talk to her, or…”
“I’ll talk to her,” Charles responded in resignation. What else could he do?