Chapter 544: Everything Is an Illusion
At Namur Castle, Charles was enjoying breakfast in the spacious and bright command headquarters.
Outside, a steady cold rain fell, and the world was wrapped in a wintry chill. Inside, however, a stove burned steadily, bringing spring-like warmth to the room.
Breakfast consisted of bread, milk, jam, and a fragrant lemon-roasted trout.
The food in Belgium was clearly much better than in France. Many French troops couldn't even get sufficient bread, let alone a perfectly roasted fish infused with lemon aroma and crispy on the outside while tender inside.
However, this level of food seemed to be exclusive to Charles's troops. Neither the British nor even the Belgian army enjoyed such treatment.
Charles, though, wasn't focused on the food. He absentmindedly poked at it with a fork while reading the newspaper.
There was a copy on Tijani's desk as well, but this young aristocrat didn't seem used to such breakfast fare. He hadn't touched the roasted fish at all, clearly preferring boneless tuna. Yet, for the sake of filling his stomach, he had no choice but to munch on bread and sip milk, wearing a bitter expression.
"The media seems really dissatisfied with Nivelle," Tijani said, glancing up at Charles and lifting his chin toward the newspaper. "The headlines are full of criticism."
"What reason would the media have to be dissatisfied with Nivelle?" Charles replied with a question of his own.
"How would I know?" Tijani shrugged dismissively. "All I know is, Nivelle is going down soon. That's part of the reason why everyone's calling for you to be commander-in-chief."
Charles smiled faintly but said nothing.
Tijani genuinely hoped Charles would take up the post of commander-in-chief. He believed that only Charles was fit for the position—perhaps even the only one qualified—and had been trying to convince him for some time.
Setting down the newspaper, Charles focused on his food. The roasted trout was delicious, especially with the tang of lemon, giving it a flavor reminiscent of sweet and sour fish.
Tijani noticed this and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Did you figure something out?"
"It's not about the media, General," Charles replied. "It's the British. They're getting ready to abandon Nivelle and cut ties with him."
Tijani was momentarily stunned, then glanced at the corner of the table where the newspaper lay. "But these are French newspapers..."
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly let out an "Oh." "It's the supplies. The British control the supplies."
Charles nodded as he continued eating.
Whoever controls the supplies holds the power of speech.
Ink for printing, equipment, paper, food—things that seemed easily available in peacetime could now choke a newspaper's ability to function.
Tijani hesitated slightly. "So, it's the British manipulating the media to scapegoat Nivelle?"
Charles answered, "Replacing a commander-in-chief doesn't cost the British anything—as long as the next one is still under their control. But Nivelle has become a liability. He's been criticized for too many 'misdeeds,' so there's no longer any reason for the British to protect him."
This was often the fate of a puppet—discarded once it had outlived its usefulness, left with nothing in the end.
Tijani glanced at Charles with a newfound understanding. Suddenly, he realized why Charles had said, "Becoming commander-in-chief isn't good for me."
Becoming commander-in-chief meant passing through British approval—and Charles had no intention of becoming a British puppet.
"You're right," Tijani nodded in admiration. "So, what will you do next?"
Charles didn't answer.
He couldn't answer.
He couldn't exactly say that the best plan was to back Foch for commander-in-chief and then play good cop while Foch played bad cop to manipulate the British and the Parliament, could he?
If that secret leaked, it would spell disaster before the real battle even began. Charles would be stuck with no way to recover.
Tijani didn't press. He simply smiled and said, "I get it—it's a secret!"
Focused as he was on the "art of war," he wasn't interested in political maneuvering. He only knew one thing: very few people could match Charles in strategic games.
The last person who tried to outmaneuver Charles, Joffre, was now half-insane.
Just then, a signalman stepped forward and handed Charles a telegram. "General, a statement from General Foch."
Tijani, sitting closer, grabbed it before Charles could and skimmed it quickly, looking surprised. "I thought we had a good relationship with that old man Foch!"
"What is it?" Charles asked.
"See for yourself," Tijani said, handing over the telegram, his expression a mix of frustration and irritation.
Charles set down his knife and fork, took the telegram, and read:
"The Military Research Center believes that Charles's unauthorized assault on Namur was inappropriate."
"Though he achieved victory, it sets a bad precedent. Others might imitate him in pursuit of personal merit, leading to chaos and a lack of unified command."
"Furthermore, Charles's victory at Namur was made possible by the advantages created by the Battle of the Somme."
"The Germans had redeployed large numbers of troops, including artillery, to the Somme front. That's what allowed Charles to succeed at Namur."
…
Charles looked at the signalman in disbelief. "This really came from General Foch?"
"Yes, sir," the signalman confirmed firmly. "It was a public statement, sent to all army groups."
Tijani let out a snort. "Just one 'unauthorized assault' and our whole success is denied. Clearly, his stance is now based on vested interests."
"Vested interests?" Charles feigned confusion.
"Of course," Tijani replied.
"You really don't see it, Major General?"
"Before, he had no conflict of interest with you—in fact, your victories brought him honor too. But now, you're the ideal candidate for commander-in-chief, and Foch obviously wants that position for himself. So now, he sees you as a rival."
Charles let out a simple "Oh." "You're right, General."
Then he frowned slightly. "Which means, we've gained another enemy."
But inside, Charles was quietly pleased.
This Foch—he knew what he was doing. The statement was perfectly timed, the criticism carefully worded, balanced enough to seem reasonable without truly harming Charles.
Anyone could see how to argue against it:
Nivelle had already sent Charles into a meat grinder—shouldn't Charles have the right to exercise some discretion in following orders?
And didn't the results prove that Charles made the right call?
Charles won a decisive victory and was criticized for it, while Nivelle lost battles and got soldiers killed—and nobody said a word. The double standard was painfully obvious.
"What should we do now, Major General?" Tijani asked.
Charles, now full and content, picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, then answered calmly, "It's time to send a telegram to Pétain."
"Pétain?" Tijani blinked, then quickly caught on. He gave Charles a thumbs-up. "Good idea. He must be interested in the commander-in-chief post too."
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Cooperating with Pétain would be the best way to counter Foch.
What Tijani didn't realize was that everything he thought he knew was a complete illusion.
In truth, Charles and Foch were working together—to bring down Pétain!
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