Chapter 583: To Let More People Live
Gamelin dropped the report onto the desk and marched straight to Charles, his voice stiff and loaded with restrained fury:
"Whatever you're trying to do, General, I suggest you stop!"
Charles slowly lowered his newspaper, casting a cold glance at Gamelin.
"It seems you've forgotten your place, General. And also who you're speaking to."
Gamelin froze for half a second. He had become so accustomed to commanding authority that he had momentarily forgotten that Charles was, by rank and appointment, the commander of the Sixth Army Group.
Still, he refused to back down.
Yes, Charles had the title. But Gamelin held real power. He was older, a veteran, and had Parliament's backing. And wasn't he often called the smartest general in France?
"You know exactly what I mean, General," Gamelin said, his tone rising.
"Our enemy is Germany, not ourselves. What you're doing is utterly irresponsible. It's a nightmare for this army!"
Charles gave the paper a flick, folding it twice and laying it flat on the table.
"First, I don't know what you're referring to."
"Second, I completely agree that our enemy is Germany."
"But if we're talking about nightmares—what could be worse than the Somme, General?"
Gamelin went silent.
The implication was clear: under incompetent leadership like Gamelin's and Parliament's, the army would continue to suffer disasters like the Somme. Charles, on the other hand, had proven himself to be the one man capable of delivering victory with minimal loss.
By every metric—casualties, results, even national interest—it was Gamelin and his supporters who were irresponsible.
Charles smirked.
These people dare talk about responsibility?
Gamelin, seeing he had lost the argument, snarled:
"I won't let you get away with this."
Charles raised his eyebrows, smiled faintly, and spread his hands.
"By all means—try."
Then, almost casually, he returned to reading.
Gamelin stormed back to his desk. But before he even sat down, he barked:
"Issue the order: All offensive operations are suspended!"
He shot a gloating glance at Charles, thinking he had won.
Now that we're not attacking, your little scheme can't continue. Let's see how you deal with that.
But Charles just kept smiling.
You really think that'll stop it?
…
Half an hour later, a staff officer came running in with a report.
"General! German forces have launched a surprise attack on our front lines. They targeted the command post of the 72nd Infantry Division. General Donadier is critically wounded. Two regimental commanders and seven staff officers are dead!"
Gamelin went pale.
It hit him like a cannon blast: just because we're not attacking doesn't mean the Germans won't.
And if the Germans do attack — and the troops are already using "unspoken rules" — they won't hesitate to take out every officer they don't trust.
They'd do it under cover of combat. With German weapons. With complete deniability.
Once again, the German stormtroopers would be the perfect excuse.
Gamelin looked over at Charles — who was still reading, still calm, with a faint smile that now looked almost mocking.
The truth settled hard in Gamelin's stomach: there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Not anymore.
Even if he wanted to stop it, it was already too late.
The "unspoken rule" had gained momentum, and it was spreading throughout the Sixth Army.
Christine's artillery division had simply gone first. The rest would follow.
The soldiers didn't want politics. They didn't want revolution. They just wanted to survive and win.
And they knew only Charles could deliver that.
If someone stood between them and Charles — then that person had to go.
…
Paris, 16th arrondissement.
Clemenceau, age seventy-four, was spending Christmas Eve at his family villa, enjoying a large holiday gathering.
Over twenty people filled the long table. Men, women, and children laughed and ate under the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights. The table was covered in delicious food, and the kids ran around between courses.
Clemenceau sat at the head of the table. His cheeks were red from wine, and his eyes gleamed with joy.
To be able to gather with family during wartime — that, to him, was true pride.
He had full confidence that no matter how long this war lasted, he would always protect them.
Just then, his butler arrived with a silver tray and quietly placed a telegram before him.
Clemenceau paused.
The message was from Belgium.
"Massive officer casualties in the Sixth Army Group during combat."
The butler leaned in and whispered:
"Sir, Brigadier General Xavier has been confirmed killed. In Jambes."
Clemenceau's face darkened instantly.
He glanced to his right — Xavier had been his youngest son.
As he considered how to break the news to his family, another servant rushed over.
"Sir, Prime Minister Briand requests your presence at City Hall — immediately."
…
Back in City Hall, Briand hadn't left all evening.
A lifelong bachelor and ascetic, he had no family ties. He planned to spend Christmas Eve monitoring the "Christmas Offensive."
(Note: Briand never married and was known for his austere lifestyle.)
By 8 p.m., having finished his dinner, he stood at the window with a glass of wine, gazing out over the glowing lights of Paris — The City of Light.
As the bells of Notre-Dame rang in the distance, he began mentally reviewing his accomplishments.
His proudest moment?
Stripping Charles of control over the Sixth Army.
"It was the right thing to do," he murmured.
"Otherwise, France would be groaning under another dictator. I must defend her freedom."
Just then, his secretary rushed in with urgent steps and handed over a telegram:
"General Gamelin reports significant officer casualties during combat."
Briand stiffened.
He felt instinctively that something wasn't right.
He read the telegram in silence, then turned sharply to the secretary.
"Bring Clemenceau. Now."
Before Clemenceau arrived, Briand sent a return telegram to Gamelin:
"Is Charles involved?"
The reply came quickly:
"Unclear, sir. He appears uninvolved. We have no evidence."
"How could this happen?"
"It may be tradition, sir."
"Tradition?"
"Yes," Gamelin wrote.
"Some call it the law of the jungle. Others, natural selection."
"In peacetime, soldiers deal with problems quietly. But in war… it escalates."
"They eliminate threats — especially officers they believe endanger their survival."
The message was chilling.
If the system won't protect them, they protect themselves.
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