Chapter 585: The Deterrent Power of the "Unspoken Rule"
Jambes Headquarters – Christmas Eve, past 11 p.m.
Charles, though with nothing to do, had not gone to rest.
He was casually flipping through a novel, The Legend of Uhlanspig, a story about a hero who fights bravely for national liberation and freedom of belief.
But in truth, Charles was only using the book to pass the time, while waiting for the inevitable developments that he anticipated would come tonight.
A few meters away, Gamelin took a telegram from an adjutant, skimmed it briefly, and smiled faintly before striding toward Charles's desk. His military boots stomped heavily with each step, as if issuing a challenge.
He arrived in front of Charles, gave a ceremonial salute, and offered the report:
"Commander, telegram from Paris. They've decided to send two divisions from the British Expeditionary Force and another from the Northern Army Group to assist us in suppressing the unrest."
As he said the words "suppressing the unrest," his tone slowed and deepened, as though worried Charles might not hear it clearly.
Charles didn't move. He remained seated, legs crossed, casually flipping a page in his book.
Gamelin placed the telegram gently on the desk and leaned forward slightly, his voice tinged with mockery:
"Rest assured, Commander. Jambes is very secure."
Charles responded evenly:
"Is that so? Once these units arrive, what do you plan to do? Have the British take over our battlefield, or take command of our troops?"
Gamelin blinked. He hadn't thought that far. But he forced a reply:
"I'll coordinate with General Avis to work out a plan. Everything will return to normal."
Charles gave a soft, mocking laugh, not even glancing up:
"They say you're the smartest general in France. I find that hard to believe."
Gamelin's smile faltered but quickly returned:
"That doesn't matter. What does matter is whether you are smart enough, Commander."
He locked eyes with Charles.
Charles finally looked up.
"If I were smart enough," he asked, "should I abandon everything I'm doing and surrender to you?"
"More or less," Gamelin nodded.
"While there's still time."
Then he added:
"We don't need to waste our efforts, General. No need for the army to keep shifting back and forth in dangerous conditions. If failure is inevitable, why persist?"
"You're a clever man. I'm sure you'll make the wise choice."
Charles sighed and shook his head gently.
"Poor Monsieur Gamelin… you still haven't figured out what's going on."
"What?" Gamelin looked genuinely surprised.
Charles had just called him "Monsieur Gamelin" — not "General." The message was clear: he wasn't worthy of the rank.
Gamelin's face darkened. His eyes filled with fury.
"They say you're a conscientious capitalist. But I see now—that was a lie. You'll regret your stubbornness."
Charles calmly closed the book and placed it on the desk, then slid the telegram back toward Gamelin:
"Do you really think Parliament sent in the British to suppress an 'uprising'?"
"Think again. Why would they bring in British troops? Do they want a confrontation between the French and the British?"
Gamelin hesitated.
It was true. Using foreign troops to deal with internal army discipline seemed like a bad idea. It would complicate things, potentially spark misunderstandings—or worse.
"That's not your concern," Gamelin said, holding firm.
"You've got enough trouble staying afloat."
"I agree," Charles replied with a smile.
"But that's exactly what you should be worrying about."
"What do you mean?" Gamelin asked.
Charles leaned back in his chair, relaxed.
"When Parliament runs into a problem they can't fix, their favorite trick is to divert attention—shift the blame elsewhere."
Gamelin laughed.
"You're saying Parliament brought in the British just to redirect the soldiers' anger?"
He didn't believe it at all.
Charles turned serious:
"Not the soldiers — the public."
"Right now, Parliament is riding a tiger. They've brought in British troops so they can later say it was all under foreign pressure. It gives them an excuse — an exit strategy."
"Put simply, Parliament is already preparing to concede. And you still think I'm the one losing this 'battle'?"
Gamelin stared blankly at him, then burst into laughter:
"Maybe I'm not as clever as people say, but I'm not stupid, General. You can't scare me…"
Charles cut him off, voice firm and filled with certainty:
"Let me tell you exactly what's going to happen next."
"The troops being sent will probably have a few minor scuffles with the Sixth Army. Something that can be spun as 'quelling disorder.' But in truth, they'll do nothing."
"Not long after, Parliament will step in as a 'mediator,' pretending to be a neutral party — not the cause of all this."
"And in the end, they'll throw me a few rewards to appease me and the Sixth Army troops. They'll remove you and hand me back full command — to stabilize the army."
Gamelin's smile faded.
It sounded exactly like something Parliament would do. Let the British take the heat, preserve their own image, and try to buy peace.
"You… you're really that confident?" Gamelin asked. But he was already wavering inside.
Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Let's wait and see."
The answer was obvious.
These so-called "riots" couldn't be quelled by brute force. No one even knew who the enemy was, or where. There was nothing for the incoming units to fight. Nothing to suppress.
Gamelin slumped back into his chair. He was starting to suspect Charles might be right. Parliament might have to fold.
What stung the most was how Charles had orchestrated all of this—every step moving precisely in his favor—while Gamelin had completely failed to read the game.
He had even come swaggering in, trying to make Charles surrender—just before Charles won.
Gamelin felt his cheeks burning.
Over and over in his mind, Charles's words echoed:
"The smartest general in France?"
"Monsieur Gamelin."
"Let's wait and see."
No. This won't be how it ends.
Parliament won't let Charles walk away from this.
He's committed a terrible crime — he must pay.
But no matter what Gamelin wished, events continued turning in Charles's favor.
As Gamelin sat there, lost in grim thoughts, an adjutant approached cautiously, holding a document:
"General… this document requires General Charles's signature."
"What?" Gamelin snapped, glaring.
Who dared to ignore the order to sideline Charles?
The adjutant hesitated, then explained:
"The brigade and regimental commanders on the front lines… said if they don't acknowledge Charles's command, they might not survive tomorrow…"
Gamelin had no words.
The "unspoken rule" had become a deterrent.
Brigade and regimental commanders—and even staff officers—were now begging for Charles's leadership.
The truth was clear:
Charles had already won.
Because real command was returning to him.
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