Chapter 754: Replicating Charles' Army
Paris City Hall.
Lieutenant Colonel Dura pushed open the door to the Prime Minister's office, his face pale and anxious. He walked straight to Briand, who was signing papers.
"Monsieur le Premier Ministre…"
"Hm?" Briand responded with a soft grunt, glancing up. "Everything went smoothly?"
"No, sir." Dura hesitated. "In fact… we failed."
Briand froze, the pen halting mid-stroke. He stared at Dura in disbelief.
The Deuxième Bureau had failed… with Clemenceau?
"It—it was Charles," Dura stammered. "He moved first…"
"Then send more people." Briand's voice was tense, his unease hard to hide.
Clemenceau could expose everything.
Every past scandal.
And if he did, the entire political establishment would be turned upside down.
"Monsieur," Dura said, this time with real fear in his eyes.
"I believe we should proceed with caution."
"What do you mean?" Briand asked sharply.
He had never heard Dura speak with such a tone before.
This was the Deuxième Bureau—the agency that could fabricate any "accident" at will.
But Dura answered grimly:
"We're not facing an ordinary opponent.
Charles has built an intelligence organization of his own.
It's vast. It's tight. And frankly… it exceeds ours."
The weight of those words sank in immediately.
If Charles had an intelligence network more powerful than the Deuxième Bureau,
it meant the power to create or prevent incidents was no longer in government hands—but in Charles'.
A chill ran down Briand's spine.
His breakfast, his car, the people around him…
Could they already be Charles' agents?
Dura saw the fear in Briand's face and tried to offer some reassurance:
"We've doubled your protection detail, sir.
Also, I don't think he'll make a move."
"Why?"
"Because Charles' objective is to install Clemenceau.
If something happens to you, Clemenceau's rise will look too suspicious.
That kind of stain would hurt both of them."
Briand exhaled, slightly calmer.
Yes—Dura was right.
If Clemenceau came to power right after Briand's "accident,"
no one would believe it was a coincidence.
But that didn't mean they wouldn't try other ways to force him out.
What else could they do?
He began pacing, anxious. He didn't know what Charles and Clemenceau would do—but he knew he needed leverage.
Something to fight back with.
"You may go," Briand told Dura.
"Send Gamelin to me."
"Yes, monsieur."
…
Gamelin was not doing well.
He felt like a soccer ball—kicked back and forth.
A few months ago, he was appointed commander of the 6th Army Group.
He thought his time had come, that he could finally leave his desk and command troops in the field.
Then Charles returned.
Within days, he was out.
And now it had happened again.
He'd been named commander of the Reserve Army Group—
and removed within a day.
Before he even had time to do anything.
People laughed behind his back.
Called him a political clown, constantly trying to push into the military elite—only to get thrown out each time.
"I need to get to the battlefield," Gamelin told himself.
"Before it's too late.
Otherwise, this war will end and I'll have nothing to show for it."
Sometimes he even believed that if he had been allowed to lead,
his fame could rival—or even surpass—Charles'.
As he sat at his desk flipping through situation reports, Dura entered.
"General, the Prime Minister wants to see you."
Gamelin's eyes lit up.
Was this his chance?
…
And indeed, when he arrived at Briand's office, Briand didn't waste time.
"I've heard," Briand said,
"that you've been studying Charles' tactics."
"Yes, monsieur le Premier Ministre," Gamelin said eagerly.
"I don't like him, but I respect his battlefield success. I've been trying to understand what makes him win."
"Have you found the answer?"
"Yes," Gamelin replied confidently.
"It's his tanks. The 'Charles A1'—it's the perfect combination of speed, armor, and firepower.
That's what gives him the edge."
Briand's gaze sharpened.
"Then if I gave you a unit equipped with such tanks…
Could you win, like Charles?"
"Absolutely," Gamelin said without hesitation.
"That wouldn't be difficult."
After all, I'm the smartest man in France, Gamelin thought.
What Charles can do, so can I.
Briand nodded.
"Do you remember the 2nd Special Artillery Division?"
"Yes, of course."
The French Army had formed two such divisions:
Christine commanded the 1st,
Tijani had led the 2nd—until he joined Charles' side, and the 2nd was folded into the Eastern Army Group.
Briand handed Gamelin a new order, freshly signed:
"You are now the commanding general of the 2nd Special Artillery Division.
Go take charge of your unit."
"And remember your words. Win, just like Charles did."
"All of France is waiting for your success."
Gamelin glanced at the document, then looked up at Briand:
"But… sir, last I heard, the 2nd was still equipped with old Saint-Chamond and CA-1 tanks.
They're nothing like Charles' machines…"
"No, General," Briand interrupted.
"They've been reequipped with 'Charles A1' tanks.
We even added a mechanized infantry division.
It now matches Charles' 1st Armored Corps in both structure and equipment."
"They've undergone the same training, General."
Gamelin's eyes widened.
A replica.
A mirror image of Charles' famed corps—
placed in his hands.
They wanted to copy Charles' victories.
"Yes, monsieur le Premier Ministre," Gamelin straightened up.
"I'll get it done!"
As Gamelin left, Briand murmured to himself:
"You better."
He needed political capital.
If Gamelin could replicate Charles' victories,
Briand would announce that he—the Prime Minister—had successfully launched multiple "Charles-style" units.
He would lead France to ultimate victory.
Would anyone dare oust him then?
Could Charles or Clemenceau still force him out?
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