Chapter 198: A Victory at the Front?
Joffre's offensive at Cape Town had entered its fifth day. Everything appeared to be progressing systematically, with five infantry divisions relentlessly attacking the enemy's defensive line. The cycle was repetitive: artillery bombardment, assault, followed by another bombardment and renewed assault.
During the day, fighter planes joined in to suppress the German artillery, though their impact was limited. The Germans had recognized the threat air superiority posed to their artillery and positioned their batteries in valleys surrounded by hills, with Maxim machine guns strategically hidden on the high ground. Any plane lowering its altitude to bomb or strafe the artillery found itself instantly barraged by concentrated gunfire.
Carter, aware of this, had strictly forbidden all machine-gun fighters from entering the hills to target the German artillery. He was especially concerned about a potential crash that could expose the "machine-gun synchronization mechanism" to the enemy. In Carter's view, nothing—not even the capture of all of Cape Town—was worth that risk.
That same day, Charles had a rare day off and was on the road back to Davaze. Initially, it was raining, but at some point, the rain turned to hail, tapping rhythmically on the car's canvas roof and creating sharp sounds against the windshield and hood.
Charles reached out, trying to catch some of the icy pellets, but they either bounced off his hand or melted into droplets before he could examine them closely.
Laurent, who was driving and twisting the wipers to keep pace with the weather, glanced back with a wry smile. "You wouldn't want to taste that, and the same goes for snow if you ever see it."
"Why not?" Charles asked, intrigued.
Laurent chuckled bitterly. "You may not realize it since you live in Davaze, but this is Paris. That same metallic taste you notice in the air? It's there in the hail too."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. In the era of rapid industrial growth, pollution was unavoidable in any country. European nations were simply the first to contaminate the environment, and when their own industries matured, they started pushing for environmental preservation to keep others from overtaking them.
The hypocrisy of these capitalists was pervasive. They simply knew how to package their motives in beautiful rhetoric.
Back home, Charles noticed an unusual atmosphere at the breakfast table. Typically, Deyoka would be enthusiastically updating Charles on the latest developments at the factory, eager for him to dive into the day's work. Camille would be tidying up in the kitchen, always joining the table last. Today, however, she was seated with Deyoka and Charles right from the start.
"What's going on?" Charles asked curiously, his mouth full of pizza. "Something wrong at the factory?"
"No," Deyoka replied. "Everything's running smoothly. They've already produced ten prototype tanks, and they'll be ready for mass production after the final tests."
The Renault tank development was progressing quickly thanks to Charles' foresight. Most design issues had already been addressed, eliminating the usual cycle of redesign, testing, and more redesigning.
"Then is it because of today's hailstorm?" Charles asked, glancing out the window.
"No, Charles," Deyoka answered, setting down his fork. Ignoring Camille's warning look, he said, "They took your flight squadron away, didn't they?"
Charles finally understood the cause of Deyoka's indignation.
"How did you hear about that?" Charles asked, slightly surprised.
"Everyone knows," Deyoka replied. "People recognize Carter's plane—and also Cornelius's and Luchini's."
Charles nodded, realizing. The three pilots' planes were easy to identify.
Carter's "machine-gun plane" bore the bold insignia of an upraised middle finger, earning him the nickname "Middle-Finger Carter." Cornelius, the pilot who'd once gone two months barely eating to afford plane repairs, had a shark with gaping jaws painted on his aircraft, known as "Shark Cornelius." Finally, there was Luchini, the rocket-plane pilot famous for his dive-bombing precision, whose wing color matched the French military's signature blue. He was dubbed "Blue-Faced Gale."
Whenever the trio took to the skies, everyone knew it was Charles' First Flight Squadron. And if Charles was off-duty, it was clear the squadron had been commandeered.
"People say it was Joffre's doing," Deyoka muttered angrily. "That behavior is hardly becoming of a commander-in-chief—it's disgraceful."
"This is a normal military redeployment, Father," Charles replied calmly. "The army doesn't belong to any individual. It exists to fight."
"Even so, why is it that you, their squadron leader, weren't redeployed with them?" Deyoka countered. "Who could be more qualified than you to lead the squadron? This is obviously meant to exclude you from any accolades—"
Camille interrupted, "Are you actually hoping they'd send Charles off too? I think it's entirely reasonable. They're following parliamentary orders."
From her perspective, as long as Charles stayed away from the battlefield, it was a good thing. She couldn't grasp his frustration. He'd poured his heart into building the squadron, only to see it reassigned just as it reached peak effectiveness. Though unspoken, Deyoka's reaction clearly resonated with Charles' own feelings.
Still, he maintained an indifferent expression. "They assured me that the squadron would be returned soon. This is only a temporary transfer."
Deyoka sighed, resigned. "Let's hope so."
But they all knew it was likely just a pretext. Once the value of the squadron was fully appreciated, various pretexts would be found to keep it from Charles. What could he do if that happened?
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, each person lost in their own thoughts.
Just then, Laurent's car pulled up to Deyoka's house with a screeching halt. Charles looked out the window, sensing something urgent. Laurent wouldn't usually show up at this time unless it was pressing.
Sure enough, Laurent rushed in after Deyoka opened the door for him. He approached Charles swiftly, saying, "Major, General Gallieni needs you back at headquarters immediately. They've achieved a victory at the front."
Charles blinked in surprise. Joffre achieved a victory at the front? That was good news, so why the rush?
The answer struck him in an instant: if Joffre's tanks had succeeded, there could only be one explanation— the enemy had intentionally let them in.
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