Chapter 557: Are You Ready to Fight Back?
Haig didn't leak much to the press—at least, not yet. At this stage, he wasn't ready to expose the full extent of the French Army's mutiny. His aim wasn't for France to collapse outright, but rather for Charles and the German army to weaken each other.
So the media focused on questioning Charles's recent appointment as commander of the Sixth Army Group:
"It is widely known that Charles excels at maneuver warfare. Now, as commander at the Somme, he is forced into a static trench war—an unfamiliar field for him. It will be a true test."
"Until now, Charles has never commanded such a large army. Leading over 200,000 men could prove overwhelming."
"This may not bode well for Charles. After all, he's only 18 years old. Can someone so young bear this immense pressure? Time will tell."
…
While the press maintained a mild tone, the reaction in Parliament was far more turbulent:
"I believe Charles doesn't know how to operate in this environment. He refused to grant the soldiers' demands—even though they weren't excessive!"
To the members of Parliament, the soldiers' three demands had seemed perfectly reasonable: defense-only combat, a system of leaves, and Charles's promotion to Commander-in-Chief.
The last demand might have been overreaching, but everyone in Parliament knew how to handle that—just agree for now, and reverse it later once control was reestablished.
What they didn't understand was that the soldiers were long past falling for such tricks. After being lied to repeatedly, they had grown wary. Ironically, Charles's partial acceptance of their conditions had gained far more trust—because it showed he was realistically assessing what could actually be delivered.
"Yes, and that's why the recovery has been so slow. He even sent Major General Raymond and his staff to a military tribunal. Doesn't he realize that Raymond was actually on his side?"
To the MPs, the troops were the enemy. Officers like Raymond were the people Charles could count on—his tools of control.
Instead, Charles had chopped off his own "right hand" the moment he arrived at the front. Now he stood alone.
But the parliamentarians had no clue: if you treat soldiers like enemies, they become your enemies.
Charles treated the soldiers as allies. His so-called "right hand men" were the real enemies.
"More importantly, Charles is not in control of the situation. The Somme is a massive front requiring large-scale operations—something Charles may not be suited for. We must immediately reinforce the line!"
That was Nivelle's opinion.
Though he had already been removed, many still agreed with his logic: Charles had never commanded such a large force, and he was better at offense than defense. He excelled at maneuver warfare—not the static trench fighting now required at the Somme.
And the Germans were expected to counterattack at any moment.
Gallieni shot a cold glance at the MPs but remained silent. These fools truly believed Charles was that limited?
As Charles himself had said, his strength wasn't "offense" or "defense," but "adaptability."
Verdun had already proven that. But these idiots still went out of their way to slander him.
Steed, Wells, and a few others exchanged a knowing look and smiled faintly. They understood the game.
These MPs didn't really think Charles was unqualified—they were simply doing the bidding of the British, who had bribed them to spin the narrative.
If Charles succeeded at the Somme, how would Britain explain their own failures—losing 100,000 men in a day for zero gain?
Many centrist MPs saw through it too. Some wore calm expressions, others looked indignant, and a few clearly scoffed at what they were hearing.
But none of them spoke up. There was no point in arguing with those pretending to be asleep.
Only Armand stirred the pot. He stood up slowly, speaking with dry sarcasm:
"Gentlemen, you've all gone to great lengths to prove that Charles can't control the situation. May I ask—what's your goal here?"
"Should we remove him? Replace him with someone else?"
"If so… who exactly do you propose we send to the Somme instead?"
The room went silent.
Of course not. That would be insane.
Charles was the only one who could possibly stabilize the front. Removing him would be suicide—for France, and for them all.
Armand shook his head and sat down, his face filled with disdain.
This hypocritical bunch—they slandered Charles in public, yet relied on him in secret.
He was risking his life on the front to save them, and here they were in the capital, parroting the British line like trained dogs.
Gallieni gave Armand a small smile. Perhaps this royalist wasn't so terrible after all—at least he hadn't sold out to the British.
…
Northern Bank of the Somme, British Headquarters.
Rain fell harder. The river began to rise. Once-wide beaches along the shore were now submerged. Tufts of foxtail grass swayed in the swelling water, as if trying to escape their fate.
Inside a semi-subterranean shelter, Haig raised his binoculars and looked toward the southern bank. The French still hadn't moved.
A staff officer gave his report:
"The media campaign and political pressure haven't had the desired effect. Charles's reputation is too deeply rooted—people still believe he can hold the line."
"Parliament members as well. They're convinced there's no one more suitable."
Haig grunted. As expected.
Charles's achievements, his inventions—each one a miracle.
He was the very embodiment of France's hope, their god of war, their unshakable pillar of belief.
To topple that with mere propaganda? A fantasy.
But that wasn't the goal.
This was only the setup.
Once the time was right—once the Germans launched their attack and crushed Charles's forces—Haig would shatter that faith.
"How many troops has Charles recovered?" Haig asked. That was the real concern.
"Another 30,000 returned today," the aide reported. "In total, around 130,000 are now back under his command."
Haig silently applauded. Impressive. In just a few days, Charles had regained control of most of his forces. At this rate, the Sixth Army Group would be fully operational soon.
Time to strike. Any later, and not even the Germans could break him.
Haig leaned in and whispered something to his aide.
The man looked stunned.
But when he saw Haig's expression—firm, cold, resolute—he finally nodded. "Yes, General."
Haig turned his gaze back toward the southern bank and smirked.
The curtain was rising.
"Mars of France"—are you ready for battle?
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