After dropping Charles off, Laurent drove back to the garrison, mulling over whether to boost security around Charles's ho.
And it was also high ti to clean out certain soldiers in the guard battalion who openly opposed the capitalists. With Colonel Durand already being exploited by them as a tool to intimidate Charles, it was just as likely that so in the battalion could also beco a destabilizing influence.
Now that the General had finally stopped pretending at headquarters, Laurent saw no need to tolerate these "unstable elents" in the battalion either. Keeping them around was a risk; they should be decisively reassigned.
He was deep in thought when, out of nowhere, a car going against the flow of traffic ca barreling toward him. Laurent had to jerk the wheel and slam on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision that killed his engine. Ready to vent his anger, he was surprised when the other driver hurled an insult first: "Watch where you're going, you idiot!"
Turning, Laurent spotted the car speeding away and quickly recognized it as belonging to Pierre from the Francis family—Charles's uncle. Likely, Pierre had spent the night partying in Paris and was now heading ho.
This jolted Laurent's mory. A few days earlier, Charles had ntioned enlisting this very relative. Laurent's detention had prevented him from following up on it, but here the man was, practically driving into the line of fire himself.
Laurent raised his eyebrows, cranked the starter to revive the engine, and resud his drive. The first thing he did upon reaching the garrison was call the enlistnt office.
"Hello, this is Major Laurent from the city defense headquarters," he announced, choosing his words carefully to ensure attention.
"I need a check on soone's exemption status; I want to confirm it isn't fraudulent."
"Pierre Bernard, from Lavaz."
"Yes, this is urgent," he added, with just enough emphasis to ensure their cooperation.
Hanging up, Laurent decided he didn't need to dismiss his anti-capitalist troops after all. They were loyal—if a little dense—and had been backing him for years. Exiling them to other units or the front lines seed a harsh penalty for their loyalty.
They could still be useful, too. He could assign them to "protect" the Francis family's factory, which was in the business of producing tanks and warranted careful supervision.
Lighting a cigarette, Laurent muttered with a smirk, "All under control."
In Lavaz, the reporters surrounding Charles's house suddenly packed up and left in a wave of honking cars and tire screeches, leaving Camille and Deyoka puzzled. Had sothing else happened?
They were already so on edge from Charles's recent escapades that if he'd told them he was a ti-traveler from a hundred years in the future, they wouldn't have doubted it.
Soon, they got their answer.
No sooner had the journalists left than neighbors started crowding around the house.
"Mr. Deyoka, is it true that young Charles saved Antwerp? Remarkable!"
"Yes, he went alone, without even a guard, and managed to defeat the Germans!"
"They say he was awarded the Royal Crown dal, Belgium's highest honor!"
Deyoka, stepping outside, asked in confusion, "How do you know all this?"
One of the neighbors held up a copy of The Little Daily: "It's all in today's paper. Didn't you know?"
"Could I borrow one?" Deyoka asked, quickly snatching up the proffered newspaper.
"Of course!" More neighbors eagerly passed over copies.
"These are from yesterday," one added.
"And this one's from the day before that."
Stunned, Deyoka looked at the various editions in his hands, each containing a serialized account of Charles's actions in Belgium.
This was The Little Daily's masterstroke.
Under the news blackout, The Little Daily had discreetly docunted Charles's every move in Belgium, printing a special edition each day and storing them in their warehouse instead of distributing them.
Blackout? No problem. They'd print a new issue for each day the embargo lasted, confident the papers would sell once the restrictions lifted. Editor Bonnitte knew that these stories would fly off the shelves, at worst costing so storage space.
And as soon as the blackout was lifted, he unleashed every backlogged issue onto the market. The papers detailed every mont of Charles's heroics, complete with imagined cartoonish illustrations.
The other journalists had wasted ti camping outside Charles's ho, hoping for an exclusive. With The Little Daily's release, there was no longer any need to clamor for an interview—everything they needed was already in print.
Thanks to this coup, Bonnitte beca an overnight success, with the newspaper's circulation skyrocketing.
Across France, Charles's astounding accomplishnts in Antwerp beca a national obsession. Everywhere, people were talking about his heroism.
Charles hadn't just saved France this ti; he'd made Belgium proud on France's behalf. By his actions, he'd shown up the British forces who were over a thousand strong but still failed to protect Antwerp. Only Charles had managed it, which left them, at best, praised only for rescuing Charles from captivity.
Pride ran high in every corner of France. "See," people declared, "that's the might of France!"
However, the details in the articles left Camille and Deyoka deeply alard.
Deyoka, poring over one of the papers, read aloud with a tight voice, "'Three Big Berthas,' the Germans' heavy artillery, with a caliber… of 420 milliters."
Camille picked up a asuring tape and checked her own waist, noting the width was about 581 milliters.
"My God!" she exclaid. "That cannon is almost as wide as my waist!"
"No, Camille," Deyoka corrected, more familiar with military specs. "That's the inner diater. With the thick barrel walls, it's closer to 600 milliters."
Camille went pale. She'd never heard of a weapon so enormous, yet Charles had blown up three of them.
The Zeppelin story was even more unbelievable. The paper described the airship as approximately 144 ters long, with a diater of 25 ters, and a cruising speed of 75.6 kiloters per hour.
"Did I read that right—144 ters?" Deyoka marveled. "Surely they must've missed a decimal point?"
Camille, less familiar with asurents, hesitated. "144 ters… how long is that?"
Deyoka thought for a mont. "About the distance from the edge of town to our house."
Camille froze, both terrified and furious. "And they sent Charles to face such a monstrosity? A flying monstrosity, at that!"
For anyone not versed in military strategy, it was hard to comprehend which weapon was harder to face; it was easier to see that larger ant more terrifying.
"The main thing is that Charles is ho," Deyoka reminded her gently. "He defeated them all, and he's right upstairs."
But Camille couldn't let go of her anger, still resolved to confront the military. She believed doing so might prevent sothing like this from ever happening again.
(Image above: Leica Portable Cara, invented in 1913, approximately 500 grams in weight)
(End of Chapter)
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