The next morning, as usual, Charles was escorted by Laurent to report at the Paris Defense Headquarters. But today, the streets of Paris looked different. Early on, crowds lined both sides of the streets, initially appearing as though preparing for a parade. Police officers were also present, keeping the crowd to the sidewalks to leave the middle lane open for vehicles.
As Charles's car approached, people began to shout:
"Look! There he is—that's his car!"
"It's him! He's a lieutenant now!"
Within seconds, the crowd erupted into cheers, waving at Charles as he passed. Flowers were tossed from rooftops, showering down like fragrant rain along the entire street. Passing vehicles slowed down—so moved aside to give Charles's car the right of way, while others rely lingered to catch a glimpse. Both drivers and passengers leaned out, eager to offer him their greetings.
Charles was taken aback by the scale of the reception. All he could see were throngs of people in front of him, each waving eagerly from the sidewalks, windows, and every imaginable corner—like fields of wheat swaying in the breeze.
"What are they doing?" Charles asked in bewildernt.
"They're saluting you, Lieutenant," Laurent replied. "For your nearly flawless performance at Antwerp."
Charles didn't quite understand. When he had invented the tank and saved Paris, the response had not been nearly this intense. And yet now, all because of Antwerp—a place nearly unrelated to them—these people were celebrating with such fervor!
After so thought, Charles began to grasp it. This was French pride; his achievents in Antwerp resonated on an international level. When he had saved Paris, he had spared the people from disaster, but in the context of a lost battle. The fact that Paris nearly fell again remained a source of national sha, even if Charles's efforts had saved them from ruin.
But Antwerp was a different story. This was a mont of French triumph, where they had erged victorious in Belgium, alongside British allies. Charles's success in Antwerp allowed the French people to shake off the bitterness of past defeats, to once again hold their heads high with pride and renewed confidence—a reason to celebrate.
Even after Charles exited the car and entered the Defense Headquarters, the crowd continued cheering outside, unwilling to disperse.
From his office window, General Gallieni looked down at the frenzied crowd with his hands behind his back. When he noticed Charles approaching, he turned and gave a wry smile.
"If they'd bring half that passion to the front lines," he quipped sarcastically, "the Germans wouldn't dare co near Paris."
He motioned Charles to follow him into the lounge. "Co along. I have so matters to discuss, Lieutenant."
Once inside, Gallieni took a seat and sifted through a stack of telegrams on the table. Finally, he picked out two and handed them to Charles. "These are telegrams from King Albert, asking us to send you back to Antwerp."
Charles took the telegrams, startled. "Are the Germans attacking again?"
Gallieni nodded, "While General Ghis is dead, the people are still demanding justice, insisting on severe punishnt for everyone involved in his conspiracy—even the deputies who collaborated."
"But King Albert insists that they need proof before making any moves, which has sparked unrest. Eventually, the army beca involved, and in the midst of this turmoil, the Germans took advantage and captured several key towns."
"Intelligence also suggests another 'Big Bertha' cannon is on its way to Antwerp."
Charles felt his heart sink—this new threat all but extinguished the last remaining hope for Antwerp.
Sipping his coffee, Gallieni continued, "King Albert believes only you can calm the people and simultaneously hold off the Germans, which is why he's requesting your return to Antwerp."
Gallieni took another sip before adding, "I refused on your behalf."
Charles was taken aback. If the request had already been declined, why even ntion it? Was it simply for his information?
Gallieni seed unwilling to dwell on the matter, considering it already resolved—or perhaps viewing Antwerp's troubles as self-inflicted. After all, it ca down to poor choices in leadership.
Gallieni's gaze shifted to the map on the wall as he continued, "The second matter: your special tactics have proven effective. In recent days, we've successfully raided three German regintal headquarters, five divisional HQs, and even one army corps HQ."
"We've also hit three munitions depots, five supply depots, plus a handful of bridges and railways. You can check the detailed reports with Colonel Fernand."
Gallieni leaned forward. "Now, we're looking to purchase an additional 3,000 sidecars—and we need them as soon as possible."
Charles hesitated, "But General, our orders are already booked until next year…"
"We'll pay in full," Gallieni cut him off.
"But we only have so much production capacity…"
"Then free up capacity from other orders," Gallieni retorted.
"We've already signed contracts!" Charles protested, sounding almost desperate. "We've even collected down paynts…"
"We'll cover the penalties," Gallieni replied without hesitation.
"But… there's still the matter of our reputation."
From a business standpoint, Charles knew it would be unwise to prioritize such an "urgent" order. Although it didn't offer much additional profit, it would co with hidden costs, like disrupting production flow. And once a precedent was set, clients might grow wary, fearing that their orders could also be deprioritized.
Gallieni's stern gaze bore into Charles. "You need to understand one thing, Lieutenant. I am giving my advisor a direct order. Finding a solution is your job. That's what an advisor does—solves problems. Understood?"
Charles gulped, slightly dazed. Could he really just… do that?
Was this why Gallieni had made him his advisor in the first place?
Seeing that Charles didn't respond, Gallieni shot him a cold glare. "Answer , Lieutenant."
Charles snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"
Gallieni gave a satisfied nod, as if this were the most natural outco.
Just before Charles left, Gallieni added, "Eric and the staff from Carter's Aviation Club are all being held at the police station next door. You might want to check in on them."
"Uncle Eric has been arrested?" Charles exclaid in surprise.
"Don't worry," Gallieni replied calmly as he reviewed his papers. "After questioning, we believe they're all innocent. Go inform the police station that they're to be released."
Watching Charles dash off to the police station, Gallieni's lips curled into a slight smile.
I'm setting up your network, kid, he thought. I'll play the bad guy, you play the hero. This way, when you finally buy the aircraft factory, everything will go much more smoothly.
Besides… Gallieni grinned to himself. This is mutual benefit—baiting the big fish.
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