A little while later, Captain Jérémy and the other representatives returned to stand before Charles.
"General," Jérémy began, "we'd like to request the right to go ho on leave."
Charles didn't hesitate: "Of course."
He tilted his head toward his adjutant, who pulled a docunt from a waterproof pouch, shielding it from the rain as he handed it over.
Charles explained, "This is our proposed rotation plan. Take a look."
Jérémy took the docunt and flipped through it. His eyes suddenly lit up. Excitedly, he turned to the gathering soldiers and shouted, "After each combat rotation, we get one week of leave!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Until now, rotation simply ant moving from rear defense to third-line, then second-line, and finally to the front—cycling endlessly without ever seeing real rest. There had been no true leave.
Now, one week of real vacation after each round in the trenches—this was news worth celebrating.
Still, one man among them remained cautious.
A bearded lieutenant standing beside Jérémy squinted at the paper and stepped forward. "General, we don't an to question you, but has this rotation plan been approved by Parliant?"
All eyes turned to Charles.
Many things were out of his hands. Parliant held the real authority. The soldiers worried that Charles might make promises in good faith, only to be overridden by politicians.
Before Charles could respond, his adjutant quickly spoke up:
"It has been approved. If it hadn't, the General would've co here yesterday instead of today."
"He was at Parliant yesterday—fighting for your rights."
"You all know how difficult those bastards in Parliant can be."
It was a tily statent. These weren't words Charles could say himself without sounding self-serving. Coming from a subordinate, it landed much better.
Sure enough, the soldiers' gaze toward Charles grew warr—more grateful, more respectful.
Still, the bearded lieutenant wasn't done. "Everyone knows we haven't had leave because of manpower shortages."
"That issue hasn't changed. If you let us take leave now, won't it make our numbers even tighter?"
"How will you solve that, General?"
Jérémy nodded in agreent. If the root issue wasn't solved, the leave promise might still be empty.
Charles answered steadily:
"Manpower shortages are manageable. We're shifting to a period of strategic defense."
"As you all know, defense requires fewer troops than attack."
"And rember your first demand—we'll avoid pointless offensives. That alone will preserve our strength."
The bearded officer thought for a mont and then nodded. It made sense.
Charles chuckled and leaned in a little. "What you're really worried about—isn't that Parliant might lie to you. You're worried they might lie to too, aren't you?"
A lot of soldiers nodded, including Jérémy and the other reps.
It wasn't that they didn't trust Charles. They were afraid he'd been used by Parliant as a pawn, just like so many others before.
Charles spoke naturally and with calm confidence:
"I can't guarantee Parliant won't go back on its word. But I stand with you. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure these promises are kept."
"Still, you need to understand sothing—this is dangerous."
"I'm not talking about the politicians, the nobles, or the capitalists. We don't care about their kind of danger."
He paused and smiled. "And I almost forgot—I'm a capitalist too."
That drew a round of laughter.
Charles wasn't just any capitalist. These soldiers were willing to fight for him and protect him.
He stepped a bit closer, walking casually into the crowd.
That was sothing no other officer dared to do. A senior commander entering a group of mutinous soldiers? That was asking to be stoned to death.
And in fact, it had happened before. Other officers had been greeted with rocks and insults, dragged away bleeding by their own guards.
But Charles didn't worry. His reputation among the troops was solid, built carefully with ti and resources.
And now, that goodwill was paying off.
"We're also protecting our families," Charles said calmly.
"Think about it, gentlen."
"If the Germans launch an attack right now—can you stop them?"
"If the front collapses, what happens to your families? And to you?"
The n exchanged glances. They knew Charles was right.
Although they had declared they were "willing to hold the line but not to attack," a disorganized mutiny was uncontrollable. The army had lost cohesion.
So soldiers had driven armored scout vehicles into munitions depots, taking whatever gear and ammo they liked.
Others abandoned trenches and fled into the woods, claiming it was "safer for defense."
Still others had seized nearby towns and declared independence, forming so-called "new governnts."
…
Could such a force resist a German offensive? Likely not. The first cannon shot would send them scattering.
Captain Jérémy looked somber. His expression was heavy with worry.
"That's what we fear too, General."
"If the line breaks, our families will be the first in danger. While the capitalists, MPs, and nobles all flee in advance."
"That's why we're still here—why we never left."
They had endured the unlivable conditions, the threat of enemy fire, because they knew soone had to hold the line.
"I know," Charles replied gently. "You are the bravest and most loyal of all. Your courage is unmatched."
And that was the truth. Very few could mutiny and still remain at their post.
"But that's not enough. Not even close," Charles said, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. "What we need is an army. An army that can hold the line. An army that can protect your families—and protect France. Can you be that army?"
Captain Jérémy stepped forward. "We can, General. We'll follow your command."
Soldiers around him began to rise, one by one:
"We can do it."
"We trust you, General!"
"Lead us into battle!"
…
The bearded lieutenant stepped out in front, raising a hand. "One last condition, General."
Charles gave a small nod. "Go on, I'm listening."
"We want you to beco the Commander-in-Chief."
Charles blinked, surprised. That… was a condition?
The soldiers echoed the sentint:
"Yes, make Charles the Commander-in-Chief!"
"That's the best guarantee we'll have!"
"Only if he's the Commander-in-Chief will we stop being lambs sent to slaughter!"
…
But sothing in the bearded officer's eyes was different.
Was this what Charles had wanted all along?
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