At the headquarters in Gembloux, the distant thunder of artillery continuously rolled from the front lines. Inside the command office, aides rushed back and forth, delivering updates and instructions. It was a Christmas Eve devoid of peace. However, the unrest was not caused by intense battles against the Germans but by the unresolved internal power struggle between Charles and the French Parliant. Both sides remained cautious, unwilling to let their guard down until matters were settled.
Charles, for his part, appeared calm despite being awake late into the night. He had recently regained his command and was now occupied with a mountain of paperwork and orders awaiting his approval. On the contrary, General Galin sat anxiously at his desk, staring at its empty surface. With nothing left to do and no authority to act, he concealed his embarrassnt by quietly drinking one cup of coffee after another.
Galin simply could not fathom how he had lost to Charles. He had taken proactive asures, arriving at the headquarters several days before Charles returned from leave, executing careful plans, arresting or detaining suspected dissenters, and placing his trusted aides in key positions. He had assud that no matter how resourceful Charles was, he would not be able to reverse the situation so swiftly. Yet, within just two days, the reins of command had effortlessly slipped back into Charles's hands.
Even more humiliating for Galin was the fact that the officers who facilitated Charles's return to power were his own subordinates, n he had personally brought from Paris—n he trusted completely, his most loyal assistants and the key to controlling the 6th Army. Traitors, shaless bastards, he cursed bitterly in his heart.
Then, turning toward the aide who remained loyally at his side, Galin saw Weygand, one of the few who still stood firmly with him. Weygand, after all, belonged to General Foch's faction and would never align himself with Charles. At least that much was clear.
"Where are the British?" Galin asked weakly, clutching at the last strand of hope.
"General," Weygand replied hesitantly, "the British…"
Seeing Weygand's reluctance to speak, Galin beca wary. Could sothing have gone wrong with the British reinforcents as well? They were his only remaining hope. Though Charles had claid the British were re scapegoats, Galin still believed that the British, who controlled critical supplies, would have substantial influence in this matter.
"What happened?" Galin pressed.
Gathering his courage, Weygand finally replied, "General, the railway between Brussels and Gembloux has been sabotaged by German partisans. Additionally, heavy rains caused landslides that blocked the roads, so…"
"So the British won't make it?" Galin interrupted anxiously.
"No, General," Weygand clarified hurriedly. "They have arrived, but only a single regint managed to get through. The main forces will take several more days."
Galin was left speechless. A single regint—two or three thousand soldiers—could accomplish nothing significant against Charles's fully ard and fiercely loyal 6th Army. By the ti the main British forces arrived, the situation would be firmly under Charles's control.
Sothing else troubled Galin. The Germans had conveniently and precisely sabotaged the rail lines linking Brussels directly to Gembloux, specifically affecting the British reinforcent routes. Could this too be Charles's doing?
He glanced suspiciously toward Charles, who was sitting several ters away, calmly signing docunts and engaging with his aides. The young general was an enigma, wielding a terrifyingly subtle power.
But this ti, Galin's suspicion was mistaken. Charles had no hand in the sabotage. Nor was it the work of German partisans, as originally believed. Rather, Belgian resistance fighters loyal to King Albert I were responsible. At this mont, Albert's troops, numbering around sixty thousand n—including two full regular divisions reinforced by local militia—were rapidly converging on Gembloux. They secured every route into the town, closely monitoring any movent by French or British forces.
Thus, when the British reinforcents arrived near Gembloux, only one regint stationed nearby managed to march in, while the main forces were stranded, unable to proceed due to the destroyed railway and blocked roads. The mont this isolated regint arrived, it found itself imdiately encircled by Belgian soldiers, nearly forced into surrender.
Back at the 6th Army's headquarters, the church bells tolled, marking the arrival of four o'clock in the morning. Charles was still tirelessly working, signing endless stacks of docunts. Such administrative chaos typically occurred whenever command shifted hands. Practically every order above regintal level required Charles's direct approval, responsibilities normally managed by brigade or division commanders now piled onto his desk. Although his hand ached and his voice grew weary from constant authorizations, Charles found satisfaction in this effort. Anything was preferable to allowing power to slip back into the hands of interdiaries loyal to Galin.
Suddenly, an aide approached him urgently. "General, King Albert I has surrounded Gembloux with Belgian troops. They are demanding we hand you over."
"Hand over?" Charles stopped writing, raising his head with genuine confusion. "What does that an?"
"I—I don't know either," the aide admitted helplessly, equally bewildered.
However, realization quickly dawned on Charles. Albert I clearly believed Charles was being held captive or coerced, and had thus brought his troops to rescue him. Charles couldn't help but smile, touched by the King's sincere gesture.
"Connect with Albert I imdiately. Tell him I wish to speak with him," Charles ordered.
"Yes, General!" The aide quickly obeyed.
Within ten minutes, the phone rang, and after verifying Albert's identity, the aide handed the receiver to Charles. "General, it's His Majesty, Albert I."
Charles dropped his pen and took the phone. "Hello?"
"General, are you alright?" Albert's voice was anxious.
"I'm fine," Charles reassured him. "How many n did you bring?"
"Sixty thousand in total," Albert replied confidently. "Rest assured, I've blocked the British from advancing. They'll be unable to reach Gembloux for at least a few more days."
Charles fell montarily silent, wondering who would be blad now if the British failed to appear. Parliant needed soone to bla; otherwise, the political stalemate would drag on endlessly.
Fortunately, Albert continued, "However, Lieutenant General Ives's elite cavalry division is rapidly approaching, and I haven't found a reason to block them yet."
The advantage of cavalry lay precisely in their off-road mobility. Even if roads were impassable, cavalry could easily find alternative routes.
"Don't stop them," Charles quickly interjected. "Let them co."
"Are you certain?" Albert asked cautiously, his voice implying deeper concerns. His true intention was to confirm Charles's freedom.
"Don't worry," Charles reassured him confidently. "The 6th Army is entirely under my control."
Reassured by Charles's composed response, Albert relaxed. Only Charles could so effortlessly regain authority without external assistance.
Ending the call, Charles stood up and approached Galin, offering a sardonic smile. "General, good news for you. Lieutenant General Ives's cavalry division should arrive in about an hour."
Galin perked up imdiately, sensing a glimr of hope. "In that case," he said, unable to hide a hint of smugness, "I suppose you're ready to receive them?"
Charles stared incredulously at Galin, astonished that the general still believed in the British, still thought they would sohow reverse the inevitable. His disbelief was almost palpable. Could Galin really remain so deluded as to think the British cavalry would change the balance of power?
In the end, the old general's desperation was clear. He clung stubbornly to the British cavalry as his last ray of hope. Charles knew better. He was prepared, calm, and thoroughly in control.
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