It wasn't until dusk that Gallieni realized Charles was missing.
All day, he had been scrambling to organize reinforcents for Antwerp. At the mont, French forces were in full pursuit of the Germans, and the regular army was engaged on the front lines, leaving only newly trained soldiers and recruits in the rear. Sending such troops to reinforce Antwerp was essentially pointless.
Gallieni painstakingly reviewed the front line, searching for any units that could be spared without jeopardizing their current advantage. This was no easy task—any miscalculation could prompt the Germans to mount a counterattack. After exhausting every option, he finally managed to free up one division, but now faced the challenge of coordinating the complex logistics of getting them to Antwerp: they would have to walk, drive, board trains, and finally sail around German defenses. Even the navy needed to be involved for protection.
Then ca the matter of supplies. The Belgian troops used German rifles, so the French reinforcents would have to bring their own ammunition. By the ti the plans were in place, night had fallen. Gallieni, stretching wearily, made his way to the window, where he caught sight of the statue of Gilberte standing sentinel in the garden below. The mory of Charles practicing military drills in front of that statue ca to mind.
"Where's Charles?" he asked suddenly.
Everyone around him looked puzzled; they hadn't seen Charles for a while either. Soone checked the records and replied, "General, Charles was sent to Antwerp to assess the situation."
Gallieni whirled around, shocked. "What? Who sent him there?"
"Colonel Durand," one aide answered, consulting the report. "It seems he took on this assignnt at your request."
Gallieni vaguely rembered delegating authority to Durand in a mont of busyness. But… didn't Durand realize Antwerp was extrely dangerous? Who in their right mind would send Charles there? What was Durand thinking?
"Send a telegram to Antwerp imdiately," Gallieni ordered. "Tell them to send Charles back right away."
"Yes, General!"
Just as the aide was about to leave, Gallieni stopped him. "Don't ntion his na. Refer to him only as 'Lieutenant.' We can't let the Germans know Charles is in Antwerp."
"Yes, General."
Then, filled with rage, Gallieni demanded, "Where's Durand? Bring him here right now!"
No one responded; no one knew where Durand was.
A chill ran down Gallieni's spine. He began to suspect that this wasn't a simple miscommunication but a conspiracy—a plot aid at Charles. Durand would likely et with so "accident" soon. Dead n tell no tales.
This ant it was Gallieni himself who had "sent" Charles. Every procedure would be accounted for. If anything happened to Charles, the bla would fall entirely on Gallieni, allowing the capitalists to simultaneously remove both him and Charles.
Those fools dared to pull this right under his nose!
Gallieni felt profoundly humiliated, but even more than that, he was consud by fear for Charles's safety.
Hold on, little one. I swear, I'll get you out of there.
At the Antwerp fortress, Charles was in the archives, poring over docunts.
Assessing the situation wasn't as simple as asking each unit for casualty numbers; he had to understand Antwerp's defensive layout and troop deploynts so that incoming reinforcents would know where to go and what to do. A basic knowledge of the terrain was essential for survival in the field.
Finally, he'd gathered most of the information he needed. Charles stretched and took a piece of bread from his bag. He hadn't eaten all day, partly from the lack of appetite for the dry, hard bread he carried. At ho, Camille would coax him into eating, but out here, he only took a few bites when his hunger beca unbearable.
As he chewed, he moved to the window. It was now fully dark, and he wondered if the planes of this era were capable of night flights. Given the urgency of the Antwerp mission, he was planning to head to the airfield to ask the pilot if he could make the trip back that evening.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps outside. Suddenly, the door burst open.
Bread in hand, Charles stood frozen as General Winter and General Geiss appeared in the doorway, surrounded by ard guards.
"Charles?" Geiss demanded, eyes wide. "Are you Charles Bernard?"
Charles nodded, confused. "What's going on?"
Both generals were speechless, staring at him in astonishnt.
After a long silence, General Winter broke into a smile. "The whole world is looking for you, Charles. And here you are, hiding right under our noses!"
Charles was finally escorted into General Geiss's operations office.
Normally, this area was off-limits to him, but in this room, the information he'd spent hours piecing together was readily available at a glance. He felt a bit exasperated—he could have saved so much ti if they'd just let him in sooner.
As Charles munched on his dry bread, General Geiss quickly ordered soone to bring him milk, cake, and a small plate of fruit. Despite Antwerp's supply shortages, they could still muster a bit of food for such an occasion.
While Charles ate, Geiss pulled Winter aside and whispered, "Have you considered… a certain possibility?"
Winter imdiately understood what Geiss was implying and firmly shook his head. "No, General. You can't do that."
"Why not?" Geiss pressed. "That boy's life could save all of ours—every man, woman, and child in this city, including the king."
Winter hadn't fully appreciated the gravity of the situation until now. For Geiss, it had co down to a choice: save Antwerp and everyone in it, or save Charles. From Geiss's perspective, the choice was obvious: the city's survival took precedence. Charles, after all, had no ties to him, to Antwerp, or even to Belgium.
Beseler's letter had even implored Geiss to "spare the people from further suffering." The veiled implication was that without Charles, Antwerp would be left to burn.
"But, General!" Winter glanced at Charles, who was absorbed in reading a map on the desk. "He's a genius. He could give us far more than you might imagine…"
But as the words left his mouth, Winter realized the unfortunate truth. Charles's brilliance held no value for Belgium, which lacked the industrial foundation to capitalize on his innovations. Instead, his gifts would likely bring more harm than good.
Seeing Geiss's indifference, Winter knew there was little he could do. Even the ten thousand soldiers he'd brought to Antwerp seed insignificant in the vast fortress complex. It was impossible to protect Charles here.
Suddenly, they heard rapid footsteps outside. A middle-aged man, dressed in an ornate military uniform with a sword at his side, entered briskly.
Geiss quickly stepped forward, bowing. "Your Majesty!"
It was King Albert I of Belgium. He glanced between Geiss and Winter, reading the tension on their faces. He knew exactly why they were gathered here.
King Albert's gaze fell on Charles, who was studying the map at the table, and then shifted back to Geiss. With his chest held high, he leaned in, imposing a silent pressure.
His voice was steady and resolute: "I know what you're thinking, General. But I will not allow it. Belgium's honor must remain unsullied."
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