Chapter 282: How About a Regiment Commander?
The sun was high in the sky. Camille sat by the fire, knitting a sweater. Her fingers, however, seemed as restless as her thoughts; she kept dropping stitches, and each attempt to fix them only made things worse, until her knitting became a tangled mess. Frustrated, she tossed the sweater aside and stared at the flames, lost in thought.
Recently, Camille had been filled with anxiety. Every time she went out to buy groceries or chat with the neighbors, she would overhear people saying things like, "Only Charles can save the Dardanelles," or "If Charles were in command, there'd be no trouble."
While her neighbors thought they were praising Charles, recognizing his talents, Camille saw only one thing: these opinions were gradually pushing him to the battlefield. She often found herself responding passionately:
"No! Charles has never even been near the sea! He knows nothing about the navy and can't possibly lead a battle at the Dardanelles!""He's never even set foot on a warship; he belongs on land!"
One day, gentle Camille even ended up in an argument with old Mrs. Carla, who had said, "Oh, if only Charles were there! We wouldn't be seeing thousands of casualties every day!"
Camille had snapped, yelling, "This isn't Charles's fault! Why is everyone so certain he could make a difference?"
In some ways, she thought, it would be a blessing if Charles didn't have these talents; perhaps he wouldn't be facing this fate. But then again, if he didn't, he might already be fighting as an infantryman on the frontlines—and that seemed even more dangerous.
Suddenly, Camille heard cheering from outside. She stood up and went to the window, watching as her neighbors chattered excitedly. Her heart leapt. Could they have won a battle? Maybe the war was ending, and Charles would be spared from going to the front.
However...
Emma, her neighbor, approached, and when she saw Camille at the window, her steps faltered. Her expression was a mix of reluctance and concern.
"Mrs. Bernard," Emma said cautiously, "have you heard?"
"Heard what?" Camille asked, worry creeping into her voice.
Emma hesitated, clearly regretting bringing it up, but finally, she answered, "I heard that Charles volunteered to go to the front. General Gallieni announced it in the parliament."
"No, that's impossible!" Camille's face went pale.
She stood frozen for a moment, then rushed to the phone to call the factory where Charles worked. As she waited for a response, Deyoka appeared at the door, a resigned look on his face.
Camille spun around, clutching onto Deyoka as if he were her last hope. "This can't be true, right? Charles wouldn't make such a foolish decision?"
Deyoka said nothing, and Camille knew the answer.
Her face fell. Grabbing her hat and scarf from the rack, she made her way to the door.
"Wait!" Deyoka followed her. "Where are you going?"
"To find Charles," she replied firmly. "There must be a reason for this. Someone must have pressured him…"
"He's likely planning the battle strategy already," Deyoka cautioned. "It may not be the right time."
Camille stopped, frozen in place. She stared off toward Paris, as still as a statue.
Though Gallieni had given Charles a three-day leave, Charles had turned it down. "There's no point, General."
Gallieni nodded in understanding. "I didn't say anything."
He had thought Charles might need time to prepare, but it was clear Charles was avoiding explaining his decision to Camille and Deyoka. Instead, he poured himself into preparations for the upcoming battle, knowing that his life depended on it.
Just as he'd expected, the landing operations were brutal. The forces deployed were largely colonial troops—the British forces were primarily Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, with only the 29th Division being composed of British regulars. On the French side, all units thus far came from the African Corps based in Port Said, Egypt.
Everyone assumed the British regulars would perform better, equipped with better weapons, more naval support, and extensive training. Yet the reality was starkly different.
The Australian and New Zealand troops fought tenaciously. Though they suffered massive casualties, they successfully landed and held off Ottoman counterattacks. Meanwhile, the British 29th Division, responsible for landing on five different beaches, faltered. They were either too slow to take action or faced such high casualties that they failed to establish a foothold.
On V Beach, the first battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers almost crumbled under pressure. The brigade commander personally led a second wave ashore but was killed in action. All this despite the fact that their opponents—the Ottoman soldiers defending the coast—numbered only a few hundred.
Gallieni placed these battle reports before Charles and asked, "What do you make of this?"
Charles, still half-immersed in his work, glanced up at Gallieni, slightly puzzled by the question.
"Perhaps the French theory of attack has been right all along," Gallieni mused, gesturing to the reports. "The ANZACs had an iron resolve, securing a foothold and immediately expanding their positions, giving follow-up units space to land. Meanwhile, the British… even when they managed to land, they hesitated to advance. With better conditions than the ANZACs and fewer enemy troops to contend with, they still failed to impress."
Charles smiled but said nothing.
Gallieni was worried Charles's lack of experience with amphibious warfare might land him in trouble. Also, with Charles's history of relying on advanced equipment to outmaneuver enemies, Gallieni feared he might be too much like the British.
But Gallieni didn't realize that while the British had better equipment than the ANZACs, they were still using the wrong kind. Charles, on the other hand, had no such limitation.
At that moment, Tijani came rushing up the stairs, breathless as he burst into the operations room and stopped in front of Charles.
"Colonel, I heard you're going to reinforce the Dardanelles?" he asked, catching his breath.
Charles gave a short nod and continued reading his files.
"Take me with you!" Tijani's eyes lit up with anticipation. "I'll do anything—lead a battalion, or even a company…"
Charles glanced at Tijani's insignia. "I think it would be strange to have a brigadier general lead a battalion."
"Forget about that!" Tijani grinned sheepishly. "How about as an aide, then?"
"I'm already an aide," Charles replied flatly. "I don't need another one."
"Well…" Tijani's face fell. "Let me handle logistics, or the ships—I know a bit about that."
Charles turned to face Tijani fully. "If you're so eager, how about commanding a regiment?"
"A reg… a regiment?" Tijani was stunned.
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