After a long silence, Gallieni, sitting behind, asked with barely restrained fury: “So, the order to attack the Namur fortress is real?”

As Minister of War, he hadn’t even known. When he asked Nivelle, the response had been: “There is no such plan of attack, it’s all just rumors.”

How could they do something like this?!

Charles turned and looked at Gallieni, his eyes carrying a trace of gratitude. Only Gallieni would be angry at the first moment because of this. Most others were merely shocked—some even indifferent. These were the ones in the know.

Armand, who habitually sat in the front row, even looked pleased. This meant a large number of political opponents involved in the affair would be forced to resign.

Charles turned back, swept his gaze over the room, and nodded lightly. “Yes, the order is indeed real.”

The entire conference room erupted in uproar.

This proved that Nivelle had lied again.

It wasn’t a rumor at all. They had indeed tried to get Charles and his troops killed at the hands of the Germans.

A member of parliament who had been in on it tried to defend it from the floor: “But wasn’t that order already canceled?”

All eyes instantly turned toward the speaker—a Socialist Party MP.

Only then did he realize he had just exposed himself as someone who knew, or was even involved. He quickly lowered his head, trying to avoid the eyes on him. But it was too late—several mocking chuckles rang out in the chamber.

Party leader James gritted his teeth and cursed inwardly: that idiot had just dragged Schneider down into the pit with one sentence!

Charles chuckled, half in jest:

“Yes, I did receive the cancellation order. Along with a directive for ‘strict confidentiality.'”

“But I was already prepared to attack.”

“And the order to cancel the assault came only under public pressure. I don’t think that was the higher-ups’ original intention. What do you think?”

Laughter erupted again in the chamber. Of course it wasn’t the “original intention.” The “original intention” had clearly been to let Charles die on the battlefield.

Charles continued, “As for ‘strict confidentiality,’ once the battle has begun, there’s no longer any question of keeping secrets.”

Gallieni nodded silently.

Charles’ actions couldn’t be called perfectly above board—technically, his attack on the Namur fortress was a violation of military orders.

However, no MP would denounce a general who led troops into battle and stood a chance of winning. To do so would be to openly oppose France’s victory.

Sure enough, not a single MP questioned Charles’ act of defying orders.

Armand, intent on pushing the matter deeper, rose and asked:

“General, I’ve heard that Namur fortress is not suited for an assault by your armored units. Is that true?”

He knew that if they could prove Nivelle’s faction had knowingly sent Charles into a trap, it would be a political death sentence for them. So the question of whether Namur was suitable for Charles’ units was crucial.

Other MPs turned their eyes toward Charles.

They had read analyses in the newspapers, but those had been from military commentators. The most authoritative voice on the matter was clearly Charles himself, who had invented the tank and brought it to the battlefield.

Charles didn’t deny it, answering with a double entendre:

“Yes, the armored units are indeed ill-suited for attacking Namur.”

“Under normal circumstances, attacking Namur hastily would only lead to failure.”

“Obviously, my opponents know us very well. They made meticulous preparations.”

Another round of laughter erupted in the room. The MPs clearly understood why Charles had said “opponents” rather than “enemies” or “Germans.”

“Then,” Armand continued, “what gave you the courage to go ahead with the assault despite the low odds of success?”

He was very good at this—his questions seemed harmless on the surface, but they relentlessly cornered Nivelle’s faction.

He was working to shape the narrative that Charles had been in extreme danger and had only barely found a way to make the attack work.

Charles understood Armand’s intentions and played along, adopting a look of lingering fear:

“At first, I had no idea what to do. General Tijani and I ran countless simulations on the map—all of them ended in total annihilation.”

“I even thought I was going to die there. The rivers, forests, and enemy fortifications—everything was hostile to tanks.”

“General Tijani even wondered if the high command had sent us the wrong orders.”

“Fortunately, I had developed a new piece of equipment, which might come in handy—but I can’t be sure yet.”

The MPs nodded. This was exactly the kind of answer they had hoped for.

Gallieni ground his teeth, cursing under his breath: “Bastards… This was attempted murder!”

And it had all happened right under his nose as the Minister of War.

Only Charles knew the truth—that the battle for Namur had always been inevitable. He had thought of rocket artillery early on.

“May we ask what this new piece of equipment is?” one curious MP asked.

“Sorry, I can’t say for now,” Charles replied. “I want to make my opponents guess. If we can panic them, we’ll have a better chance of victory.”

The MPs nodded in agreement.

The less the Germans knew, the harder it would be for them to devise countermeasures.

Of course, these “opponents” weren’t just Germans.

Only Steed seemed to understand—he realized the “equipment” in question was the recently developed rocket artillery.

But even he had his doubts. Could this thing really have such a decisive impact?

Could it really help Charles retake Namur?

“Any other questions?” Charles asked, glancing around the room. “If not, I believe I should head to Namur to rejoin my soldiers.”

The MPs stood in solemn respect, responding:

“No more questions, General. We wish you victory.”

“Give the Germans a lesson—show them our strength!”

“We’re behind you. Fight boldly. We’ll give priority to passing the proposal to send reinforcements to Namur!”

…

As Charles stepped down from the podium, the MPs spontaneously rose and broke into applause, with some even cheering and shouting.

In that moment, Charles knew he had won over more of the centrists.

…

French Command Post, South Bank of the Somme.

Though the soldiers at the front were charging into battle, Nivelle’s attention was elsewhere.

The front didn’t require “command”—because in reality, all the command amounted to was: “Attack.” At most, a few lines of rousing slogans and unrealistic visions.

He paced nervously outside the telegraph room, where voices were yelling over the telephone and the ticking of Morse code echoed.

Nivelle was waiting for news from Parliament. He needed to know whether Charles would come to take command.

“General,” a signalman approached with a telegram. “From Paris!”

Nivelle stopped abruptly, rushed over to take the message, and tore it open.

One glance—and the color drained from his face.

The message was brief, a single line: “Charles is currently attacking Namur fortress!”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep