Chapter 325: Time for a New Uniform
The 105th Infantry paraded leisurely through the streets, greeted by the cheers and shouts of the Parisians, before returning to the police training base after more than an hour.
Upon arrival, the soldiers tore off their uniforms as they ran toward the showers, tossing clothes aside as they went. By the time they reached the showers, most were already stripped down to the bare essentials, holding only their rifles and shoulder-strapped belts, looking almost like wild men. Their uniforms, now filthy and reeking, were beyond saving; they'd need new ones, no question.
It was only then that Tigeni relaxed. He removed his helmet, combed through his matted hair, and noted that his beard had grown thick and unruly.
Turning to Charles, Tigeni asked, "Are you heading back to the Defense Command to report in?"
"Yes," Charles replied. Then he asked, "And you, General? Going home?"
Tigeni's home was in the 15th arrondissement, not far away.
"No," Tigeni shook his head, casting a glance at the troops celebrating wildly nearby. "As their commander, I'll stay with them until I'm officially given leave."
Charles felt a pang of guilt. He had been planning to head home after reporting in at the Defense Command. But Tigeni had a point: if commanders rush home as soon as they return, wouldn't the soldiers feel entitled to do the same? This realization left Charles feeling inexperienced—he had, after all, never attended a military academy.
At the Defense Command, General Gallieni couldn't sit still. He paced, occasionally looking out the window toward the street, then returning to his desk.
Gallieni couldn't understand his own anxiety. Why was he so impatient? Charles was already in Paris—knowing he was safe should have been enough. But logic couldn't silence the nagging concern gnawing at him.
Finally, he saw Laurent's car pull up, Charles stepping out. Gallieni quickly straightened his uniform and sat back down, trying to project a casual demeanor.
But as Charles appeared in the hallway, receiving cheers and congratulations from the staff, Gallieni found himself involuntarily rising to his feet. Realizing this, he moved to sit down again, but by then Charles was already in front of him, saluting. "General."
Gallieni managed an awkward nod. Taking in Charles's tanned face, the bloodstained uniform, and even a hint of stubble, he noticed for the first time how much Charles had changed. It wasn't the tan, the blood, or the beard; he simply seemed more grown-up. The boyish look was gone. He was a soldier now.
Gallieni tried to keep his voice calm, but a hint of tremor slipped through as he asked, "How was the experience, Colonel?"
"Not bad," Charles replied. Looking down at his grimy red trousers, he added, "But, General, I think it's time we changed our uniforms."
Gallieni misunderstood him. Nodding, he said, "Of course. I'll have Adrien fetch you a new set—"
"No, General," Charles interrupted, "I meant all our uniforms."
"What do you mean?" Gallieni asked, confused.
Charles explained, "The red trousers stand out too much on the battlefield, sir. They're an ideal target for the enemy. The soldiers are doing everything they can to dirty them, and some would rather wear corduroy pants borrowed from laborers just to avoid being seen."
Before, Charles had known of these concerns but had dismissed them since he hadn't experienced combat firsthand. But now, with his life at stake, it was urgent.
Gallieni replied helplessly, "We all know that, but it's not up to us to change it."
"Then let's make them change it," Charles said, referring to Parliament.
Gallieni hesitated, then met Charles's gaze. "Perhaps you can persuade them, but it may mean facing a parliamentary inquiry."
Charles nodded. "Fine with me."
Compared to risking soldiers' lives, an inquiry was nothing. Charles also knew that while his influence in Parliament was limited, he had the support of the French people. More importantly, he had been to the battlefield—he had firsthand authority on the matter. If Parliament refused, there would likely be an uproar among soldiers and civilians alike. And that was the last thing Parliament wanted.
But before heading home, Charles took a moment to clean up. In the Defense Command's quarters, he washed and changed into a fresh uniform; he didn't want to return to his family in his current state.
In Davaz town, everyone was buzzing with excitement.
"Did you hear? Charles is back!"
"Yes, someone saw him in Paris this morning!"
"Incredible! He won a decisive battle and even fought in the trenches himself! Those who doubted his courage can shut up now!"
Camille, pale-faced and clutching an empty shopping basket, hurried back home with a newspaper in hand. She picked up the phone to call Deyoka, but by the time she dialed, he was already knocking at her door.
"Camille!" Deyoka practically jumped out of his car, rushing over. "Good news! Charles is home safe!"
Camille slammed the receiver down and turned, her tone icy. "What do you mean, 'home safe,' Deyoka? Wasn't he safe all along? Wasn't he supposed to be on a warship, only advising and staying out of danger?"
Deyoka hesitated, realizing he had misspoken. "I mean, he's back safe from the Dardanelles—"
"But that's not what I heard," Camille interrupted. "I heard he landed, that he was in the trenches on Gallipoli, not on some warship, facing the enemy head-on. They say he fought them with a rifle!"
"That's just… a rumor," Deyoka managed to say, struggling for words.
Camille held up a newspaper and waved it in front of him. "This is different from the paper you showed me. Same date, different story. Care to explain?"
Deyoka froze, then gave a helpless shrug, silently admitting defeat.
"The important thing is he's back safe, right?" he tried to reason.
Camille shot back, "And what about next time? Why do they have to keep sending Charles to the front? Hasn't he done enough for France?"
Deyoka had no response.
He was just as troubled. Why did Charles have to be the one to fight, while those in Parliament—and their children—remained safe and secure? Why weren't the children of the wealthy and powerful sent to the front?
The tense silence was broken by a shout from outside: "It's Charles! Charles is back!"
Neighbors called into the house excitedly. "Mrs. Bernard, Charles is back! It's really him!"
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