Chapter 324: The Triumphal Parade
Charles remained stationed at Point "A" for two more days.
The coastal humidity and muddy trenches left everyone feeling sticky and damp. Some tried bathing in the sea to freshen up, only to discover the salt left them feeling even worse once it dried.
To make things worse, the 105th Infantry was assigned the grim task of handling corpses, with their orders being to dig a large trench and deposit all bodies they could find. Though not as dangerous as fighting on the front line, the job was still dreaded. Many of the bodies were severely decomposed, with scattered limbs, adding a stomach-turning element to the work. To complicate things, lingering enemy snipers hidden in the surrounding jungle made every movement a risk.
That day, Charles and Tigeni were reviewing maps, planning which area to clear next. They discussed deploying snipers to watch over suspicious jungles and caves while they designated areas for the mass graves, aiming to minimize the soldiers' workload.
Just then, an excited shout broke the air as a communications officer rushed over with a telegram. Breathless with excitement, he handed it to Tigeni: "General, they're pulling us out! General Winter says he'll issue rest passes tonight, and we'll board a transport ship tomorrow morning to return to port!"
The rest passes, worn around the neck like dog tags, were part of a French military protocol to prevent deserters from slipping away amidst the retreating troops.
Tigeni stood stunned for a moment, then heaved a sigh of relief. "Finally, we can leave this godforsaken place!"
The command post erupted in cheers, and as the news spread to the soldiers outside, smiles broke out on every face. Some men even grabbed their comrades and broke into dance, celebrating the long-awaited end to their time on Gallipoli.
Only Shen Billy looked uncertain. After pacing the trench, he finally mustered the courage to approach Charles directly.
"Colonel," he began, somewhat downcast, "if the 105th Infantry is heading back to port… does that mean I'll have to return to my old unit?"
Charles responded with a wry smile. "If you want to return, I won't stop you."
Shen Billy caught the glimmer of hope in Charles's tone and his eyes lit up. "Do you mean… I could stay with the 105th?"
Charles gave a slight nod. "I've already spoken to General Winter about it, and he's agreed. If you want to stay, the staff will handle the transfer paperwork."
"I'd love to, Colonel! I'd be honored to stay!" Shen Billy replied, his voice full of eagerness.
Charles set down his pencil, looking Shen Billy squarely in the eyes. "Think carefully about this. This might not be an ordinary transfer. You may very well follow the 105th to the French frontlines, and you could even become a French citizen."
Shen Billy would have to sacrifice his Australian roots, including any connection to his family back home.
After a moment's pause, Shen Billy nodded firmly. "Yes, I understand."
"No regrets?" Charles asked again.
"None at all!" Shen Billy replied without a trace of hesitation.
Smart choice, thought Charles. Shen Billy's future would be far from the impoverished life history had dealt him. He would become Charles's personal guard, both on and off the battlefield.
The 105th Infantry was not simply being pulled back to port; they were being quietly relocated back to France, far from the frontlines. Rumor had it that the Germans were planning to eliminate Charles at any cost, so Charles's travel route and timing were kept highly confidential. Apart from General Winter, no one else—not even the French military governor Gallieni—was privy to the details.
This secrecy was necessary to evade the French Minister of the Navy. Charles wasn't about to risk his life on a slow, poorly armed transport ship that could be easy prey for German submarines.
Only after the 105th arrived safely in Toulon did Charles call Gallieni to report their return.
Gallieni's tone was calm on the other end of the line. "You're back already?"
"No problem. I'll arrange a train for you," he continued. "However, Parliament has a request—they want you to march your troops into Paris."
Charles was taken aback. "March into Paris?"
"Yes," Gallieni explained. "The Senate has been debating the idea for days. With the stalemate at the front, public morale has been sinking. They believe your victory could inspire the public—especially you."
Charles hesitated but replied, "All right, but inform them only ten minutes before we arrive."
After a brief silence, Gallieni replied with an understanding "Agreed."
Hanging up, Gallieni stared blankly into space. Damn Parliament. He had almost been swayed by those scheming politicians.
With enough time and information, they could easily plan a parade route that would expose Charles to enemy agents. All it would take to finish him off would be a single sniper stationed in a building along the route. Parliament was full of people who wanted Charles out of the way, and they wouldn't even need to collude with the Germans—simply leaking the parade's timing and route would be enough.
As he pondered this, the phone rang again. It was Charles.
"General," Charles said, "you can leak information that we'll be arriving in three days."
Gallieni mentally applauded Charles's cunning. This would lull the Germans into thinking they had time to prepare, while Charles and his troops would make a sudden appearance, completing their triumphant parade before anyone could react.
The 105th Infantry arrived in Paris the next morning at dawn.
During WWI, trains averaged around 50 kilometers per hour, with frequent stops to allow priority shipments of supplies to the frontlines. The journey of over 800 kilometers from Toulon to Paris took a grueling 26 hours.
During the trip, Charles found himself longing for Erik's plane. Despite its modest speed of just over 100 kilometers per hour, it could have made the trip in a direct line in six or seven hours, with no delays.
The soldiers disembarked at the Gare de Lyon, unkempt and unshaven, rifles slung across their backs, and marched directly onto the city streets.
At first, Parisians—only just waking up—didn't know what was going on. All they heard was the faint chant of voices and the rhythmic sound of footsteps in the street below.
Curious, some threw open their windows and peered down, seeing a column of soldiers. They looked weary and rough, uniforms dirty and disheveled, many with scruffy beards. To some, they seemed like a defeated army returning from battle.
Out of courtesy, the citizens waved, welcoming the passing troops. Then someone suddenly cried out:
"Oh my God, that's the 105th Infantry!"
"It's Charles's unit? The ones who won at Gallipoli?"
"Yes! Look! There's Charles! He's on the lead carriage!"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy. Cheers filled the streets as whispers of pity transformed into shouts of admiration. Word spread from person to person, and soon the entire street was buzzing with excitement. People came rushing out to join the throngs lining the route, many still dressed in their nightgowns.
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