Chapter 331: Strategic Retreat
"Isn't there another way?" Dominique asked, with a trace of frustration in his eyes.
"Not unless you can think of one," Charles replied. He had tried before, but it was a systemic issue, beyond what any one person could tackle—short of marching with a force to dissolve Parliament by force.
Steed, who had remained silent throughout, thought Dominique's concerns were unnecessary. To him, businessmen should mind their own business; the number of lives lost or saved on the Gallipoli front was for the government and military to worry about.
Steed finished his dessert, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then set it down, signaling the server to clear the table.
"As for the proposal on changing the military uniform," Steed began, "we'll push for Parliament to pass it soon. I think it has a fair chance."
"Really?" Charles raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.
"Yes," Steed nodded approvingly. "Your statements during the hearing were compelling. I believe you may have at least won over the Workers' International French Chapter."
"Workers' International?" Charles hadn't heard of this group before.
"Yes," Steed explained, "it's a political faction—small but influential. They aren't aligned with the left or right."
"Then they're…" Charles had a suspicion. From the name, it seemed likely they were a workers' union-based party.
"They're a labor alliance, Colonel. Their base is mostly workers. They advocate for labor rights, pragmatic economic policies, and the protection of France's independence, opposing foreign capital encroachment," Steed continued.
"Remember the councilman who argued that red uniforms inspired soldiers to charge rather than retreat?" Steed asked.
Charles nodded.
"That was Gaspard, the leader of the Workers' International Party. They don't typically get involved in parliamentary debates unless it directly affects them. However, they seem to support your stance on the uniforms, and many left-wing capitalists don't care much about military dress. So, we stand a good chance."
Charles vaguely recalled the man, a middle-aged figure with a bristly beard. Despite his seemingly absurd claim, he was one of the few councilmen who didn't try to trip him up. His question had even helped Charles reframe the issue as a matter of tactical theory, shifting the council's focus in Charles's favor.
Charles smirked, intrigued. Had Gaspard intended to lend a helping hand?
Steed continued, "I'm more concerned about Wells' uncertain position."
Charles murmured in acknowledgment. He understood Wells' dilemma. Wells wanted to support Charles, but the steel industry had a massive influence on his shipyards, and he was wary of crossing the Schneider Group. Or perhaps Wells was intentionally hedging, maintaining good relations with both sides to extract benefits from both.
There are no permanent friends, only permanent interests, Charles reminded himself. Even if they'd fought side by side in Gallipoli, Wells was a businessman and would always have his shipyards' best interests in mind. The only way Charles could break free from this dependency, he realized, was to own his own steelworks.
It was a wake-up call. Steel wasn't just a commodity; it was leverage and influence.
Steed added, "It might be wise to confirm Wells' support if you can."
"No need," Charles replied, shaking his head.
"You believe Wells will back us?" Steed asked, puzzled.
Charles shook his head again. "Most likely, he'll abstain."
Steed agreed; this was likely. Wells could stay neutral and offend no one. But his abstention might mean the proposal wouldn't pass.
"That's exactly what I'm hoping for," Charles said. "I'd rather Parliament reject this proposal than approve it."
Steed's jaw dropped.
Dominique, who had been brooding about the machine gun issue, looked up at Charles in confusion. Then, after a moment, Dominique's face brightened with realization. "Like with the machine guns?"
Steed's eyes widened in understanding. "A strategic retreat? Clever move, Colonel!"
Charles was indeed planning to take a step back to move forward. The call to change the uniform wasn't his alone; it was the voice of the entire army. Many soldiers on the front lines had grown to despise the bright red trousers and caps, and Charles was simply speaking on their behalf.
If Parliament approved the proposal, it would alleviate public pressure and offer soldiers the hope that a uniform change was on the horizon. The process of implementing that change, however, would be mired in the drawn-out struggle between the lower and upper houses. Meanwhile, more soldiers would continue to suffer and fall on the frontlines.
But if Parliament rejected the proposal, it would trigger a public backlash, putting Parliament in the direct path of widespread outrage—and serving as a stark warning from Charles.
Steed's eyes lit up with excitement. A uniform change seemed inevitable, unstoppable by any opposition. Every soldier would eventually need a new outfit, a need potentially even greater than for helmets, which were more limited in production.
Perhaps it was time to start investing in textile and clothing factories in preparation?
Charles kept his strategy for changing the uniforms under wraps. The Merit Gazette, the military's official newspaper, didn't mention the uniform debate, focusing instead on the developments at Gallipoli. Le Petit Journal only briefly noted Charles's speech before Parliament, while most media fixated on the debate over tactical theory:
"The theory of offensive warfare is sound. France has fought successfully by it for decades; if it were wrong, France might not exist at all today!"
"Wasn't Paris once conquered by offensives? And nearly overtaken again recently!"
"It should be the theory of defense—Petain has used it time and again to win at the front."
"And yet, who has won more battles than Charles?"
Charles was pleased with this response. His biggest worry was that Parliament would notice how critical the uniform issue was. The uniform debate was like a levee on the verge of bursting; while it seemed inconsequential on the surface, it was a catalyst capable of igniting the simmering frustrations of soldiers across the ranks.
High-ranking officials, far removed from life in the trenches, couldn't comprehend that something as trivial as uniform color might be the spark for open revolt.
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