Chapter 327: The Charles Doctrine
The Paris House of Representatives was its usual bustling scene of chaos, with legislators arguing and bickering like vendors at a crowded marketplace. It was a display of disorder and egotism, devoid of decorum. Yet, when Charles, dressed in his military uniform, appeared at the door, the entire assembly hall fell into silence. Every eye turned to him as he strode confidently down the aisle toward the speaker's podium.
Such a quiet entrance was unheard of—even General Gallieni's addresses didn't command this level of undivided attention. Expressions on the legislators' faces were mixed—some looked on with admiration, others with gratitude, but there were many whose faces betrayed jealousy and resentment.
Grévy, one of the members, wore a particularly complex expression. Sometimes he wondered, did he really hope that Charles wouldn't return from the battlefield? And if, someday, that were to happen, would he genuinely be glad? He wasn't sure.
Standing tall at the podium, Charles opened with a respectful, "Good day, gentlemen." Then he allowed himself a brief sigh, adding, "It's a relief not to be speaking over the sound of gunfire—this feels much better."
The legislators laughed, and Steed led them in applause, calling out, "Well done, Charles! You're the pride of France!"
A few others joined in with calls of support:
"You defeated the Germans, the Ottomans, and even the British!" "You saved countless lives—and the war itself!"
These were attempts to build momentum for Charles, but every word was true. Even those who opposed him couldn't deny these achievements, though they waited with impatience for the applause to die down.
Charles spoke first, seizing the initiative before questions could be thrown his way.
"I will begin by clarifying why I am here," he stated firmly. "I am not here on my own behalf. Changing the style and color of the uniforms offers me no personal benefit. My factories produce no textiles, no dyes, and they certainly don't manufacture military uniforms."
His voice grew more serious. "I am here for one purpose: to ensure that our brave soldiers are not risking their lives unnecessarily due to poor choices. These decisions make battles more complex, victories harder to achieve, and survival more precarious."
From his seat, Wells nodded to himself in approval. Charles's approach was savvy—he had framed his mission as one of advocating for the people. Anyone opposing him would thus appear to be standing against the welfare of the soldiers, a "crime" that could make a politician lose their supporters or even face public scorn.
But the representatives would not give up so easily.
Amand, one of the opposition members, stood up and interrupted. "Colonel," he began, "you're saying you object to the bright colors of our uniforms, correct?"
"Yes," Charles replied evenly.
"Then tell me, Colonel," Amand pressed, "are the British uniforms not colorful as well?"
"No," Charles answered simply.
The rapid-fire questions left no room for explanation. Amand seized on the response.
"Then how do you explain that the French army, dressed in bright uniforms, emerged victorious, while the British forces failed miserably?"
The assembly erupted into a chorus of shouts:
"Yes, uniform color doesn't decide victory or defeat!" "Perhaps bright uniforms even contribute to victory!" "This is a proud tradition of France—changing it would be surrendering to the enemy!"
Charles waited for the noise to die down before delivering a cool retort, "Gentlemen, if that's what you believe, then may I invite you to don those bright uniforms and join us on the battlefield?"
The opposition faltered, realizing that any response would trap them. If they agreed, they would be volunteering for the front lines. If they refused, they would effectively be admitting to expecting others to risk their lives in bright uniforms while they stayed safe at home.
Steed and his allies seized the moment, adding their voices to support Charles.
Another legislator rose, addressing Charles respectfully. "Colonel, do you realize that these bright colors serve a purpose beyond aesthetics? They invigorate our soldiers, enhancing their spirits and morale. Perhaps that, not just the uniforms, is the key to victory."
"Oh, really?" Charles responded with a wry smile. "Strange that I never noticed that effect."
"It's a matter of psychology, Colonel," the legislator insisted. "Red invokes impulse. It symbolizes blood and heightens the urge to attack. It encourages soldiers to charge at the enemy with bayonets rather than succumb to fear or retreat."
At this, Charles gained a new understanding. France's red caps and trousers weren't merely a matter of "fashion" or "tradition" but were part of a deeply ingrained belief in the "attack doctrine." Commanders desired to see soldiers emboldened by the sight of red, charging headlong into enemy lines in a rush of adrenaline, expecting this would lead to victory.
Charles smiled and replied logically, "I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir."
"I can say with certainty that in every victory I've led, soldiers were not inspired to victory by red caps or trousers. On the contrary, my orders from the beginning have been to take cover behind our 'tanks' and preserve their lives."
Another legislator stood up in opposition. "Colonel, are you questioning the 'attack doctrine'?"
"In a sense, yes," Charles replied without hesitation.
His answer stunned the assembly into silence. In this era, questioning the attack doctrine was almost heresy—though, ironically, Pétain had made his name by doing exactly that. In the end, real-world results were the only proof that mattered.
Everyone, even Steed, fell quiet. The legislators, ever cautious, typically went along with the prevailing trend, and the prevailing wisdom still leaned toward the attack doctrine. Even Charles, with his clout, might be treading dangerously.
Inevitably, the inquiry shifted from uniforms to a discussion of the attack doctrine itself.
"So then, Colonel, are you saying you support Pétain's defense doctrine?" Grevy rose to ask, his face showing a faintly triumphant expression, as if he'd cornered Charles.
"No," Charles replied calmly, shaking his head. "I don't support the defense doctrine either."
His answer puzzled the assembly. Warfare was either offensive or defensive, so what was left?
But there was indeed a third way—and it was precisely the middle ground that Charles advocated.
"There are times when victory requires attack, and there are times when defense is necessary," Charles explained.
He looked out over the crowd, his gaze steady and confident. "The battlefield is an immensely complex arena, gentlemen—far more complex than you might imagine."
"We can't rely on a simplistic theory of attack or defense and expect to win every time."
"That's like saying we could win every battle using only the 75mm artillery. Such an approach would ultimately lead to failure, whether it's with attack or defense."
The assembly went silent.
The legislators collectively came to a realization: Charles's approach to warfare didn't fit neatly into the traditional attack doctrine or Pétain's defense doctrine.
It was something new.
It was the Charles Doctrine.
And his record on the battlefield had already demonstrated its validity.
What could they say against that?
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