Chapter 431: This Is the British
Charles casually handed the telegram to King Albert I.
Albert took it, glancing at the message. His eyes widened. "You're low on fuel?"
Charles said nothing, only gesturing meaningfully toward the telegram, signaling Albert to look closer.
Albert's expression shifted from confusion to shock, then finally to anger.
"Who sent this telegram?" Albert asked gravely.
"General Winter," Charles replied. "But I suspect this is actually the work of the 'First Lord of the Admiralty.'"
Albert gave a slight nod. "So they're saying if you don't go to the Dardanelles, they won't supply us with fuel?"
Colonel Eden looked at Albert, wide-eyed in disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom that anyone would use fuel to coerce Charles into compliance.
Even Tijani, who had been going through paperwork, paused. He looked from Albert to Charles, waiting for an answer.
Charles's silence confirmed Albert's suspicion.
Albert exploded like a powder keg ignited.
"Those bastards! Scoundrels!"
"How could they even consider this?"
"I knew the British couldn't be trusted. They always put their own interests above everything else."
…
Tijani stepped forward and took a look at the telegram.
"I don't quite understand. Doesn't our victory here align with British interests too? Could this be a misunderstanding?"
"Maybe they mean it at face value—perhaps there really are German submarines blocking Antwerp…"
Charles shook his head. "The moment I agree to go to the Dardanelles, they'll deliver the fuel without delay. If I refuse, they'll keep stalling."
Tijani looked back at the telegram, finally nodding slowly. "You're right. On the surface, the message doesn't hint at any threats. But in reality, whether or not German submarines are involved is up to their interpretation."
"This is the 'First Lord's' way of trying to salvage the Dardanelles debacle," Albert seethed. "That man cares only about his own political gains, disregarding his allies and the potential danger of his actions. This could ruin everyone's hard work—it could cost lives!"
Charles remained silent, getting up to make himself a cup of coffee.
If the "First Lord" had such foresight and understanding, he wouldn't have seized the Ottoman Empire's battleships.
Albert, however, was not as composed. His face had turned pale with rage, and his chest heaved as he breathed heavily. He looked like an enraged bull, ready to charge.
After a moment, Albert grabbed his hat from the table and turned to leave.
"I'm going to Britain," he declared.
"Sire," Charles called after him, "do you think that will help?"
Albert turned, replying, "This might be a personal decision by the First Lord. Others may not agree with such a tactic."
He added, "Besides, he's no longer the First Lord of the Admiralty. He has no authority to make this decision."
"But his influence remains," Charles replied. "It's not about his title; it's about his connections. He can persuade others and make them believe this serves Britain's best interests."
"But it doesn't serve Britain's best interests," Albert insisted.
He believed that if he went to Britain and made an impassioned appeal, the First Lord would be denounced, and the fuel issue would be quickly resolved.
"No, Sire," Charles replied. "The crucial point is that I'm French, not British."
Albert, who had been ready to turn away, froze, his feet as if bound in place.
"Think about it." Charles stirred his coffee with a spoon, then returned to his desk. "The British transport ships aren't only bringing fuel; they're bringing reinforcements. Once the British reinforcements arrive, who will command the next phase of the battle?"
Albert immediately understood.
If Charles stayed in Antwerp, no one could wrest command from him. This meant that the British forces would have to follow his orders, and he would receive all the glory. For the British, this would be unacceptable; as the world's preeminent power, they expected to lead, to play the starring role in any campaign.
Otherwise, Britain's international reputation—and the loyalty of its colonies—could be at stake.
"We can test it," Charles said, sipping his coffee. He looked toward the radio operator waiting nearby. "Reply to General Winter: 'Regrettably, as I previously mentioned, I cannot leave Antwerp. We are at a crucial stage in the campaign, and I believe it's essential that I remain here to oversee it.'"
"Yes, General." The radio operator saluted and left to deliver the message.
Charles turned back to the group. "What do you think General Winter's reply will be? I bet they've already made their plans."
Tijani chuckled, nodding in agreement. Britain might be an ally, but it was also France's rival.
Colonel Eden appeared uneasy. Until now, he had thought of Britain and France as steadfast allies united against Germany, only now realizing that things were far more complicated.
Albert sighed quietly, feeling a wave of helplessness as he returned to his chair.
A short while later, the radio operator returned with a new telegram: "General Winter says Antwerp is now secure, and they plan to send Field Marshal Kitchener to take command. Brigadier General, you can go to the Dardanelles without concern, as you are needed there even more."
Tijani let out a surprised "Wow," grinning as he glanced at Charles. "Your success has impressed even the British Field Marshal!"
Then, thinking further, he added, "But really, who could blame him? In this campaign, not even the British Field Marshal could outshine you."
Albert commented with a blank expression, "A perfect plan. They excel at winning these 'victories'—typical British."
Colonel Eden, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up. "But, Sire, General, if this is our only problem, then I believe we could manage without the British reinforcements. The guerrillas could fill in, and I'm sure they wouldn't be any less capable. As for fuel, we could appeal to the surrounding towns."
Tijani smiled, shaking his head. "That would require secrecy, Colonel. We can't let anyone know that our tanks are out of fuel."
Charles remained quiet, a new idea forming in his mind.
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