Chapter 433: The Emperor Isn't Worried, but His Servants Are
All of this was a calculated scheme by Charles to create a "misunderstanding" among the Germans. The ships carrying ammunition, coupled with the rumbling of tanks heard in Brussels at night, were enough to make it seem as though fuel had already been delivered to Antwerp.
Charles even added a few extra touches:
He had men transporting barrels at the port, hauling them one truckload at a time. The barrels, however, were filled not with fuel but with water.
Later, a truck loaded with barrels appeared on a Brussels street. It was covered in tarpaulin and heading to a stadium being used as a military barracks when, "coincidentally," it broke down. French soldiers had to transfer the barrels onto another vehicle in plain view.
Finally, the sounds of tanks and trucks moving through the streets at night completed the illusion.
The Germans would be convinced: the French had ample fuel, and armored units were stationed in Brussels, ready to deliver a crushing blow to any German forces attempting to escape.
…
When Charles shared his plan, Tijani and Albert I were stunned.
"You… you actually plan to go through with this?" Albert stammered, his words tumbling over each other. "You think… it's that simple? The Germans will believe we have fuel?"
"What else would they believe?" Charles replied.
Then, as if struck by a new idea, he added with a straight face, "Oh, and we should definitely 'classify' this information. Make sure all involved personnel know that the fuel delivery is top secret."
Albert I and Tijani nearly burst with laughter and frustration. Here was a matter of life and death, the fate of Belgium at stake, and Charles was speaking as if he were playing a child's game.
"But that doesn't quite make sense," said Colonel Eden, who was unaware of the entire plan. "If we have fuel, why would we still need the guerrillas to collect more?"
Albert I had been wondering the same thing.
"To lure the Germans into escaping from Thuin," Tijani answered, quickly explaining the situation. Understanding dawned on both Albert and Colonel Eden.
Colonel Eden, awestruck, looked at Charles with admiration. "So, the guerrillas can openly collect fuel, while the Germans will assume we're not actually low on supplies. Brilliant, General! Truly, there's no better plan!"
Albert I laughed heartily, clapping Charles on the shoulder. "Now I understand why only you could reach Antwerp. No one else has your cunning, Brigadier."
Tijani still looked slightly concerned. "But what about the British? They know the truth."
Albert I and Colonel Eden immediately turned serious; they hadn't considered that.
Colonel Eden hesitated. "They wouldn't interfere, would they? After all, we're allies…"
"They would," Albert I replied, clenching his teeth. "I know the First Lord well. He'll stop at nothing to get his way. If he feels thwarted, he'll leak the truth to the Germans without hesitation."
Silence filled the command room. It seemed that, no matter how clever Charles's deception, the British were an unavoidable hurdle.
Charles, however, remained relaxed. "We'll proceed with our plan and ignore the British."
The others looked puzzled. How could they simply ignore them? If the British exposed the truth, everything would unravel.
Tijani suddenly seemed to realize something. "Ah, now I see… You've thought of everything, Brigadier—perfectly airtight!"
…
That day, a thick fog blanketed London, draping the city in a ghostly white veil. Streetlights glowed softly, casting golden halos that diffused into the mist.
The sound of Big Ben resonated through the fog, steady and resolute, as if a messenger from time itself, reaching the First Lord's villa.
In the First Lord's smoke-filled study, he held a lit cigar and sipped his favorite brandy, a slight buzz making his gaze linger on the telegram from General Winter.
But still, nothing. All of Winter's reports were full of updates on the Dardanelles, which he barely cared about.
The First Lord paused, frowning. How could Charles not respond at all?
After some thought, he asked his butler to send a follow-up message, only to receive the reply: "Charles has yet to respond."
The First Lord scowled. Wasn't Charles the one who should be anxious?
Not long after, another telegram from General Winter arrived: "I just asked Charles, and his reply was, 'Then we'll just have to wait until the German submarines are gone.'"
The First Lord stared at the message in disbelief.
Did Charles misunderstand the message and take it at face value?
No… that couldn't be.
He hesitated, then sent a telegram to the French Minister of the Navy: "How is the situation in Antwerp? I've heard there's been some trouble."
The two naval ministers had a longstanding rapport.
The French Minister of the Navy replied: "Yes, I've heard they're low on fuel, and they're having guerrillas collect gasoline from the locals."
The First Lord froze. Wasn't the fuel shortage supposed to be a military secret? And yet, Charles was sending guerrillas into the streets to collect fuel? It would be common knowledge—even the Germans would know!
Soon after, the French Minister sent another message: "Your country should supply Charles with fuel—it could determine the outcome of the campaign. You ought to do something!"
The First Lord replied with a vague excuse: "Apologies, but the German submarines are blocking the way. You know how determined the Germans are to prevent Charles from receiving his supplies."
It was true that the Germans had sent submarines to try to blockade Antwerp.
But the reality was that, if Britain wanted, they could easily dispatch a fleet to escort the supply ships into Antwerp. It wouldn't be difficult.
The First Lord, however, was less concerned with that than with figuring out why Charles would be so bold.
He paced his study, puzzling over it. Where was the flaw in his thinking? Why did Charles have the confidence to act this way?
Finally, it dawned on him.
He laughed out loud. "This is Charles's ruse—a brilliant one. The little rascal is playing the Germans like a fiddle."
He shook his head in reluctant admiration. "But too bad… he can't fool me."
The First Lord, smiling slyly, leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation.
It was time to put some pressure on Charles.
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