Chapter 747: A Golden Opportunity
At dawn, Paris was wrapped in a thick mist, as if it had just rained.
The Eiffel Tower loomed in and out of view, standing like an ever-watchful sentinel guarding the city day and night.
Not far from it, inside the City Hall, the atmosphere within the Prime Minister's office was heavy and tense.
Clemenceau and Briand stood with newspapers in hand, discussing the latest developments on the Meuse front.
"He actually pulled it off," Clemenceau said, shaking his head in awe.
He didn't elaborate, but in his heart he silently acknowledged Charles' strength.
Charles had won this decisive victory despite Parliament's restraints, despite some MPs selling intelligence to the enemy, and despite the government dragging its feet out of fear.
And this wasn't just any win.
It was a crushing victory.
Charles had retaken vast territory west of the Meuse, captured over 300,000 German troops, and seized huge stockpiles of supplies.
His power was like his tanks—relentless, unstoppable, flattening every obstacle in its path.
Briand stood silently at the window, staring at the crowds below—people cheering for Charles through the morning fog.
His voice carried a deep sense of despair:
"Nothing can stop him now.
Everyone believes he's France's savior.
The people support him, follow him…"
"Do you know what that means?"
"It means people will become blind.
They'll support every decision Charles makes—even the wrong ones.
No one will be able to stop him."
To Briand, this was the fatal flaw of a republic.
Most of the time, a republic operates under the influence of capital.
The public—divided, scattered—is easily manipulated by the media and money of the elite.
But if someone like Charles emerges…
A person who becomes the spiritual leader of the entire common class,
A person whose authority is unquestioned,
Who commands media, capital, and military…
Then even the once-fragmented public becomes a unified force under his leadership.
"That will be the end of the republic," Briand sighed.
"It will collapse under its own weight."
Clemenceau understood the implication.
A republic could elect a strong Prime Minister—
And that Prime Minister could use his concentrated power to destroy the very system that elected him.
"Not necessarily," Clemenceau said calmly.
"First, he must resign his military post."
It was a fundamental law of the Republic: no military officer could hold political office.
Briand chuckled and shook his head.
"Do you really think he'll step down?"
Clemenceau argued:
"If he clings to military authority, it becomes his weakness.
But if he gives it up, he'll end up like Boulanger…"
"Monsieur," Briand interrupted, "Charles is not Boulanger. You're underestimating him.
Think—who's really commanding our army right now?"
Clemenceau paused.
The answer was obvious: Charles.
Technically, Charles was just commander of the 6th Army Group.
But both Foch and Pétain answered to him.
And Gallieni was his strongest political shield.
Briand pressed further:
"And who now holds the power to appoint and dismiss generals?"
Clemenceau hesitated again.
On paper, it was still Parliament and the government.
But ever since the army's near-mutiny, official policy had changed:
All major military appointments now had to "consider the opinions of frontline soldiers."
And the "opinions of frontline soldiers"…
Were really just Charles' opinions.
Briand walked up to Clemenceau, voice tightening:
"And now, who controls wartime logistics, weapons production, shipping, insurance, and mining?"
Clemenceau struggled to answer:
"It's… Charles."
"Exactly." Briand said grimly.
"He has already used his military power, capital, and popularity to bypass Parliament.
He's practically taken control of the nation—and we can't stop him."
Clemenceau nodded slowly.
He had made a mistake—too focused on parliamentary infighting.
He believed power still resided within Parliament.
But Parliament…
Had already been rendered irrelevant—without anyone even realizing it.
"It's not just that," Briand said, collapsing onto a sofa, rubbing his forehead.
"Many MPs are already switching to Charles' side."
"Not just Steed and Wells—others too. More by the day."
"Why? Because supporting Charles brings popularity.
And popularity means votes.
That's all that matters to them."
Clemenceau had to agree.
The benefits of siding with Charles now far outweighed the traditional "money-first" temptations of the capitalists.
And it was cheaper, too.
Just then, Lieutenant Colonel Dura knocked and entered the office.
Neither Briand nor Clemenceau paid much attention—Dura wasn't expected to bring good news.
"General Gallieni has fallen ill," Dura reported flatly.
"I've heard he underwent surgery."
Briand nodded.
Everyone knew Gallieni had health issues.
Surgery was no surprise.
Clemenceau didn't even react.
He was still reeling from the realization of how powerful Charles had become—and how young he was.
But Dura continued:
"From what I know, this is Gallieni's second operation.
The previous one was a month ago—he took a week's leave for it."
Briand snapped his head up.
"You mean… he's been hiding his condition?"
Dura nodded.
Finally, someone understood the real significance.
That got Clemenceau's attention.
"He's hiding his illness? That means… he's seriously unwell, isn't he?"
"Absolutely," Briand said, rising to his feet.
"This wasn't just some minor procedure.
It could be life-threatening. Isn't that right?"
He turned to Dura, who confirmed:
"I heard Gallieni only regained consciousness this morning. He was very close to death."
Briand lifted a finger, as if struck by a sudden realization.
He pointed into the air, as if punctuating a thought:
"He's afraid… of losing his post."
But he quickly corrected himself.
"No—he's not afraid of losing his position as Minister of War.
That role has been meaningless for a long time—it's Charles who commands the army."
"He's afraid of losing his post as Commander of the Reserve Army Group."
Clemenceau agreed.
"Yes. The Reserve Army Group is Charles' foundation of support.
It oversees logistics, defends Davault, manages his aircraft plant, and runs Merit Daily."
"God… if Gallieni can no longer lead the Reserve Army Group, Charles stands to lose everything."
A faint smile crept across Briand's face.
He hadn't expected such a gift at such a hopeless moment—
But fate had handed him a perfect opportunity.
He immediately picked up the phone and summoned his secretary.
"Call a parliamentary session.
It's time to relieve General Gallieni of some of his burden."
Clemenceau and Dura exchanged glances—
Then nodded in silent agreement.
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