"They can shield us from any attack!" Joffre exclaimed enthusiastically, pointing at the armor of the CA-1 tank. "The front and side panels are reinforced with 11mm riveted steel plates. Do you know why it's 11mm?"
Joffre gestured to the reporters, hoping to engage them. One of the journalists, a man named Cobdo from Le Matin, raised his hand. Joffre remembered him—he was known for his military articles.
Joffre signaled for him to answer.
Cobdo stood, adjusting his glasses. "I assume it's because the German Mauser rifles can only penetrate up to 10mm steel plates, General!"
Joffre nodded approvingly. "Exactly. The German bullets can only go through 10mm, so we made our armor 11mm thick—not a millimeter more or less. Don't you think that would frustrate the Germans?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the drawing room, and someone called out, "I think it might drive them to shoot themselves, General!"
This remark brought more chuckles.
Joffre spread his hands with a mock innocent expression. "I'm sorry to say, but I hope so!"
The room filled with laughter once more.
Meanwhile, Colonel Christian's eyes were filled with terror as he led his troops, advancing steadily around the tanks. Occasionally, the tanks would fire in the direction of the enemy, but Christian felt this was largely ineffective. He had noticed that some shells exploded miles away from the German line, while others detonated perilously close to their own men.
If only Christian could have seen inside the tanks, he would have been horrified. Each shell released toxic fumes that instantly filled the cabin with smoke, making it impossible for the crew to breathe and blurring their vision. The driver could barely see the infantry huddled on the ground below.
The soldiers' cries of pain echoed around them as men were crushed by the heavy treads, cursing in agony as their legs were severed. But the tanks continued their haphazard advance, oblivious to the chaos they left in their wake.
"Stay behind the tanks!" Christian shouted. His officers passed the order along.
"At least they provide cover from bullets," he thought, believing it was safer for the soldiers to follow from behind.
However, a moment later, he heard a distinct "clang, clang!" and noticed several CA-1 tanks coming to a halt.
Realization struck Christian—the enemy had shot through the CA-1 tanks with rifles, piercing the front armor.
Then it dawned on him: the Germans must have improved their ammunition to increase its penetrative power. As he had suspected, the Germans weren't fools; they would inevitably figure out how to counter the tanks.
As Christian grappled with this revelation, he thought of the "Saint-Chamond" tanks, which had 17mm armor. He looked back, expecting to see their towering forms following closely, but was stunned to find them sitting idly at the rear, almost as if watching.
"Cowards!" he muttered, assuming the Saint-Chamond crews were too fearful to join the fight.
"This is just our vanguard!" Joffre gestured for his assistant to switch slides, and a colossal vehicle appeared on the wall, drawing gasps of awe from the reporters.
"Now," Joffre's voice grew more animated, "allow me to formally introduce the Saint-Chamond tank, developed by Schneider—France's most powerful weapon!"
Joffre scanned the room, enjoying the admiration on the faces of the reporters as he proudly continued, "Its front armor is 12mm thick, with 17mm on the sides. No bullet can pierce it!"
"This machine is equipped with the most advanced electric transmission engine. It's more than a war machine; it's a masterpiece of art!"
The reporters nodded approvingly, some gazing at the projected image with reverence, imagining it mowing down enemies on the battlefield.
Joffre seemed to sense their thoughts and puffed his chest, smiling confidently as he said, "Rest assured, gentlemen. At this moment, they are charging with our brave soldiers towards the enemy's line. Let us await the miracle together!"
Applause filled the room, and some journalists cheered.
Others joined in, chanting "Vive la!" until the room buzzed with energy.
Just then, Canet entered, his face pale with an uneasy look. Leaning close, he whispered something into Joffre's ear. Joffre's expression shifted to shock, eyes wide as if waiting for Canet to correct himself. But Canet only shook his head, confirming the dire news.
After a moment of stunned silence, Joffre turned to the reporters, regaining composure. "Apologies, gentlemen. I must return to the command post. The press conference is over. Please return to await news of our victory!"
Without looking back, he left, with Canet at his side.
Behind him, the reporters murmured in confusion.
"Weren't we supposed to stay here for the victory announcement?"
"Is it really over? What's happening on the battlefield?"
"How many lines have we broken so far?"
A voice in the crowd suddenly asked, "Could it be that the battle has taken a turn? Did we fail to win this one?"
Silence fell over the room.
Though they found it hard to believe that such powerful tanks could lose, the speculation seemed plausible. Otherwise, they would already be interviewing triumphant soldiers.
The reporter from Le Figaro gestured to his assistant, who quickly slipped out of the room.
News soon reached Grevy's estate. He hung up the phone, murmuring a contemplative "Hmm" as he sank back onto the couch, lighting a cigar.
Though he had expected this outcome, he was still baffled by how precisely Charles had predicted the defeat.
Was it the artillery? Or something else?
Grevy cared little about the specifics; he only knew that with time, Charles and his tanks would ultimately prevail.
This was all part of Charles' plan.
Gallieni, too, had been following the situation at Lafaux closely. He received word just minutes after Grevy, due to Joffre's attempts to delay any unfavorable news. However, Gallieni had prepared for this, and the information reached the City Defense Command regardless.
With a dark look, Gallieni hung up the phone and immediately ordered, "Bring Charles back—right now!"
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