Finally, the Defense Command received reports from Joffre's headquarters. Previously, Joffre had cut off all contact with Paris, citing "military secrecy," so Gallieni had relied on reconnaissance flights for only the vaguest picture of the situation at the front. Now, the intelligence came flooding into Defense Command all at once.
Gallieni was initially puzzled. Even if the front lines were in trouble, Joffre was hardly one to broadcast that, as it would effectively be an admission of failure to Charles. But Gallieni quickly understood when he picked up a cable and said, "It's from General Carnace, the Deputy Commander of the French forces. He seems to believe we're the only ones who can salvage this disaster."
"No one can salvage this," Charles replied, reading through the dispatch. "The Germans have completely sealed off the front and are prepared for any reinforcements. Any rescue force sent in will only get trapped in the same way."
This was the grim reality of trench warfare at the time. The Germans had entrenched themselves at several critical points, reinforcing their positions, even deploying the newly developed A7V tanks. These "fortresses on treads" turned any potential assault into a massacre, no matter how many troops were sent in.
Gallieni continued reading through the telegrams, his expression growing darker. "I think you're right, Charles. The Germans have been planning this for a long time, and a rushed rescue attempt would only cost us more."
Major General Tijani of the Second Special Artillery Division understood this all too well—he was facing down a row of A7V tanks on the battlefield. As he received orders to break through, he looked helplessly at the terrain around him. Escape seemed impossible.
On both sides, German forces held the high ground, a ridgeline stretching several kilometers with bunkers and gun emplacements at every peak. Any attempt to advance would bring his soldiers into a crossfire from heavy machine guns dug into those heights.
Ahead, the only exit—a narrow pass about a kilometer wide—had become a deathtrap under relentless German artillery fire. 105mm shells rained down without pause, creating a wall of shrapnel and earth. Trying to run through would mean certain death.
Behind them lurked German tanks, hidden in a sheltered position that the French 75mm artillery could not reach. Any French soldier who tried to break out would be ruthlessly gunned down. Desperate, Tijani had attempted to lead his tanks through the pass, but all efforts had ended in failure. The charred remains of seven Saint-Chamond and five CA-1 tanks lay scattered along the road, each one obliterated by German fire.
In desperation, Tijani used the radio again and again, reporting to Joffre: "We can't break out. The enemy's defenses and artillery positions surround us on all sides, waiting for us to fall into this deathtrap. We're completely surrounded!"
Back in Paris, the phone on Gallieni's desk rang—an unusual occurrence, as only someone very influential could bypass the usual channels to reach him directly. When Gallieni picked up, he looked shocked.
"Senator Clément? How can I assist you?"
"You want Charles to lead a rescue of Cape Town? But…"
"I see. Your son is a colonel in the First Special Artillery Division?"
"Very well, I'll do what I can."
He barely had time to put the phone down before it rang again.
"Senator Jérémie? You also have family in the Special Artillery Division?"
"Yes, your nephew is in the Second Division?"
"All right, I'm working on it." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ɴo(v)elFɪre.ɴet
Another call followed, and Gallieni decided to let Colonel Fernand take over, instructing him to reply with a simple "We're working on it" each time.
Gallieni glanced at Charles with raised eyebrows. "I think you know what this is about."
Charles nodded. "Yes, I do."
Driven by a desire for quick advancement, politicians and businessmen had seen Joffre's offensive as a guaranteed victory and placed their sons and nephews in the artillery division to "earn" them glory. None of them had expected this catastrophe.
Charles felt a flicker of bitterness. "To be honest, they don't deserve a rescue. Leaving them there might be for the best."
Yet another thought crossed his mind: If he saved these officers and influential figures owed him favors, perhaps they would support him further. But he shook his head—rescuing them in these conditions seemed impossible.
Just then, Colonel Fernand looked at Gallieni with an incredulous expression and mouthed a name: "Wells."
Gallieni looked surprised and took the call himself.
"Your son is in the Second Special Artillery Division? Major General Tijani?"
"Understood, I'll do my utmost."
Charles was puzzled. Who was Wells, and why was Gallieni so deferential? Then he remembered: wasn't there a Wells who headed the Brest shipyards? It seemed this titan of industry had placed his son in the army rather than the navy—only for him to end up surrounded on all sides.
After hanging up, Gallieni was silent for a moment. Then he turned to Charles. "Come with me, Major."
He led Charles to the adjoining office and gestured for him to sit.
"As a soldier," Gallieni said gravely, "I wouldn't normally send you in to save this division, especially when they've created this situation for themselves. To me, they're no different from any other unit."
"But to them, you're different."
Charles felt frustrated. "I understand, sir, but given the circumstances…"
"There's more." Gallieni continued, "Joffre intends to deploy the First Air Squadron to provide cover for the artillery divisions. You know what that means."
Charles's eyes widened. "No, he can't do that!"
"Oh, he can." Gallieni replied, with a glint of frustration in his eye. "To cover the retreat of over 20,000 artillerymen—even if it costs him the entire Air Squadron—would be worth it to Joffre. Especially with the relatives of so many powerful families involved, including General Tijani, who is Wells' son. Do you think they'll object?"
Charles was silent, acknowledging the truth. To these influential figures, the Air Squadron meant little, but the survival of the Second Artillery Division was everything.
"You're the only one who can save them, Charles," Gallieni said quietly. "If you can't do it, no one can."
He added, "Consider it—for the sake of those soldiers, for the First Air Squadron, or even for yourself."
After a long silence, Charles replied, "I'll try, but I don't want this situation to happen again."
Gallieni's eyes brightened. "What exactly do you mean?"
Charles replied, "No one should have the authority to reassign my units without my consent. Joffre doesn't understand how to use them effectively, and it's wasteful to let them be mismanaged. I don't think that's unreasonable."
After a moment of thought, Gallieni nodded resolutely. "I promise—there won't be a repeat of this."
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