O'Connell's report caught Admiral Robeck off guard; he momentarily forgot to chew his steak. After a stunned pause, Robeck quickly swallowed his food. "Are you certain? They actually sank the submarine?"
"Yes, sir! Confirmed!" O'Connell nodded firmly. "They've recovered debris and bodies, confirming they're German submariners. They even identified further details from their documents."
Captain Forbes was both shocked and thrilled; this meant the Queen Elizabeth no longer had to remain anchored as a mere "showpiece"!
Possessing a battleship of this caliber, who wouldn't want to put it to use? And personally, Forbes had grown tired of the strange looks he received from fellow officers, who clearly found it amusing that he captained a "pampered" ship kept safe from any real action.
"What did he use to sink the submarine?" Forbes asked curiously.
"Apparently, a type of bomb." O'Connell handed over a telegram. "The destroyers released them off their sterns. They sink into the water and explode at depth, and they followed the submarine's path until they successfully destroyed it!"
"Another of Charles's inventions?" Forbes pressed.
"Of course!" O'Connell replied emphatically, then hesitated. "At least, I think so."
In truth, he wasn't entirely sure, as the telegram didn't specify. Realizing this, Forbes glanced at Admiral Robeck, choosing not to pursue the matter.
O'Connell noticed that Robeck's expression had shifted and quickly fell silent. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on ɴovᴇl(F)ɪre.ɴet
Robeck stared down at his food, lost in thought.
It dawned on Robeck that he'd been duped—Charles's real objective had never been to land at V Beach; it was to destroy the submarine. While Charles's success meant the battleships, previously "walking on eggshells," could finally operate freely, it also made Robeck look foolish. Charles had thoroughly humiliated him.
Just moments ago, Robeck had been speculating with Forbes on Charles's chances of a successful landing!
"Have they returned?" Robeck asked coldly, his face like stone.
"Yes, sir," O'Connell answered, sitting up straight. "They should arrive back at anchor in about an hour."
"He's disrupted the entire operation plan." Robeck scoffed. "When he returns, tell him to report to me."
"But, sir…" O'Connell started, only to be silenced by Robeck's sharp look.
"I can't allow him to undermine discipline," Robeck said firmly. "This is the military—he must follow orders. If I let him get away with this, others may think they can do the same!"
"Yes, Admiral," O'Connell replied, though inwardly he thought otherwise. He knew Charles technically fell under British command due to the alliance, but he also knew that British military law couldn't be imposed on a French officer.
If Robeck pursued this course, how would the French military react? How would the French people, or even their government, respond? Would he risk jeopardizing the Anglo-French alliance over this?
Robeck was too incensed to consider such points, and O'Connell knew better than to voice them now; crossing Robeck at this moment might just see him reassigned to lead ground troops on one of the nearby islands.
News of the event soon reached France.
The first to receive the telegram was, naturally, the Paris Garrison Headquarters.
Without Charles around, General Gallieni had grown increasingly restless. At times, he'd call in Colonel Fernand, saying, "Analyze the situation. In your opinion, how should the French forces execute a landing?"
"Uh…" Colonel Fernand stammered, struggling for an answer. "General, only Charles could make that assessment. I graduated from Saint-Cyr, but… I'm not well-versed in naval combat."
"You could just say you know nothing about it, Colonel. I understand," Gallieni said, irritated. "Charles never went to a military academy, yet he understands everything."
Colonel Fernand looked helplessly at the floor. There was only one Charles, after all—no one else had his unique talents.
Yet, he held his tongue; while true, saying so would be disrespectful.
Gallieni waved him away in frustration, and Fernand hastily withdrew, taking care to stay well out of Gallieni's sight.
Other staff officers faced similar scrutiny; whenever Gallieni raised his eyes, the entire command room would hold its breath, every officer pretending to be deeply absorbed in work—though, in reality, they'd likely finished their tasks ages ago.
Silently, Fernand lamented, "Colonel, please come back soon. Your presence has set General Gallieni's standards for staff officers far too high—he's done with us mere mortals!"
Suddenly, a cry of excitement erupted: "A telegram from Charles!"
Gallieni immediately focused on the voice, his previously somber expression transforming with delight.
Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief; they knew this would keep Gallieni occupied and spare them his scrutiny, at least for a few hours.
Once the message had been decrypted, a staff officer announced, "Charles successfully commanded his fleet to sink the German submarine!"
"Sank a submarine?" Gallieni was momentarily surprised, then chuckled. "That young man never fails to surprise."
"What did he use to sink it? Was it a new invention?" Gallieni inquired.
"Yes, sir," the officer replied. "It's called a 'depth charge.'"
Gallieni gave a satisfied nod. It wouldn't be Charles without an invention of some kind; it looked like the military's procurement orders would expand once again—though this time, it would be the Navy's turn.
The news wasn't immediately made public; first, preparations were made to ensure it would make a splash in La Gloire, the military journal.
As usual, Cobdo moved quickly, meticulously detailing the operation, analyzing the strategic significance of sinking the submarine, and even adding technical details about the German submarine itself, enough to fill an entire page of the newspaper.
It was barely eight in the morning when the newsroom staff, who'd just wrapped up a long night, found themselves dragged back to work.
When the paper hit the streets, copies sold out instantly, and all of France was abuzz. Conversations in the streets and alleys all revolved around Charles's victory:
"See? I knew Charles would outperform the British."
"Those silly Brits—they don't even know how to fight a war!"
"They should make Charles the fleet admiral—it'd be best for everyone."
The French Minister of the Navy received the news with a sense of curiosity. Charles's diversion had been effective, but why had Tijani sent a telegram yesterday announcing a V Beach landing? Could there be a spy in his own ranks?
Surely the leak had come from the British Navy's side!
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