Charles had always assumed the plane was flying through clouds, though he noticed something strange about their smell. Suddenly, the pilot lowered their altitude, and flashes of exploding shells became visible right below, shaking the plane violently. Only then did Charles realize that these "clouds" were actually thick smoke rising from heavy bombardments.
"Look!" the pilot shouted enthusiastically, "We're here! Antwerp, straight ahead!"
Charles leaned over, trying to glimpse Antwerp from the air, but all he could see were scattered flashes in a gloomy haze. Smoke and dust filled the entire view, blocking the early morning light and giving the illusion of nighttime.
As the plane descended lower, Charles began to worry about stray shells hitting them; occasional explosive trails seemed dangerously close. A few minutes later, the loudest blasts receded, and the sky brightened slightly, with only the occasional shell now audible in the distance.
Turning back, Charles saw the thick, smoky haze shrouding the area they'd flown over, with a few large German observation balloons hovering faintly within. That must've been the combat zone we flew over, he thought, and this here must be the center of Antwerp fortress.
The pilot circled Antwerp's airfield a couple of times, waiting for a signal from the ground. When soldiers below finally waved them in, the pilot gently brought the plane down onto the runway.
"See?" the pilot boasted as he climbed out. "Told you we'd make it safely!"
He pulled out a flask and took a long drink, as if rewarding himself for a job well done.
"Hey!" A Belgian officer in a blue, brass-buttoned coat and a flat-topped hat was approaching them. The star insignia on his collar marked him as a major. Even before he reached them, he called out loudly, "Frenchman! Are you reinforcements?"
Laughter erupted from the nearby soldiers. Charles realized this was more of a taunt than a genuine question, so he simply nodded politely in response. He instructed the pilot to wait, then approached the officer, snapped to attention, and handed over his military ID.
"Major, I'm here on an assessment mission," he said.
The major glanced at the ID, then handed it back dismissively before spitting to the side and sneering, "Well, well. So you remembered us in the end."
Another round of mocking laughter sounded, and Charles realized there was clear tension between the Belgians and the French that he hadn't anticipated.
The Antwerp fortress was more than just a stronghold; it was a fortress system made up of two defensive lines, totaling 29 formidable fortresses. Twenty-one of them formed the first line, while eight comprised the second, with each fort spaced two to four kilometers apart. Together with the nearby rivers and hills, these forts protected Antwerp at its core.
Unlike Liège, which was famous as a barrier against the German invasion, Antwerp held a uniquely strategic role. It was the last line of defense for Belgium, a "national fortress" meant to protect the very existence of the nation.
At the fortress command center, chaos reigned as officers received continuous urgent calls from the front. Major General Geiss, the fortress commander, sat frozen at his desk, overwhelmed by constant demands for reinforcements and updates from the front. Finally, unable to cope, he ordered his communications staff to stop relaying any new information to him.
"It won't make a difference," he muttered in despair. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt
Earlier in the war, Geiss had made a fatal miscalculation: he ordered the entire area around the forts cleared of all trees and vegetation. In his mind, war meant German troops charging forward in tight ranks, bayonets fixed. To maximize the impact of the fortress's machine guns and artillery, he wanted the field of fire unobstructed.
In reality, however, the Germans launched massive observation balloons into the sky. From there, spotters directed artillery fire from well out of the fortresses' range. The cleared fields only made the forts easier targets, glaringly exposed under enemy observation. Worse, the Germans' heavy artillery had a maximum range of 14 kilometers, far exceeding the fortresses' own 200mm guns, which topped out at just 10 kilometers.
Geiss could only watch helplessly as each fort was systematically bombarded into ruin. Every day, one more fortress was obliterated, with no way to strike back.
This is my fault, he admitted to himself, bitterly regretting his error. But any commander in my place would've done the same.
Just as Geiss buried his face in his hands, an aide timidly approached. "General, there's a French liaison here, a lieutenant. He's here to assess the situation. Should I bring him in?"
Geiss sat up abruptly, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "A Frenchman? Bring him here—quickly!"
Ordinarily, a French lieutenant would never gain an audience with the general. But given the desperate situation, Geiss clung to the faint hope that France or Britain might be sending reinforcements. He was anxious to know what this French officer's arrival might signify.
However, when Geiss saw Charles, the youthful lieutenant who could easily have been mistaken for a schoolboy, he looked crestfallen.
"Is this all? Are you telling me there's no one else?" He inspected the young officer in disbelief.
Has France lost so many soldiers already that they're forced to send a boy to assess and negotiate for them?
Charles didn't fully understand Geiss's question, so he took it at face value and responded, "Of course we have more, General. They're busy driving the Germans back. We're winning victories."
Geiss's face softened. This was good news—if France was indeed pushing back the Germans, there was a chance they might reach Antwerp and help Belgium drive out the invaders.
Extending his hand, Geiss greeted Charles properly. "Welcome, Lieutenant."
As they sat down, Geiss got straight to the point. "So, once you've confirmed the situation here, will France be sending reinforcements?"
Charles hesitated. "That's beyond my authority, General. My task is only to assess and report back."
Geiss's eyes fell on Charles's single bar insignia, and he gave a resigned nod. "Ah, of course."
The glimmer of hope faded from his eyes, and his expression grew bleak once more.
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