Dusk settled over Antwerp, casting a dim light across the city until a rare break in the clouds let a streak of sunset brighten the horizon.
Twenty-five kilometers east of the fortress, within a basin surrounded by hills, German Army General von Beseler of the 3rd Reserve Corps stood on high ground, surveying the scene through his binoculars.
A thunderous boom echoed across the landscape. The ground trembled as if from an earthquake, and a rush of air swept across the area, forcing everyone to instinctively hunch over and cover their ears.
It was the roar of the "Big Bertha," the 420mm heavy howitzer. With a range of up to fourteen kilometers and shells weighing a ton each, it took 200 men to operate and could only fire two rounds per hour.
Unmoved, General Beseler kept his binoculars fixed on his target, standing still like a statue. After a tense minute, a cloud of dust and smoke radiated outward in the distance, followed by a flash of light as the shell exploded.
Beseler scowled and barked at his adjutant, "Tell Frech he wasted another shell. He missed by at least a kilometer this time!"
"Yes, General!" the adjutant replied, rushing off to relay the order.
"These idiots!" Beseler muttered, stalking over to a stack of ammunition crates where a map was pinned down with a bayonet. "As artillerymen, they should be ashamed of such waste. We should already be standing atop Antwerp's walls, accepting Geiss's surrender by now!"
Beseler and Geiss were once acquaintances. Before the war, Germany and Belgium had shared good relations, and much of Belgium's weaponry, including its rifles and fortress artillery, had been purchased from Germany. Now, in a bitter twist of fate, Belgium was using German-made arms against them.
Geiss had been the kind of acquaintance with whom Beseler could meet for a drink or a game of chess after work—not a close friend, but certainly a companion. Yet here they were, forced to meet as enemies on the battlefield. Beseler wasn't sure if he should wish for an early encounter with Geiss or hope to never see him at all.
"General!" an adjutant interrupted his thoughts with an urgent report, "We've received word that Charles may be in Antwerp!"
Beseler grunted, his eyes still fixed on the map and on his main target—Fort Wavre. Destroying this fort would sever Antwerp's water supply system, cutting off the city's access to fresh water.
"General!" the adjutant repeated, more insistently, "Charles could be in Antwerp!"
Beseler, irritated at the interruption, raised his head with a frown. "And why does that matter? Do you plan on listing every single person in Antwerp for me?"
Halfway through his sentence, Beseler suddenly paused. "Wait… who did you say? Charles?"
"Yes, General!" the adjutant confirmed.
"Charles of France? The one who invented the tank and the sidecar?" Beseler asked, narrowing his eyes. He, like most of the German Army, had heard of Charles and his infamous innovations.
"Yes, General!" the adjutant nodded.
Beseler's gaze grew sharp. "Are you certain? Where did you get this information?"
The adjutant became cautious, well aware that Beseler only narrowed his eyes when a situation demanded absolute precision. "I'm not completely sure, General," he admitted nervously. "We received the information from a Belgian merchant who recently returned from France. He mentioned overhearing that Charles flew into Antwerp this morning."
Beseler hesitated briefly, then issued a rapid series of commands: Follow current novᴇls on ɴovᴇl(ꜰ)ir(e).nᴇt
"Dispatch someone to confirm whether any aircraft entered Antwerp this morning. If so, I want to know the model of the plane."
The model would be crucial—if it were a single-seater, the report was likely false, as young Charles wasn't known to be a pilot.
"Deploy a division—no, make that two divisions—to surround Antwerp. We can't wait to verify the information before moving. What if it's true?"
"Also, send ten planes to encircle Antwerp from the air!"
The adjutant jotted down the orders, then hesitated. "But, General, even with extra planes, we can't prevent enemy aircraft from escaping…"
"Then ram them out of the sky if you have to!" Beseler roared. "Just do as I ordered!"
"Yes, General!" The adjutant hurried off, practically fleeing.
"These men!" Beseler muttered bitterly. "They have no idea how critical this is."
He gazed out toward Antwerp, murmuring to himself, "Could that boy really be there? Who would have sent him here? Idiots…"
Still unsatisfied, Beseler summoned a nearby orderly. "Luca!"
A soldier snapped to attention, his rifle slung over his shoulder.
"Take a message to the Belgians," Beseler ordered, gesturing toward Antwerp. "Make sure it reaches General Geiss."
Back in Antwerp's operations office, the room was brightened by the intense glow of red lights, as if it were daylight. General Geiss and General Winter were standing over a map, discussing the deployment of their forces.
General Winter was thoughtful as he spoke. "I think moving our troops to the front lines under cover of night is a sound strategy. We can dig trenches before the enemy realizes, sparing our men from artillery fire while they dig."
Geiss nodded in agreement. "Our main priority is reinforcing Fort Wavre. If that fort falls, the Germans will breach Flanders and take control of our fresh water supply system. The entire city would be left without water."
Winter's expression turned serious. He knew well what it would mean for a coastal city to lose its fresh water supply.
"Don't worry, General," Winter assured him. "We'll establish a strong defense there. Even if Fort Wavre falls, the Germans will be up against our iron defenses."
Winter had confidence in his troops and their equipment, including the Enfield rifles, known for their rate of fire—even more effective, in some ways, than France's machine guns. With these forces in the trenches, the Germans would be hard-pressed to break through.
Just as they were discussing the placement of the trenches, an adjutant entered with a sealed envelope.
"General, this was delivered by the Germans," the adjutant announced. "It's from General Beseler."
Glancing at the envelope, Geiss recognized Beseler's handwriting.
"Must be a call for surrender!" Geiss laughed as he broke the seal and opened the letter. But as he read, he frowned in confusion. "Who is Charles? The letter says that if we hand over Charles, they'll cease their attack on Antwerp and guarantee the city's safety, now and in the future."
"Charles?" Winter looked equally baffled. "Is he even here?"
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