Chapter 236: Doomsday Revelry
The front line at Ypres was in full festive mode.
Soldiers had lined the trench edges with rows of candles, carefully propped up with their shovels to block the wind. In the flickering candlelight, someone struck up an accordion tune, and soldiers of all sides—British, French, and German—gathered around, joining in song. They sang familiar Christmas carols, each country's own, while those who didn't know the words hummed along, laughing, singing, and sharing treasured bottles of alcohol.
In the no-man's land between the trenches, soldiers had cleared a stretch of relatively even ground, marked a makeshift soccer field with torches as boundary lines, pulled a stretch of barbed wire into a goal, and bound straw into a ball. Two teams of players eagerly scrambled over the "field," and on the sidelines, cheers erupted from spectators as soldiers on all sides encouraged the players with gusto.
Captain Claude was refereeing. His whistle, once used to command attacks, now served as a football referee's whistle, and he had even made himself red and yellow cards from scraps of paint. Watching the soldiers running freely and the crowd cheering, Captain Claude felt a pang of bittersweetness.
He understood that this joy was nothing more than a "doomsday revelry."
"Perhaps they feel that if tomorrow means dying in terror, then they'd rather die of exhaustion now. In a way, it's almost a kind of happiness," he thought.
This feeling likely mirrored everyone's inner sentiments. Why had fate forced them into this hell?
At that moment, Lieutenant Denis hurried over to Claude on the field and whispered in his ear.
Captain Claude's expression shifted. Nodding towards a guard nearby, he called out, "Barre, take over for me!"
Barre stepped forward and took the whistle from Claude.
…
Captain Claude ducked into the makeshift command dugout, shaking hands with a thin soldier waiting inside and asking gravely, "Are you certain? They intend to implement the decimation order?"
"Yes, sir!" The soldier nodded. "The order has already reached Dunkirk. They're taking time to discuss this with the British because they're also involved, and any disciplinary action has to be coordinated to be effective."
Then the soldier suggested anxiously, "Captain, perhaps it's best to resume combat…"
Claude shook his head, cutting the soldier off with a hint of irony. "And how many lives will it cost us if we resume combat for two days?"
Everyone fell silent.
Given the casualty rate thus far, two days of resumed fighting would claim dozens of lives.
But the decimation order? It would take a fraction of that number.
If forced to choose, Claude would rather face the decimation order.
Denis, visibly distressed, protested, "But for the soldiers, the decimation order is humiliating, Captain. We would lose everything—our pride, our honor…"
Claude's response was calm, almost detached. "Do such things really matter to a dead man?"
"But who would we choose?" Denis asked, shaken.
The brutal nature of the decimation order lay in forcing soldiers to select their own to be punished.
"Count me in," Claude replied without hesitation.
Everyone was stunned. This was hardly a path to glory, yet here was their captain, volunteering as always to lead from the front.
Just then, a radio operator burst into the dugout, visibly excited. "Captain, you'll never guess who's here!"
"Who?" Lieutenant Denis asked, alarmed, fearing the arrival of the dreaded gendarmerie.
The others in the dugout were similarly on edge. Only Captain Claude, calm as ever, retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, seemingly resigned to whatever fate awaited them. Death, after all, was inevitable, and if it came a few days early, so be it.
"It's Charles! He's here to visit us!" The operator announced, barely containing his enthusiasm. "Can you believe it? Charles himself is here to inspect the front, and he's even bringing roast turkeys for us!"
For a moment, surprise flickered across the soldiers' faces. They were all asking themselves the same question: had they sent Charles here to enforce the decimation order?
"What's with you all?" The operator asked, puzzled.
"Nothing." Captain Claude answered coolly. "Where is he? Take me to him."
"Yes, sir!" The operator replied, leading the way.
…
Before setting out for Ypres, Charles had prepared two things:
First, he asked Deyoka to purchase roast turkeys and arrange transportation to bring them in batches to Ypres.
Second, he reached out to General Winter in Dunkirk, asking him to delay the deployment of the gendarmerie bound for Ypres.
Winter executed the request flawlessly, with a solid justification: "The British soldiers are also part of the ceasefire, so we'll need coordinated disciplinary measures for this to be effective. Moreover, Ypres may be part of Allied lines, but it's Belgian territory. Shouldn't we consult with His Majesty, King Albert?"
And so, the matter became more than a French issue; it turned into a diplomatic affair involving the British and Belgians, making it unlikely to be resolved swiftly. With nightfall complicating logistics and concern over potential uprisings, the gendarmerie postponed their operation until morning, following advice from headquarters.
Charles arrived at the front at Ypres around five in the morning, unannounced, accompanied by Laurent and a squad of guards.
He knew that informing the front lines of his visit beforehand would be dangerous.
The German command would be thrilled: the front was in an unguarded state, with soldiers freely moving into each other's trenches. At such a time, if Charles made an appearance on the front lines, it would take only a few covert German operatives to ambush him. This would not only eliminate Charles but also conveniently reignite the hostilities.
Gallieni understood this, too, which was why he ordered strict confidentiality among all those privy to the mission, with all phones and telegraphs closely monitored.
…
When Charles arrived at the Ypres front, no one recognized him. The soldiers passing by gave his group wary glances, eyeing the unknown officers as they approached the trenches.
Charles made his way down the communication trench toward the front line. Along the way, he passed a rest area where a group of soldiers, gathered around an accordion, were singing and dancing in the candlelight. French and German soldiers stood side by side, rifles casually tossed aside, even mixed together.
One drunken German officer approached Charles, attempting to pull him into the "dance circle." Laurent, acting instinctively, pushed the German back, drew his revolver, and aimed it at the officer. The other guards, equally on edge, raised their rifles and formed a defensive circle around Charles.
"Hey, relax!" A French soldier from the group shouted, stepping forward. "Merry Christmas, gentlemen. I take it you're new here? It's ceasefire time, you know—ceasefire!"
Charles stepped forward, ordering Laurent and the guards to lower their weapons.
The French soldier gave Charles a curious once-over. "Hey, Colonel, you look… exactly like Charles! I saw him once in Paris. God, you're identical!"
Charles said nothing, his gaze fixed on the radio operator.
The accordion music halted, the cheerful voices faded, and silence blanketed the scene. All eyes turned to Charles—French and German soldiers alike.
(End of Chapter)
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