Chapter 290: A Battle of Words
Guepratte was a patient man and didn't make things difficult for Vice Admiral Robeck, graciously discussing the next steps in their coordinated offensive. However, Guepratte made a point to clarify, "Admiral, although Charles holds the rank of Colonel, I believe it would be unwise to impose rigid orders and plans upon a commander as talented as he is. Restricting him would be like tying his hands in battle. Wouldn't you agree?"
This was Guepratte's subtle way of letting Robeck know that any plans they discussed wouldn't be final; ultimately, they needed Charles's approval.
"I couldn't agree more, Admiral," replied Robeck. He felt a flicker of irritation but managed to keep his expression neutral. Charles was a respected figure in France, and trying to force him into a specific battle plan could only add uncertainty to the British-French alliance.
…
Charles's fleet didn't return to anchor until nightfall. Tijani had extended their training exercises into the evening, anticipating that they might need to be prepared for nighttime operations.
The moment Charles's fleet docked, a signalman came aboard and reported, "Colonel, Vice Admiral Robeck has sent word—he wishes to board and pay you a visit."
Charles chuckled to himself; it seemed that Robeck's patience had finally worn thin. Tijani, who was on deck discussing the day's exercises with the soldiers, overheard the news. He rushed over, grinning. "Wow! The Vice Admiral of the British Royal Navy wants to come aboard in person? What do you think he's after, Colonel? My guess is he wants to see the French forces march off to die for him."
Though Tijani was seven years older than Charles, he sometimes acted even more boyish.
…
Charles decided to put on a formal display. He and Tijani, along with the other officers of the 105th Regiment, stood in neat formation on the deck, ready to receive Robeck. Bathed in the ship's lights, Charles greeted Robeck with a warm smile and an extended hand. "Welcome aboard, Admiral. We are at your command, ready for inspection."
Robeck took a moment to glance around. Charles and his officers stood formally lined up under the two modest defensive machine guns, each man holding himself proudly.
After a moment's hesitation, Robeck understood Charles's silent message: this was a parade fit for lesser allies. Feeling slighted, Robeck's face darkened, and he was about to respond when his aide O'Connell stepped forward with a smile. "Colonel, we've brought a few gifts for you and your men."
O'Connell gestured to a few sailors behind him, who hoisted a crate of wine onto the deck.
"My apologies, Admiral," Charles replied, sparing a glance at the "gift." "I can't accept it. I prefer not to command my troops with a clouded mind."
Some of the French officers behind him chuckled knowingly.
Robeck was caught off guard by the refusal, Charles's remark adding to the embarrassment. The message was clear: unlike the British, he wouldn't compromise professionalism.
In truth, the British army at this time, though still formidable, was suffering from a worrying level of corruption and bureaucracy—a problem brought painfully to light in the recent Boer War.
(Note: The Boer War, fought from 1899 to 1902, saw the British Empire struggle to subdue the small Boer republics of Transvaal and Orange Free State. Despite mobilizing forces from Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, it took the British Empire two and a half years and extensive resources to achieve victory. This war became known as "the last shred of Britain's imperial dignity.")
The cramped meeting room on Charles's ship was filled with maps, documents, and models. The chalkboard behind him was cluttered with notes on training exercises and tactical plans, giving the space an air of organized chaos.
Charles gestured to the room with a hint of pride as Robeck and his officers took their seats. "As you can see, Admiral, we are deeply engaged in our preparations. We'll need a bit more time, of course."
Robeck fell silent. He couldn't deny the intense atmosphere of readiness aboard Charles's ship, which dispelled any notion that the French were merely biding their time. Compared to this, the atmosphere on Queen Elizabeth seemed lax, almost frivolous.
The Queen Elizabeth herself epitomized the Royal Navy's supremacy: with her thick armor plating and massive guns, she could unleash hell on the enemy from the safest distance possible, far beyond the range of enemy guns. The warship was a fortress, but always stationed far from real danger.
Uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Robeck was saved by O'Connell, who interjected with a smile. "We've always known that, Colonel. Our purpose today is simply to coordinate our plans. Given the diversity of the Allied forces, language barriers are an issue. We'd like to ensure that the 105th Regiment's entry into battle doesn't cause any, shall we say, friendly fire."
"Yes," Robeck added, his face impassive. "That's why we need to know your plan—timing, approach, and so forth."
It was a clever approach, framed as a request for details but really pushing Charles to commit to an attack date.
Charles, however, didn't take the bait. He replied calmly, "I believe it's too early to discuss such specifics, Admiral. My soldiers have yet to adjust to the climate here, and they need more training. I heard…"
Charles turned to Tijani. "The Allied troops spent almost a month training in Egypt before the Dardanelles assault, didn't they?"
"Yes," Tijani replied. "I believe it was around 28 days, though I can't be sure."
In fact, it was over a month, but Tijani intentionally said "28 days" to emphasize how long the British had delayed after starting the war, making half-hearted preparations.
Robeck, sensing the implicit rebuke, flushed crimson, glaring at Charles and Tijani with mounting irritation.
But Charles maintained his innocent demeanor, adding smoothly, "If, after such extensive preparation, your landing forces still encountered difficulties, I think we'd be wise to take at least as long ourselves."
Inwardly, Charles thought, You try to trap me with your "soft words"? Clearly, you don't know who you're dealing with.
"Yes," Tijani chimed in earnestly. "The French army isn't as seasoned as the British. Perhaps we'll need even more time…"
"Enough!" Robeck finally lost his temper and stood up, his voice ringing with frustration. "Train for another month, Colonel, and this war might be over by then!"
Charles only chuckled. "Admiral, would you like to make a wager on that? Let's see if this war is truly over in a month's time."
History would later show that the Dardanelles campaign dragged on until January of the following year, ending with a complete Allied withdrawal. At this moment, though, Robeck clung to his fantasy of a swift victory.
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