Chapter 751: How Could He Be With Charles?
Clemenceau slowly ascended the parliamentary podium, weighed down by a heavy heart.
All along the way, Charles' supporters among the MPs jeered at him:
"Get off the stage, you bastard!"
"Mouthpiece of the capitalists—you only speak for them!"
"Liar! Traitor!"
(These accusations referenced Clemenceau's long history of double-dealing: he once proposed an 8-hour workday, but ordered 25,000 troops to brutally suppress a strike demanding it. He advocated for press freedom but cracked down on the media when in power. He set the retirement age at 65, knowing full well most people wouldn't live that long—thus earning the nickname "corpse pension.")
Opposition MPs looked to him expectantly, knowing Clemenceau often spoke on behalf of Briand when the Prime Minister himself couldn't appear.
Only Steed sat silently, expression cold, watching Clemenceau intently.
He already knew what Clemenceau would choose—unless he was a fool.
As Clemenceau scanned the chamber, the room fell quiet.
"Gentlemen," he began, "there is one thing that is beyond dispute: the power to appoint and dismiss military officials belongs to Parliament. No outside force has the right to interfere—no matter who it is."
The opposition erupted in support:
"Yes!"
"Well said!"
Clemenceau continued:
"If every time we make a decision, people take to the streets to protest and we back down and change our ruling…
Do you know what that means?"
"It means that Parliament will no longer be able to make decisions.
Every choice will be challenged, because there will always be someone unhappy with the outcome."
The opposition cheered.
Charles' faction erupted in protest.
The chamber descended into chaos.
But Clemenceau raised his hand—and changed course:
"However… was this particular decision the right one?"
He pressed on:
"We all know that Gamelin has long been Director of Operations.
He's considered one of France's brightest minds—a tactician, a man for the front lines."
"But the Reserve Army Group? That's a place for training recruits and handling logistics."
The room fell silent.
The opposition looked confused—was something off here?
Charles' faction looked around in disbelief—did they hear that right?
Was Clemenceau agreeing with them?
Was this a trap? Was he luring them in?
Only Steed nodded slightly with a knowing smile.
Charles had won—again.
Clemenceau went on:
"I don't doubt Major General Gamelin's ability, but he belongs on the battlefield, gentlemen.
He's never trained troops."
"As we all know—being able to perform and being able to teach are two very different things.
That's why we need instructors."
"Just as a student who's good at solving problems might not make a good teacher…
A Director of Operations might not make a good instructor.
And he likely doesn't know much about logistics either."
The entire chamber sat in silence.
Everyone—on both sides—was now guessing at Clemenceau's true intent.
Finally, someone asked aloud:
"Then, sir—who do you believe is best suited for the role?"
Clemenceau spread his hands and said:
"Obviously—General Gallieni. He has done an excellent job."
Another MP asked:
"But what about his health?"
"I've heard his condition is improving," Clemenceau replied.
"He's no longer in critical danger, is he? Who could possibly be more suitable than him?"
"Until he recovers, I suggest Major General Monoury serve in his place."
He added:
"Monoury has more experience than Gamelin.
I'm told he used to be an instructor—and a very good one at that."
Indeed, Monoury had often led Reserve Army troops to support the frontlines.
His practical experience was unmatched—he was clearly a better fit.
But more importantly, he was Gallieni's man—a trusted former subordinate.
The opposition was stunned.
They didn't understand Clemenceau's motives.
Among Charles' supporters, murmurs began:
Was Monoury someone the capitalists had bought off?
…
Paris City Hall
Briand, as always, was signing documents in his office.
But his workload had been greatly reduced—because the government no longer had control over many military operations.
Even logistics were now outside his authority.
The Minister of Logistics had once complained:
"We have no supplies, Monsieur Prime Minister.
Gallieni controls them all.
Our personnel must go through Gallieni for any allocation.
It's ridiculous. Our ministry is now entirely redundant.
Who would take a logistics ministry without logistics seriously?"
Briand hated this powerlessness—but he could do nothing.
Most of France's supplies came from America—
They had to cross the Atlantic under the protection of Charles' navy.
If Parliament pushed Charles too hard, all he had to do was recall his destroyers equipped with sonar.
And France would get nothing.
Fortunately, the government still had power over some military appointments.
For example: the Commander of the Reserve Army Group.
When Gallieni was healthy, he was untouchable.
Now that he was ill—it was a different story.
Just then, Briand's secretary walked in, looking perplexed.
"Monsieur Prime Minister," he said,
"Clemenceau just proposed in Parliament that General Gallieni remain as Commander of the Reserve Army Group.
He also suggested that Major General Monoury serve temporarily during Gallieni's recovery."
Briand whipped his head around.
Had he heard that right?
After a long pause, he asked:
"Who is this Monoury?"
"He's one of Gallieni's loyal men, sir," the secretary replied.
Briand was dumbfounded.
Just moments ago, he had assumed Clemenceau would use this opportunity to plant one of his own people near Gallieni.
But now it seemed… that wasn't the case.
"Tell him to come see me. Immediately."
"Yes, Monsieur Prime Minister."
Not long after, Clemenceau strode into the office, chin raised with pride.
Briand stared at him coldly.
"No explanation for me?"
Clemenceau acted surprised.
"Should I be explaining something?"
Then he made a show of remembering:
"Ah, you mean the Reserve Army Group issue?
I don't think it needs an explanation."
"I believe it's the best arrangement, Monsieur Prime Minister.
Surely you agree—no one is more qualified than General Gallieni or Major General Monoury.
They'll do better than any of us can imagine."
"In fact, they've already proven that."
Briand stared at this masked man—
And suddenly realized:
He had gone over to Charles.
Damn it…
How could he be with Charles?!
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