Chapter 97 - A Plan That Took Shape by Itself

Chapter 97 - A Plan That Took Shape by Itself

With the destruction of Big Bertha, an eerie calm settled over the battlefield. This time, the "calm" was a genuine lull in hostilities. German morale had plummeted after witnessing both the airship and Big Bertha being blown to pieces. Even without the morale issue, the Germans no longer had any artillery capable of bombarding the fort from outside its range.

Antwerp had effectively become a hedgehog covered in spikes: small and vulnerable but impossible for the German beast to attack directly. Adding to the Germans' struggles was a strange "rumor" sweeping through their ranks—Charles had mounted artillery on planes.

It might not have been a "rumor" at all, but the truth, given that every German soldier had seen it with their own eyes: planes launching what looked like shells that destroyed both the airship and Big Bertha in an explosion of fire and shrapnel.

And since Congreve rockets had been mothballed in storage for over fifty years, most German soldiers—barely in their twenties or thirties—had no idea what they were seeing.

Naturally, their imaginations filled in the gaps:

"If they can mount artillery on planes, they can also attack us from above!"

"Yes! We're far more vulnerable than a Zeppelin or even Big Bertha!"

"Did you see what was left of Big Bertha after the blast? My God, they even blew off that massive 420mm barrel!"

If something capable of destroying a 420mm cannon barrel could be brought down from the sky, what would it do to mere soldiers of flesh and blood?

With planes swooping down from above, as swift as the wind, and no feasible way to counter them, the German soldiers were left dreading the sight of another flying artillery attack. Fear of the unknown took hold, and that fear only deepened as they imagined the nightmare scenarios to come. For the first time, German desertions increased—even among their trained ranks.

Meanwhile, General Ghys sat alone in the command center, hearing his men's shouts of joy echoing from outside as a sense of dread grew within him. What replayed in his mind wasn't the destruction of the Zeppelin or Big Bertha, nor the heroism of the Belgian pilots. It was the look of disdain, even disgust, that Albert I had given him.

He knew he had lost the king's favor completely. Although Albert held no real power, his popularity and image among the people gave him substantial influence, enough to sway the parliament in making critical decisions.

Albert I didn't actually persuade parliament directly but rather gave speeches to rally public opinion, leaving parliament little choice but to align with public pressure. Ghys realized that his tenure in his position would likely not last much longer. He considered resignation to preserve some dignity, yet the thought of watching his career and decades of hard work end in disgrace left him bitter and unwilling to give up so easily.

There was a soft knock at the door, and before Ghys could respond, Debraum entered unbidden. The man removed his hat, nodded politely, and then shut the door behind him.

Seeing Ghys's puzzled expression, Debraum took his time strolling over to a chair, then asked, "Shall we have a conversation?"

"Of course," Ghys replied with a nod. Debraum was the head of Belgium's influential Workers' Party and certainly deserved an audience.

"Thank you," Debraum said, taking a seat. "General, I'm not sure if you realize that Antwerp is standing at the edge of a crisis."

"On the edge of a crisis?" Ghys looked at him in surprise. Had they not just overcome a crisis?

But Debraum nodded gravely. "Tell me, General, what do you think will happen next? Do you think the Germans will simply give up?"

Ghys thought for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "No, they won't. Antwerp is behind the German supply lines, and our king will continue to send men to harass them. The Germans will have to remove this thorn from their side."

Debraum's expression remained serious as he continued, "Exactly. If the Germans only had three Big Berthas, we might indeed have turned a corner, but the truth is they possess ten, possibly more. In other words…"

Perhaps out of instinct, Ghys responded reflexively, "If they dare bring them here, we'll blow them up again!"

"Oh, really?" Debraum's tone was skeptical, and he stared intently at Ghys in silence, leaving his words hanging in the air.

The silence itself was enough to make Ghys second-guess himself. He realized that repeating this success would be almost impossible. Charles had relied on Congreve rockets, whose power was insufficient to destroy Big Bertha. The only reason they had succeeded was that they'd managed to ignite Big Bertha's stored shells before they were loaded into the chamber.

Moreover, the next time the Germans brought Big Bertha within range, they'd undoubtedly be on high alert. Getting close to it would be nearly impossible.

After a moment, Ghys asked, "So, what are you really suggesting?"

Debraum replied softly, "Remember your friend's suggestion, General."

"Friend?" Ghys furrowed his brow before understanding dawned—Debraum was referring to Besler and the letter he'd sent: the one proposing to hand Charles over to the Germans.

Shocked, Ghys nearly jumped out of his seat. Previously, handing over Charles could have been explained as a sacrifice for Antwerp's safety. But to consider such a thing now would amount to outright treason.

But then, it dawned on him what Debraum was really suggesting: Antwerp would inevitably fall if things continued as they were. Only handing Charles over could prevent this disaster.

"But…" Ghys stammered, "The king would never allow it. The people of Belgium would never agree—they'd label us traitors and hang us!"

"Then we make sure no one finds out," Debraum replied, offering Ghys a cigar. "Picture this: German spies slip into Antwerp to negotiate with him, and he can't resist their bribe. In the dead of night, he sneaks out of Antwerp and defects to Germany…"

Debraum didn't need to spell it out—Ghys knew perfectly well who he referred to.

After a pause, Ghys nodded thoughtfully. "This might just work."

With the authority he held, this plan could easily succeed; it would merely require minimal cooperation from the Germans—not to expose the truth. And Ghys had his connection with General Besler to make this happen.

"If you think this is the right path, there's no time to waste," Debraum urged. "Otherwise…"

Panic flashed across Ghys's face. The sooner Charles left Antwerp, the sooner Belgium's bargaining power with Germany would be lost, sealing Antwerp's fate.

What Ghys failed to realize was that if he'd replayed their conversation in his mind, he'd see that Debraum had never once mentioned Charles directly, nor had he proposed any specific plan.

This entire scheme was simply a conclusion that Ghys had drawn on his own.

(End of Chapter)

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