Chapter 501: Show of Authority
Dunkirk, headquarters of the British Expeditionary Force's First Corps.
At the grand square, ranks upon ranks of British cavalrymen stood at attention, their proud horses neighing restlessly, while behind them, infantry battalions assembled silently, rifles in hand. General Douglas Haig approached the formation, pausing briefly to salute Lieutenant General Evis before stepping forward to address the troops.
"Soldiers of the British Empire," Haig began, his voice authoritative yet composed. "You are about to advance to the frontline, to a battlefield held until now by others. Do you know whom you'll be cooperating with?"
The men watched silently, curiosity piqued.
Haig continued, his tone now subtly mocking. "You'll be working alongside those who prefer to hide behind tanks—Frenchmen who've grown soft behind their armor plating."
Laughter rippled through the ranks, a chorus of disdain.
"Indeed, they have claimed victories," Haig admitted grudgingly. "But we know their success owes more to luck and the enemy's incompetence than their own strength. Now, the opportunity arrives for Britain's finest to demonstrate true courage and discipline. It's time to remind the world what real soldiers look like!"
A rousing cheer erupted from the assembled men, rifles raised high. Spirits lifted, morale invigorated, and pride stoked by Haig's rhetoric, the First Corps was now eager for action.
Lieutenant General Evis, a protégé of Haig, firmly shared his superior's beliefs—that warfare was about bravery, bayonets, and cavalry charges, rather than machines. Tanks, aircraft, and machine guns were trivial distractions, mere gimmicks that softened soldiers rather than toughened them. Evis imagined a battlefield where true soldiers rode courageously into enemy fire, accepting death bravely, eyes fixed toward glory.
Several days later, after the arduous journey, the British troops arrived at the Antwerp front to relieve the French Ninth Army, quickly settling into their positions. Wasting no time, General Evis decided to visit Charles's headquarters personally, believing it essential to assert his authority immediately. After all, rumors had reached him of Charles's independence—an officer who took orders grudgingly, always acting on his own initiative. Evis was determined to show Charles precisely who was in command.
Early in the morning, as dawn barely broke through the clouds, a procession of British cavalry appeared at the gates of Antwerp's military airfield. Mounted proudly at the front, Lieutenant General Evis surveyed the grounds. A British colonel accompanying him called out to the sentries sharply in French, "Inform your commanding officer that General Evis has arrived for inspection!"
But the sentries remained impassive, standing straight-backed at their posts without reaction.
Frustrated, the colonel repeated the order. Yet again, no response.
"Pardon, Colonel," finally answered one of the guards, deliberately speaking in Flemish. "We are Belgian soldiers. We don't understand what you're saying."
Only then did the colonel realize his error: the sentries at the airfield wore Belgian uniforms.
"Damn it," the colonel muttered angrily. "Why in God's name are Belgians guarding this base?"
The Belgian guards suppressed their smiles, maintaining rigid attention.
Evis felt a headache coming on. Normally, he could force his way through French security checkpoints. But confronting Belgian guards in their own country posed diplomatic risks he wasn't prepared to take lightly.
"Does anyone here speak Flemish?" Evis demanded irritably of his men.
A junior cavalry officer stepped forward hesitantly. "I can manage a bit, General."
"Well then," Evis snapped, "ask them to inform their commander immediately."
After a clumsy exchange in broken Flemish, the young officer returned sheepishly. "General, they refuse. They say they are only authorized to guard, not to convey messages. We must have permission from King Albert himself to enter."
"Permission from the King himself just to enter an airfield?" Evis exclaimed incredulously.
The officer nodded awkwardly. "They insist this is a highly restricted military zone."
Evis groaned inwardly. He'd forgotten that French aircraft technology was closely guarded—this was likely a pretext to maintain security.
With mounting frustration, Evis finally ordered a major named Yates to ride quickly to the King's residence to secure permission. Moments later, as they waited impatiently, a fighter plane roared directly overhead at low altitude, spooking the horses into a frenzy. Chaos erupted briefly, tossing soldiers from saddles—General Evis himself landed heavily on the dusty ground.
After painfully regaining his feet, his dignity severely bruised, Evis stared angrily toward the guards. "Did they mention whether King Albert was even here?"
Another exchange in Flemish ensued before the officer returned grim-faced. "Sir... the King is already inside the base. Apparently, he and General Eden spent the night discussing tactics with General Charles."
Evis nearly collapsed from frustration. "They knew the King was here and said nothing?"
"They said," the officer hesitated, "that we never specifically asked."
Evis clenched his fists, taking deep breaths to control his rage. After a tense pause, he instructed tersely, "Tell them to inform the King immediately that General Evis awaits outside!"
Only then did the guards at last move swiftly to comply.
Evis sat down heavily by the road, gnawing angrily on stale bread as he awaited the King. What was supposed to be a simple visit to assert authority had turned humiliating.
Shortly thereafter, King Albert I emerged alongside Eden, now proudly wearing the rank insignia of Brigadier General.
"Your Majesty," Evis greeted respectfully, standing promptly. "We intended merely a routine inspection..."
King Albert glanced toward the assembled British cavalrymen, then turned toward Evis with a faint smirk. "You intend to inspect an airfield on horseback?"
Evis blinked in confusion. "Is there something wrong?"
Eden stepped forward politely, explaining, "General Evis, warhorses on an airfield present significant hazards. They could panic easily, endangering aircraft operations and personnel."
"Ah... I see," Evis replied awkwardly. Clearly, he'd overlooked something important.
King Albert's voice was smooth but chilly. "Perhaps you don't fully understand the nature of the facility you intend to inspect, General."
Evis flushed slightly, struggling to retain his composure. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I admit I'm not entirely familiar with airfield procedures."
Albert merely raised an eyebrow, his expression subtly disdainful. "Then perhaps you should familiarize yourself first. Aircraft and pilots are resources far too valuable to risk casually."
The implication was clear: this was not his field, and his oversight was embarrassing.
Evis, forced to leave his cavalry behind, silently followed King Albert and Eden as they guided him painstakingly around the entire airfield, meticulously pointing out details on aircraft maintenance, fueling procedures, and even the mechanics of take-off and landing. The tour stretched painfully over an hour, with Albert patiently and deliberately explaining every single aspect in tedious detail.
By the end of the tour, Evis felt mentally exhausted and humiliated, the sense of authority he'd hoped to assert now utterly shattered.
As the tour concluded, Albert turned to him calmly. "General, let me be clear. We welcome British cooperation—but understand this clearly: Belgium's fate is bound inseparably to General Charles. Any attempt, however subtle, to undermine him or his effectiveness here will be viewed as a direct threat to our national interests."
Evis swallowed uneasily, nodding slowly. "I assure you, Your Majesty, our intentions are purely cooperative."
Albert's cold smile revealed he remained unconvinced. "Good. Remember my words well. Now, let's finally meet General Charles."
Turning sharply on his heel, Albert strode purposefully toward the headquarters, leaving Evis trailing meekly behind, all thoughts of authority long forgotten.
(End of Chapter 501)
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