Chapter 567: A Shared Understanding
Lavaz Town. Camille had been restless for days.
Although the newspapers were full of stories about Charles's victory, and although she had read the same articles her neighbors marveled at—"He circled around the German lines via the Somme River, how did he even think of that?"—none of it made her feel at ease.
She didn't care about tactics.
But anything related to Charles, she couldn't help but pay attention to. As if some invisible force pulled her toward every detail, as if knowing more would calm her heart.
But it didn't.
The more she learned, the more anxious she became.
"My God, that's the Somme," Camille complained to Deoka.
"How could they send Charles to a place like that? He was in Belgium just before, he just finished a campaign!"
"I heard the British lost 100,000 men in one day. Even the French suffered 40,000 casualties in a single day."
"That place is far too dangerous. They can't expect Charles to solve everything. He's only 18!"
Deoka stared at Camille, incredulous.
"But we know Charles won. He defeated the Germans. He's already safe, Camille."
"That's now," Camille countered. "But the battle isn't truly over, is it? That means it's still dangerous."
Deoka had no reply. She might have had a point.
Then again, as long as Charles remained in the army, and as long as the war continued, danger would follow him—regardless of where he was.
Still, he said nothing.
He understood something fundamental: a mother who worries about her child never truly stops—unless that child is standing right in front of her.
…
A little after 4:00 a.m., in the darkness of Lavaz, a vague glimmer swept through the streets. In the rain, dogs began barking somewhere in the distance.
Camille sat up in bed with a start. She had felt something—her instincts were on fire.
"What is it?" mumbled Deoka, turning over sleepily.
"Someone's here," Camille whispered. "A car."
"Oh, come on, Camille," Deoka groaned. "You're too nervous. You're being paranoid."
But the engine's hum rose outside, just beneath their window.
Camille rushed to the window, drew aside the curtain, and peered out into the rainy night.
Deoka groaned again.
"Do you plan to jump out of bed every time a car passes by? That can't possibly be Charles, Camille. He's still at the Somme. He's commanding over 200,000 men. He can't just leave them."
But Camille gasped, pointing.
"It's Laurent's car—it's Charles, Deoka! It's him!"
She ran down the stairs without hesitation. A second later, she ran back up again, grabbed an umbrella, and dashed back down—her footsteps thudding urgently on the wooden staircase.
Deoka stood frozen in disbelief.
Was this… some kind of sixth sense?
Could Camille actually sense Charles's return?
Still half in doubt, Deoka wandered to the window. And sure enough, he saw Camille—still in her pajamas—holding an umbrella and greeting Charles as he stepped out of the car.
Deoka shrugged.
She had guessed it. Somehow, she knew.
…
Charles didn't even shower.
He exchanged a few words with Deoka and Camille, then headed to his room and collapsed into bed.
He had dozed off a few times on the train, but that kind of sleep—rocked by clattering wheels—never felt like rest. He'd slept, yes, but still felt exhausted.
Still, it was better than sleeping in a trench.
It was nearly 5 p.m. the next day when Charles finally woke up.
He opened his eyes groggily. His room was familiar, yet somehow felt distant—everything was neat and clean, except for him. His clothes were stiff with dried mud, the cuffs and pants legs hard and scratchy.
After a hot bath and clean clothes, he realized he was starving. His legs even trembled slightly from hunger.
It had been over twenty hours since he'd last eaten or had anything to drink. His head ached, and his nose was stuffy. Was he catching a cold?
Charles frowned. Perhaps his body, drained by the battlefield, had finally let its guard down. In comfort, he became vulnerable.
He went downstairs and was surprised to see both Deoka and Camille sitting in the parlor, speaking softly.
When Camille saw him, she stood and gave him a warm hug, then gently tousled his still-damp hair.
"You must be starving. Dinner's ready."
Deoka moved to the dining table with a smile.
"I heard you've got a week of leave?"
"Yes," Charles replied as he took a seat. "Though one day's already gone."
"A lot of people are curious about your battle at the Somme," Deoka said, his tone tinged with pride. "They never expected you'd use naval landing craft and amphibious boats on a river."
Camille brought out a steaming apple pizza and began slicing it carefully with a knife.
"What matters is the Somme. Everyone was wondering how our Charles would break through such an unbreakable German defense. Then you used the river."
She handed him a slice.
Charles accepted the plate, pausing to glance at Camille with some surprise.
This didn't sound like the kind of thing she would usually say.
Deoka chuckled at Charles's expression.
"Don't doubt her. Camille's been reading the papers. She's learned quite a bit about military tactics."
"So how did you come up with it?" Camille asked, her eyes glowing. She looked at her son not with maternal concern—but with admiration.
Charles chewed his food and replied with a full mouth:
"Actually, it was pretty simple. If I couldn't think of a workable plan, there was only one possible outcome…"
He caught himself mid-sentence, realizing he had said too much.
He quickly stopped and glanced at Camille nervously.
Then he tried to cover it:
"What I mean is, it would've led to massive casualties. So I had no choice—I had to do everything I could to avoid that."
Camille nodded and smiled, pretending not to notice his slip. But in her smile, there was a subtle weight.
Deoka shifted the conversation.
"Last time you were here, didn't we make a promise?"
"Did we?" Charles played dumb, though he remembered clearly.
Camille had told him: "Next time you come back, bring her with you. I know her name is Lucia."
Camille raised an eyebrow and calmly took a bite of pizza, pretending not to care.
"I know she works at the officers' club. What do you think—if we had Major Laurent bring her here, would she agree?"
"No, Mother…" Charles started to panic.
Deoka added cheerfully:
"Major Laurent says if she refuses, Colonel Fernand can handle it. He knows her well."
That traitor Laurent! Charles cursed silently. He should've known Laurent couldn't be trusted.
"So what's it going to be?" Camille asked, staring him down.
"Are you going to talk to her, or shall we?"
"I'll do it…" Charles sighed in defeat. What choice did he have?
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