Chapter 649: Lifeline at Sea
Hasselt City Hall — King Albert I had recently moved here to oversee the handling of prisoners and the construction of new defensive lines.
Charles's armored corps, better suited for rapid maneuvering, had no business being bogged down in static trench warfare. Their proper role was to operate in the second line, breaking through the front when opportunities arose, not sitting on it. So once the situation had stabilized, the responsibility for the defense line had been passed to Albert I.
At present, Albert was buried in paperwork, the biggest headache among them being the logistics of prisoner management.
After Antwerp, Charles had captured more than 100,000 German troops. The Hasselt operation added another 200,000. Including previously detained prisoners, over half a million German soldiers were now held in Belgium.
For a war-torn and resource-starved country, this was an unbearable burden.
Even worse, many of these prisoners were ones Charles had promised humane treatment, which meant they couldn't simply be worked to death or left to starve.
"I believe the British should shoulder some of this burden," Albert said with a frown. "They control the sea lanes and all incoming supplies, yet they completely ignore the material needs for handling prisoners."
"I've already submitted the request to Field Marshal Kitchener," replied Major General Eden. "But the Field Marshal thinks we can make prisoners work and feed themselves."
"Easier said than done," Albert snorted. "We're at war. We can't even feed our own front-line troops. And agriculture doesn't yield harvests in a week."
If they won't send us supplies, Albert thought darkly, maybe I should just return the prisoners to Germany and let them deal with it.
At that moment, a staff officer entered with a telegram. "Your Majesty, it's from Antwerp. It says General Charles, commanding the air corps and French Navy, has won a battle in the North Sea."
"Is that so?" Albert answered casually, not paying it much mind.
He assumed it was a minor victory—after all, it involved the French Navy.
The British Royal Navy couldn't handle the German fleet, he thought. What could the French possibly accomplish?
Then he glanced at the telegram—and his eyes widened. He looked up, stunned.
"You… Are you sure this is true? Seven German warships sunk—including a battlecruiser?"
"Confirmed, Your Majesty," the staff officer said. "I had someone double-check with General Charles."
"And… what were the French losses?" Albert asked, still in disbelief.
If the French had suffered worse losses, then this couldn't really be called a victory.
"Reportedly only three ships damaged," the officer replied. "One cruiser severely, and two destroyers lightly."
Albert was speechless for several seconds.
"No. That's impossible." General Eden was equally stunned. He took the telegram and read it carefully, but it said exactly what had been reported.
"How did Charles do it?" Albert asked, confused.
He knew that naval warfare wasn't like ground combat. Naval tactics were straightforward: apart from maneuvering into a T-formation to maximize firepower, it usually came down to armor and guns.
Which is why he couldn't understand the outcome—even with Charles in command.
"It was the bombers, Your Majesty," the officer explained. "Charles equipped bombers with torpedoes and attacked German battlecruisers from the air. The Germans were caught completely off guard."
Albert and Eden stared at one another.
Torpedoes… from the air?
Of course—it had to be Charles.
Suddenly, Albert broke into laughter. "I knew he could do it! He's done it again. This proves I was right—absolutely right!"
Eden looked confused. "Your Majesty, it's just one more of Charles's victories. He's won so many already."
"This is a naval battle, General! A naval battle!" Albert grabbed Eden by the shoulders and gave him a shake, as if to wake him up. "Do you understand what this means? Do you understand what air-dropped torpedoes mean for the future?"
Eden looked dazed. As a soldier from the army, his focus was on Belgium's territorial defense. The strategic importance of sea control was not his strong suit.
"Look at this," Albert said, pulling over a map and placing it in front of Eden. He pointed to the English Channel. "Belgium's entire coastline is within this channel. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
After staring at the map for a while, Eden seemed to understand.
"Your Majesty… you mean to say, we've always been at the mercy of the Royal Navy?"
"Yes," Albert nodded gravely.
"We've already decided to fully support Charles. But there are still irreconcilable tensions between us and Britain. And the same goes for Charles and the British."
"Until now, I was always worried about threats from the sea."
"Yes, we have fortresses, and Charles has designed an advanced defensive system—but all of that is for land invasion. It won't stop a threat from the sea."
Eden looked down at the map and nodded. "That's true. If Antwerp were cut off by enemy warships, our last escape route would be the sea. Our fortresses would just become targets for naval guns."
"There's also logistics," Albert added, "and foreign trade."
"Of course," Eden agreed.
Belgium's economy depended heavily on trade. The country imported massive quantities of raw materials, processed them, and exported finished goods to the world. Over 50% of industrial output depended on sea lanes.
So for Belgium, maritime routes were a lifeline.
"But now things are different," Albert said with satisfaction. "Charles has brought torpedoes into the sky. And there's an airbase in Antwerp…"
Albert pointed at the map, marking Antwerp, then drew a circle to indicate the bomber's effective range.
Eden had a revelation.
Very soon, control of the English Channel would no longer belong to Britain, but to France—or rather, to Charles.
Originally, Albert had some lingering fear of Britain. He worried that if the British ever got serious and deployed their mighty Royal Navy off the Belgian coast, Belgium—lacking any strategic depth—could crumble in an instant.
Even economic sanctions would be unbearable.
But now, that fear had vanished.
In the future, the English Channel would belong to Charles. The Royal Navy might not even be able to enter it.
Better to cling to Charles's leg, Albert thought, than to remain caught between Britain, France, and Germany—pulled in all directions and pleasing no one.
Beaming, Albert stood up decisively. "Prepare the car. We're going to Antwerp immediately!"
(End of Chapter 649)
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