I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 744 "The Expert in Overthrowing Cabinets" Specialties
The mist had yet to disperse, and Paris began to drizzle again.
Shire stood in the corridor of the Salpêtrière Hospital, a lit half-cigarette between his fingers, silently watching the raindrops fall from the sky, listening to their crisp "pop" as they hit the leaves of the plane trees.
He felt he had grown accustomed to Gallieni’s presence and took it for granted.
Just like being accustomed to the love of parents, accustomed to having air, accustomed to having his own limbs.
Only at the moment of facing loss does one suddenly realize how important they are.
"General." Major Fernan interrupted Shire’s thoughts: "General Gallieni has awakened."
Shire uttered a sound, discarded his cigarette butt and crushed it, and turned to walk towards Gallieni’s hospital room.
Gallieni lay on the bed, his face pale as paper due to excessive blood loss. He did not look old but rather as if his vitality were ebbing away.
However, when he saw Shire, he still managed to smile weakly, his voice frail and slow: "They still told you?"
"You should’ve told me." Shire’s tone carried reproach.
"What’s the point?" Gallieni’s response was rational: "Death plays out daily on the battlefield, Shire. I am just a sick old man. Calling you back here would cause more soldiers to die on the battlefield?"
Shire was speechless.
In Gallieni’s mind, consuming Shire’s time equated to more soldiers dying?
Gallieni continued:
"They are like you, Shire."
"Every soldier has family, friends, and people they care about."
"You are saving them, and that makes me proud."
This was one of the reasons Gallieni didn’t inform Shire about his illness; he felt doing so was a crime, unfair to the frontline soldiers.
"General." Shire questioned: "Even so, have you considered that you being alive could save many soldiers?"
Gallieni smiled faintly; he knew what Shire meant.
"You will solve it." Gallieni had full confidence in Shire: "No one can stop you."
At that moment, Major Fernan entered, whispering a few words in Shire’s ear.
Shire nodded, pulled Gallieni’s blanket up: "There are some matters I need to handle."
Gallieni nodded weakly, smiling as if to say, "I’m fine, don’t worry."
Leaving the room, Shire saw Major Durra waiting outside.
Shire knew the reason; he just hadn’t expected the government’s speed.
He then understood.
They had heard Gallieni was on the brink and hoped to find something to stimulate Gallieni.
What irony, with Xia Fei gone, others stepped in—clearly, it wasn’t just Xia Fei who hoped Gallieni wouldn’t survive.
"Colonel." Shire took out his pocket watch for a glance, his tone mocking: "There are barely two hours left before the parliament convenes; this might be its most efficient session ever."
Major Durra laughed cautiously: "Yes, because everyone wants General Gallieni to lay down his burden."
"Really?" Shire countered, his mouth twisted in a sneer. These nauseating fellows.
"Yes, certainly." Major Durra maintained his composure, taking an envelope from his briefcase: "Look, I’m here to deliver parliament’s decision to General Gallieni..."
"Hand it to me!" Shire interrupted him.
"But I must deliver it to him personally," Major Durra insisted.
Shire said nothing, eyeing Major Durra coldly, with a murderous look.
Major Durra immediately realized this intention was impossible; Shire would stop him at any cost, even mobilize troops to kill him.
Thus, he wisely changed his tune: "Of course, handing it over to you is just as well."
Saying this, he handed the order to Shire and quickly departed after saluting.
Shire opened the envelope and took out the order, reading:
"Honorable General Gallieni, considering your health and the urgency of the war, we must relieve you of the duties as Commander of the Reserve Army Group.
"This position will be taken over by Major General Ganmelin. We thank you for your contributions to France."
"Finally, wish you a speedy recovery!"
Dismissal orders usually don’t state successors as it’s irrelevant.
But this order mentioned specifically, emphasizing "Major General Ganmelin."
This was a show, a mockery, and meant to incite Gallieni.
Ganmelin was under Xia Fei’s faction, responsible to the government and parliament, one of their pawns.
This meant all Shire’s factories, technology, even his family’s safety were in Ganmelin’s hands.
Shire was glad he stood there.
Otherwise, nobody could stop this order; they could even claim it was for Gallieni’s health.
Major Fernan peeked at the order, eyes wide with shock: "Ganmelin? Him as Army Group Commander?"
"No." Shire’s voice was icy: "He cannot."
"What should we do?" Major Fernan asked.
His eyes darted around, then he spoke in a lower tone: "The Sixth Army?"
Shire understood Major Fernan’s intent: using "mutiny" like the Sixth Army to repel parliamentary control. With Shire’s command, the Reserve Army Group would act accordingly.
But Shire shook his head lightly.
The Reserve Army Group differed from front-line troops.
Front-line troops could leverage war to clear out dissidents and pressure parliament, but the Reserve Army Group focused more on training and rear security, lacking such urgency and pressure.
After some thought, Shire instructed Major Fernan: "I’m going out; you know what to do."
Major Fernan stood up straight: "Yes, General. I ensure nothing will affect General Gallieni."
...
Ritz Hotel meeting room, Shire had arranged to meet Clemenceau in his name.
Clemenceau pushed the door open, smiling, eyes full of pride, thinking Shire was compromising with government and parliament.
"Pleasure to meet you, General." Clemenceau was very enthusiastic, proactively shaking Shire’s hand, feigning sincerity: "You could have directly come to City Hall; many of us are your fans."
This was true.
No one dislikes an invincible hero, Clemenceau included.
Opposing Shire for benefits was another matter.
"Really? An honor!" Shire invited Clemenceau to sit across from him, handed him a cup of coffee, and directly stated his intention: "I want to support you in becoming Prime Minister, Mr. Commissioner."
Clemenceau had been leisurely stirring his coffee, but hearing this was like hitting a pause button; his movements froze, and his smile stiffened.
Clemenceau had imagined countless responses from Shire but never expected Shire would choose to support him as Prime Minister.
Shire smiled slightly, his tone relaxed, asking: "What do you think?"
He didn’t believe Clemenceau could withstand this temptation; becoming Prime Minister again was his dream, the pinnacle of power in France, with countless profits beckoning him.
To become the new Prime Minister, he would need to exhibit his "cabinet overturning" prowess!
