I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 219

Chapter 219: The Pure Gold Gift

Charles had two objectives when presenting Tigani with that seemingly plausible theory of "naval maneuver warfare":

The first was to ensnare Wells with this theory, thus gaining the chance to collaborate with the Brest shipyard.

The second was that Charles intended to use Wells' influence to develop torpedoes.

The current torpedoes were too rudimentary, and even if they were hung from aircraft to bomb enemy warships, it was still extremely difficult to hit them. Improving their performance had become an urgent matter.

Charles was confident that he would succeed.

This wasn’t just because Tigani left with a face full of admiration and satisfaction; it was also because Charles' theory of "naval maneuver warfare" was seven parts truth, three parts fabrication:

Destroyers would indeed become the main force in the future—this was true; The range of torpedoes would eventually exceed that of guns—this was true; Naval maneuver warfare, in some respects, was also true.

The problem was…

Once aircraft carriers came into play, naval battles would turn into air battles. No matter how fast a destroyer was, it couldn’t outrun an airplane, and a destroyer-based maneuver warfare would be impractical!
But at least for now, while the navy hadn’t yet realized the importance of airplanes, the theory still held water.

After Tigani left, Camille curiously opened the gift Tigani had sent. She exclaimed with delight, “A sailboat! It’s so beautiful! Just the kind of decoration we need!”

With that, Camille placed the sailboat on the living room table and complained, “It seems a little heavy, at least four or five pounds!”

Charles glanced over; it was a three-deck cannon sailing warship, some of the sailors were loading cannons, others were aiming, and there were many more sailors and musketeers bustling on the deck, all in a state of alert preparation for battle.

The most striking thing was its glittering golden surface.

Charles had a sudden thought and reminded Camille, “Mother, you’d better not put it there.”

“Why?” Camille didn’t turn around; her eyes were fixed on the sailboat as she took a few steps back to stand upright, admiring it. “I think it looks perfect here; it goes so well with our living room!”

Charles rolled his eyes and glanced around the room at all the cheap furniture.

Djoka noticed Charles' expression, walked over, touched the sailboat, then picked it up and weighed it in his hands, exclaiming, “My God, it’s... it’s pure gold!”

Camille was stunned and then laughed, “What are you joking about? Who would send a gift made of pure gold? Four or five pounds?”

But when she saw Djoka’s serious expression, Camille hesitantly asked, “Is it really pure gold?”

Djoka nodded. Coming from a capitalist background, he knew a thing or two about such matters.

“It’s probably worth sixty to seventy thousand francs!” Djoka estimated the sailboat’s value, “If we only consider the gold price and ignore the artistic value. But it’s finely crafted, so it’s likely worth much more than that!”

Camille gasped, turning to Charles, “We should return it to the general. Charles, we can’t accept such an expensive gift.”

“Don’t worry, Mother!” Charles answered calmly. “To him, it’s just a trinket; he won’t mind.”

“A trinket worth sixty to seventy thousand francs?” Camille looked at Charles in disbelief.

Djoka, however, had caught on to the implication in Charles’ words. He stood up and asked, “This general, he’s not just any officer, is he?”

“Of course not!” Charles answered. “He’s Wells’ son, the only son!”

Djoka and Camille exchanged glances, both stunned—was that person really Wells’ son?

...

In the 15th arrondissement of Paris, along the Seine, the church bells in the distance rang once, marking half past ten in the morning.

In a five-story building by the river, Wells, as usual, sat in his armchair by the window in his bathrobe, enjoying the cold wind and watching the boats pass on the river. He observed the snowflakes falling from the sky, one by one, disappearing into the water below.

He loved watching boats. He thought they were fascinating things—life and death were always intertwined aboard a ship, and an accident could happen at any moment.

To survive, one had to be prepared, thinking through every possible eventuality in advance.

But today, Wells felt unusually restless. Though his eyes were on the river, his mind was preoccupied with the meeting between Tigani and Charles.

What would the outcome be?
A surprise or a disappointment?

There probably wasn’t much hope. After all, it was the navy, relying on tonnage and cannons. If the entire French navy couldn’t make it work, what could Charles do?
He would choose a battleship too—after all, no one would reject the guns and defenses of a battleship, especially not an infantry major who enjoyed war.

Wells found it somewhat ridiculous that he had placed his hope on a 17-year-old child.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase outside, and Wells knew that Tigani had returned.

Perhaps because Wells had already decided Charles wouldn’t succeed, he had no expectations. His gaze remained fixed on the distant end of the Seine.

“Father!” Tigani cautiously pushed the door open, closing it behind him as he walked over to Wells’ side.

Dressed in a military uniform, he looked energetic, though Wells thought it would have been better if it were a navy uniform.

Wells grunted in response, gesturing for Tigani to sit beside him, and casually asked, “How did it go?”

“I’m not sure,” Tigani replied, “That’s something you should judge.”

In this regard, Wells was the one with the authority to speak. Tigani, knowing that he had already given up on the navy, felt unqualified to judge.

Wells stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink.

Just one glass—he had no intention of offering any to Tigani, feeling that his relationship with his son had not yet reached that level.

“What did he choose?” Wells asked, his back still turned to Tigani.

“He chose nothing!” Tigani replied.

Wells turned around in confusion, “Nothing? He gave up?”

“No, Father!” Tigani answered. “He chose a torpedo boat destroyer. He said that was the third option!”

Wells froze, then responded with a curious “Hmm”: “A torpedo boat destroyer? Interesting. What’s his reasoning?”

He took another sip from his wine glass, as though trying to deduce Charles’ intentions.

“Naval maneuver warfare!” Tigani explained briefly. “He believes that torpedo boats can secure the coastline, while torpedo boat destroyers can go out to engage enemy fleets. As long as we’re fast enough, we’ll be invincible!”

Wells froze for a moment, then coldly asked, “Is that all?”

“So, we need to develop torpedo boat destroyers!” Tigani answered. “We need to increase their firepower and defenses while maintaining their speed, so we can quickly destroy enemy destroyers rather than get caught up by them.”

Tigani then added, “The key is the torpedoes—if their range and accuracy are sufficient, the destroyers could potentially sink battleships from beyond their range!”

Wells said nothing.

He thought for a moment, then silently poured another glass of wine and turned to hand it to Tigani.

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