I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 141

Chapter 141: The Mechanic

When Charles found Matthew, he was sitting in a chair, his crutches crossed and leaning in the corner. On the table in front of him was a motorcycle hub, into which he was threading spokes one by one.

Matthew looked up at Charles, his grease-smudged face breaking into a smile. “Hey, Charles, Mr. Djoka, it’s great to see you both!”

Djoka stepped forward and asked, “Are you settling into the work here?”

Matthew gestured broadly. “This is great, Mr. Djoka. They even put me in charge here! We earn 50 centimes a day—that’s nearly a worker’s wage. What more could I ask for?”

Charles skipped the small talk. “Grab your crutches and come with me.”

“Where to?” Matthew asked in confusion.

“Your father wants to see you. He has something to say,” Charles replied.

Matthew looked incredulous. At this time? Still, he said nothing, grabbing his crutches and hobbling after the two men. As they walked, he joked with Charles, “I heard you gave the Germans another hard lesson at Ypres. I bet they’ll tremble at the mere mention of your name from now on.”

“Just luck,” Charles said, brushing it off. He didn’t want to dwell on the topic—war often brought unwelcome memories.

Matthew seemed to understand and fell silent, smiling faintly.

The welfare center was located between the motorcycle and tractor factories, a placement that facilitated the transport of components for processing and their return after completion.

It didn’t take long for the group to arrive at the tractor factory.

Matthew’s eyes were immediately drawn to a massive object: a giant rhomboid body, tracks encircling its frame, and machine gun ports protruding from either side.

For a moment, Matthew forgot why he was there. Leaning on his crutches, he hobbled halfway around the behemoth, his face filled with awe. He turned to Charles, his voice shaking with excitement. “Is this a tank? A new model you developed? Incredible, Charles—it’s amazing!”

“No, Matthew,” Joseph called out, emerging from the other side of the tank. “This is your tank!”

“Wha…what?” Matthew looked at Joseph in confusion.

“Charles wants to hire you as a mechanic,” Joseph said, gesturing toward the tank. “From now on, it’s yours.”

“But… my leg!” Matthew turned to Charles, his eyes questioning.

“You don’t need legs to repair or replace parts, do you?” Charles asked. “Unless you’re saying you don’t even have the strength to climb onto this tank.”

Matthew let out a silly laugh but quickly stopped. His smile faded, and his eyes dimmed with doubt. “I can’t press the accelerator or clutch, Charles. If I can’t test-drive it, I can’t fix it.”

“Why don’t you try?” Charles said.

Matthew hesitated but then put down his crutches and attempted to climb up. Joseph moved to help, but Charles stopped him.

Matthew didn’t need assistance—he needed to do this on his own.

At last, Matthew struggled into the tank and settled into the driver’s seat. He looked down, then suddenly lit up with excitement. He opened the hatch, poked his head out, and shouted, “You extended the controls to the left foot? I can drive it with my left leg! This is brilliant, Charles—brilliant!”

It wasn’t a complicated modification—just a simple extension rod that allowed Matthew to use his left foot for driving. When someone else needed to test-drive or use the tank, the extension rod could easily be removed.

Other crew members entered the tank, and it roared to life. With a clatter, it began to move.

Watching the “Mark I” maneuver through the test field like a fish returning to water, Charles felt as though Matthew had come alive again. From within the tank, he could hear Matthew’s joyful cheers.

“Thank you, Master Charles!” Joseph looked at Charles, his eyes red and voice choked with emotion. “You’ve saved Matthew once again!”

“No, Joseph,” Charles replied. “I couldn’t find a better mechanic than Matthew.”

It was the truth. Matthew had grown up in the tractor factory, tinkering with parts before he even started school. No one understood tractors better than he did.

And now, tanks weren’t much different from tractors.

Charles only hoped Matthew wouldn’t rest on his laurels and remain stuck in tractor-level expertise. Otherwise, Charles might eventually have to let him go.

...

At the Braid Estate, the autumn wind blew lightly through the night, accompanied by a persistent drizzle.

Francis had once again called an emergency meeting, gathering a few individuals for a secret discussion.

Armand was visibly displeased with Francis’s choice of timing, which disrupted his evening “gathering” plans. Puffing on a cigar irritably, he grumbled, “Everything has already been decided. What are you so worried about? Next time, check the time first!”

Francis didn’t bother to explain. He pulled a few photographs from inside his shirt and tossed them onto the table.

Armand and Grevy picked up the photos, their expressions turning peculiar.

“What’s this?” Armand asked, holding up one of the photos toward Francis.

Before Francis could answer, Grevy, his expression grim, said, “It’s a tank—Charles’s tank.”

Armand glanced at the photo a few more times, then chuckled. “No cannon barrel? It’s true—it doesn’t have any artillery.”

Looking around, he asked, “Where’s Colonel Estigny? Didn’t you contact him?”

“He’s on vacation with his family,” Grevy replied. “I heard he went traveling.”

Armand smirked knowingly. “Well, he just earned 50,000 francs—enough for a good holiday!”

Tossing the photos back onto the table, Armand turned to Francis, a hint of disdain in his voice. “So, do you think a tank without artillery poses a threat to ours?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Armand,” Francis replied, meeting Armand’s gaze. “While I don’t believe it’s a direct threat, Charles has already begun mass production.”

“Mass production?” Armand seemed puzzled.

Francis clarified, “If his tank was completely ineffective, why would he mass-produce it? Even at a cost of 2,000 francs per unit, 100 tanks would amount to 200,000 francs. Do you think Charles would take a loss?”

Francis shook his head firmly. “No, he’s never taken a loss. So this isn’t as simple as it seems.”

Grevy, still studying the photographs, listened intently to Francis’s analysis. Then he concluded, “There’s only one possibility: Charles believes our tanks won’t succeed, but his will.”

Armand initially thought Grevy was joking, but seeing the seriousness on his face, he grew more cautious.

Francis’s expression changed dramatically. He had invested all his funds into the production of a new tank model. If Grevy’s assessment was correct, the 400-tank order might be interrupted, and future orders would be impossible...

For Francis, this would be a catastrophic blow.

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