I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 140

Chapter 140: This Will Block Their Profits

The "Saint-Chamond" tank, with a speed of 8.5 kilometers per hour, was acceptable. It was roughly equivalent to the pace of a person jogging. When dispersed across the battlefield, it was difficult for enemy artillery to target it accurately.

However, the CA-1 tank had a speed of only 5 kilometers per hour. The "Holt 60" originally had a speed of 15 kilometers per hour, but after being outfitted with excessive modifications, it had slowed to a walking pace, or even less in real combat.

German artillery units were long accustomed to the speed of advancing infantry and could even calculate the exact lead to take when firing.

Any tank design should aim to break this predictable rhythm, yet the CA-1 designed by Colonel Estigny matched it perfectly.

Considering that German artillery had both superior range and destructive power, what could the CA-1, armed with a 75mm cannon, accomplish on the battlefield?

It would be obliterated by German heavy artillery before it even spotted the target!

Colonel Estigny could no longer remain seated. He thanked Djoka and a few others before abruptly turning to leave, but Charles called out to him.

"Where are you going, Colonel?" Charles asked.

"I'm going to withdraw my design!" Estigny replied. "If it’s deployed on the battlefield, it could cost countless lives!"

Charles asked only one question: "Have you sold the industrial rights?"

Estigny froze at the door, as if rooted to the spot by some spell. He turned back, his face pale. "Yes, Lieutenant. Grevy bought it for fifty thousand francs."

"Then there’s nothing you can change," Charles said, shaking his head. "Even if you convince them, they won’t give up this lucrative opportunity."

"But I still should—"

Estigny tried to argue, but Charles interrupted him. "They don’t even need you anymore. If you go around exposing the tank’s flaws and advocating its withdrawal, do you know what they’ll do to you?"

Estigny hesitated, then nodded slightly. "This would block their profits. They might..."

He trailed off, letting out a sigh. He hadn’t anticipated being burdened by his own design, let alone fearing for his life because of it.

Charles spoke calmly:

"The best choice for you is to act as though you know nothing."

"Take a long vacation and spend the fifty thousand francs you just earned. That will put their minds at ease."

"Once the CA-1’s flaws become apparent on the battlefield, then return. At that point, you might face criticism for the design’s issues, but at least your life will be safe."

Djoka looked at Charles with surprise. It seemed that Charles understood the complexities of human behavior better than he had imagined, despite Charles’ usual disdain for such matters.

Estigny nodded, accepting the advice. Summoning his courage, he asked Charles, "Lieutenant, could I work for you in the future?"

This could potentially cause trouble for Charles.

However, considering that Grevy was already an enemy and that Charles needed someone with Estigny’s talents, he nodded in agreement.

At the very least, this would ensure he had someone to discuss tank design and improvements with in the future.

Estigny, overcome with emotion, grasped Charles’ hand. "Thank you so much, Lieutenant. Thank you!"

In Estigny’s eyes, Charles was not just a guide leading him to wisdom but also a benefactor who had saved his life.

Watching Estigny leave, Djoka awkwardly asked Charles, "So, Joseph and I were wrong all along, weren’t we? About putting cannons on tanks, I mean."

"Yes," Charles admitted without hesitation.

"Then why didn’t you say anything?" Djoka asked, puzzled. "You could have pointed it out."

"And if I had, what would you have thought?" Charles countered.

Djoka was stunned.

Charles was right. Even if he had spoken up, they would have dismissed it as Charles being stubborn.

If not for this artillery colonel arriving at the same conclusion under Charles’ guidance, Djoka would never have believed that a tank with a cannon could be worse than one without it.

...

After breakfast, Charles visited the veterans’ hospital.

Although officially called a veterans’ welfare institute, the name change was to avoid constantly reopening the psychological wounds of injured soldiers with the blunt term "hospital."

Over 3,000 wounded soldiers were gathered here.

They came from various units and regions. Some had been rescued by Charles from field hospitals, while others had arrived upon hearing of the place.

As Charles had envisioned, disabled veterans used simple machinery here to perform work within their abilities. They were paid per item produced, enabling them to support themselves.

The institute operated at a break-even level—not profitable, but not losing money either. Occasionally, Charles would send food and medicine, which was not included in the balance sheets.

When Charles entered the factory, he was greeted enthusiastically by the veterans:

"It’s Young Master Charles!"

"Perhaps we should call him Lieutenant Charles. He’s an officer now!"

"I wish I could serve under him, but unfortunately, I’ll never have the chance!"

...

The veterans’ tone carried a hint of self-mockery. They seemed cheerful, but Charles understood it was their way of bravely facing their reality.

The institute’s director was Captain Darius, a one-armed veteran. Before joining the army, he had worked as an accountant in a factory, which made him Djoka’s choice to manage the institute’s operations.

When Darius saw Charles and Djoka enter, he quickly approached and saluted them. "Mr. Djoka, Young Master Charles!"

Darius preferred addressing Charles as "Young Master Charles."

This was because he remembered lying in a field hospital with his left arm amputated, barely conscious, repeatedly mumbling to the doctors:

"Am I going to die? Am I going to die? I don’t want to die. Please save me..."

The doctors had reassured him, saying:

"You’re not going to die. Young Master Charles has provided us with enough supplies. Don’t worry; you’ll survive."

In his haze, Darius only remembered the name "Young Master Charles." After recovering, he learned of Charles’ victories on the battlefield and the countless stories about him.

To Darius, Charles was irreplaceable. In his eyes, Charles’ current rank was far beneath what he deserved.

"We’re here to see Matthew!" Djoka said. "I recall he’s working in the tire workshop."

"Yes," Darius replied, leading them toward the workshop. "Matthew has been doing an excellent job. I’ve even put him in charge of managing that workshop!"

Charles’ pace began to slow.

Djoka turned back, puzzled. Was Charles unhappy to hear about Matthew’s good performance?

Charles said nothing and quickened his steps to catch up.

Charles knew Matthew well. Matthew had never been the type to settle for repetitive, monotonous work. He preferred dealing with moving machinery.

If he was...

There was only one explanation—he was pretending.

Matthew didn’t want anyone to see the turmoil inside him. He didn’t want Charles to worry or to become a burden on him.

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