I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 138

Chapter 138: The Talented Colonel

It had been five full days, and the autumn rain was still pattering incessantly. By now, no one doubted that France had truly entered the rainy season.

The roads were full of puddles and sticky mud. Laurent slowed down, carefully maneuvering the steering wheel to avoid the obstacles, and took a moment to complain to Charles, who was seated in the back:
“This is just the beginning, Lieutenant. It’s training me to drive on the battlefield!”

Charles smiled in response, thinking that Laurent likely had never been on a battlefield, where the terrain was far worse than these puddles.

The car rolled into Davaus. The small town looked quieter than usual in the rain. The streets were empty of pedestrians, the roadside vendors had vanished, but the guards stood vigilantly at their posts, stationed in pairs at regular intervals.

Charles grew curious. How was Aunt Elisa, who made a living selling croissants by the street, managing her business now? And what about Uncle Ato, who sold potatoes? Perhaps he was hiding under a tarp somewhere, haggling with customers.

Aunt Deneuve, who sold pizzas, had been clever—she had turned her home into a shop, so the rain hadn’t affected her much.

As Charles passed, Aunt Deneuve leaned out and waved to greet him. He quickly raised a hand in return.

Suddenly, the car came to an abrupt stop, and Charles almost hit his head. Looking forward in confusion, he saw a soldier holding an umbrella, standing in the middle of the road to block their way. Judging by the rank insignia on his sleeve and his attire, he was an artillery colonel. Not far away, a car stood parked—presumably his.

Since the colonel outranked Laurent by two levels, Laurent displayed the appropriate respect, keeping his tone low and even as he asked:
“Good day, Colonel! How may I assist you?”

The artillery colonel ignored Laurent and walked directly to Charles. With a hesitant tone, he asked:
“Are you Charles? May I speak with you?”

Charles gave the colonel a once-over. Like most Frenchmen, he sported a mustache, but his high cheekbones stood out. Charles glanced at the rain outside, silently hinting that the weather might not be suitable for a conversation.

The artillery colonel extended his hand.
“I’m Estigny. You’ve probably never heard of me, but you must have heard of my tank. The CA-1 tank that recently won the bidding process—that was my design. I...”

“Bang!”

Laurent lunged forward, tackling the colonel into the mud. Pinning the struggling man to the ground, Laurent shouted loudly to the guards on either side:
“You fools! Get over here and help!”

The guards, alarmed by the shout, immediately ran over from both ends of the street. Someone blew a whistle to summon the patrol, and curious neighbors peeked out of their windows to see what was happening.

With the help of the guards, Major Laurent wrestled the colonel’s gun and saber away. He then berated the guards furiously:
“How did you let this guy get in? And armed, no less!”

The guards, flustered, explained:
“Major, he’s a soldier—and a colonel at that...”

“So what if he’s a colonel?” Laurent snapped. “Does that mean you don’t need to check his identity?”

Not long after, Djoka and Camille arrived, having heard the commotion. Taking in the scene, they seemed to grasp the situation and hurried to escort Charles away.

The artillery colonel, his lip bleeding, struggled and shouted toward Charles:
“Wait, Charles! I just want to talk. I mean no harm!”

Charles turned back to study the colonel before nodding.
Reassuring Camille, who looked terrified, and Djoka, who remained vigilant, he said:
“It’s fine. If he meant to harm me, he wouldn’t have identified himself first.”

Laurent reflected on what had just happened and agreed with Charles’ reasoning. The colonel could have simply drawn his weapon.

Still, Laurent remained uneasy. He personally searched the artillery colonel, going through his pockets until he even pulled out the colonel’s cigarettes, only then feeling satisfied.

...

In Djoka’s small house, the artillery colonel had changed into one of Djoka’s spare outfits. However, since the colonel was somewhat thinner, the clothes looked rather odd on him.

Laurent, meanwhile, stood with several guards at the door, unwilling even to change out of his soaked uniform for fear of giving the "suspect" an opportunity.

The artillery colonel shivered slightly, touched his swollen lip, and nodded apologetically to Djoka and Camille.
“My sincerest apologies for arriving unannounced and causing such a misunderstanding.”

Charles asked,
“Did you come here to see the opponent you defeated, Colonel?”

“No, Lieutenant,” the artillery colonel replied awkwardly. “I hope... I wanted to hear your thoughts on tanks, Lieutenant.”

Djoka chuckled.
“You seem to forget that we’re competitors. This is the first time I’ve heard of someone seeking intelligence in such a manner!”

The artillery colonel shook his head despondently.

“I believe I was mistaken, Mr. Djoka,” he admitted.
“I’m just an ordinary artillery colonel who likes tinkering and inventing things. One day, I heard that Charles had invented a tank, and I wondered if it would be possible to mount a cannon on it!”

“I wanted to approach Charles many times, but...”

Charles nodded, understanding the tension between “original” inventors and those who “improved” their designs. The latter often faced accusations of plagiarism.

For instance, the CA-1 tank was essentially a modified version of Charles’ design. It used the same Holt 60 tractor chassis as the original tank but added features such as a short-barreled 75mm cannon and a pointed nose with deflector plates to cut through barbed wire.

Because of this, it was no surprise that the artillery colonel had hesitated to meet Charles.

“Then Mr. Grevy found me,” the artillery colonel continued. “He said he would help me, even offering to purchase my industrial rights and produce the design. Since he held the tank’s industrial rights, I...”

Djoka’s expression cleared with understanding. With Grevy’s ownership of the tank’s industrial rights, the artillery colonel’s “improvements” were legally unassailable.

The artillery colonel looked pained as he tightened the borrowed coat around himself. Relaxing slightly, he said,
“I should have come to you immediately.”

Camille handed the colonel a steaming cup of coffee. Certain now that he harbored no ill intent, she considered it only proper hospitality.

The colonel gave her a grateful look and thanked her sincerely.

Charles suddenly recalled something and asked,
“Colonel, you mentioned your name earlier. It’s...”

“Estigny, Lieutenant,” the colonel replied.

“Estigny?” Charles repeated, nodding slightly.

The name sounded familiar. An artillery colonel who enjoyed design and invention—he must be the man known as the “Father of French Armor,” Estigny.

It occurred to Charles that the German blitzkrieg strategy likely had its roots in Estigny’s ideas. His “swarm tactics” could be considered a precursor to blitzkrieg.

Unfortunately, Estigny was born in the wrong era. The tanks of World War I were far too primitive to support such forward-thinking strategies.

This talented colonel—should he be recruited?

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