I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 64

Chapter 64: The Arrival of New Recruits

At dawn the next morning, Laurent was already waiting in his car outside Charles’ house. He had been ordered to escort Charles to report for duty.

This was an unprecedentedly high level of treatment. A major was sent to accompany a new recruit, following an order issued directly by the Commander of Paris’ Defense, Gallieni himself.

Gallieni, of course, had his reasoning: “Laurent has always been responsible for confidentiality at the motorcycle factory. I cannot allow any industrial secrets to be leaked by these capitalists. From now on, Laurent will accompany him everywhere!”

The real reason didn’t need to be explained: it was to ensure there were no security loopholes that the traditional aristocracy could exploit.

Djoka helped Charles load his luggage into the car, while Camille gazed at Charles reluctantly. Her expression suggested he was leaving not for Paris, just a few kilometers away, but for England, across the English Channel.

(Note: The French call the English Channel the “Channel of La Manche.” Thanks to Armand Capet for the reminder.)

“Don’t worry, Mama!” Charles reassured her. “I can come back anytime. I’ve heard they’ll allow me the freedom to oversee the factory!”

News of the parliamentary decision traveled fast. Even before the military issued orders, the message had already reached Charles.

Camille nodded silently. Though both Djoka and Charles insisted it was fine, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Perhaps it was a mother’s intuition.

Unconsciously, more people had gathered around to bid Charles farewell.

“Young Master Charles, take this croissant to eat on the road!”

“Poor child, only 17 and already off to become a soldier!”

“Take care of yourself, lad!”

...

Some even began cursing the capitalists:

“Those damned capitalists! They don’t send their own children to the army but demand that Charles enlist!”

“Charles isn’t even of age, yet their kids are out there squandering fortunes on indulgences!”

“They don’t care about that; they only care about exploiting us!”

...

“Charles!”

From behind the crowd, Matthew appeared, supporting himself with two crutches, advancing step by step. His face was still pale, but his lips carried a confident smile.

“Matthew!” Charles looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you were able to walk again!”

“Of course!” Matthew tilted his head in a deliberately casual manner. “It’s just a minor injury. I’ve recovered well!”

As Matthew approached, he steadied himself on one leg, leaned his crutches against his body, and reached out to straighten Charles’ collar. “Thanks to you, Charles,” he said gratefully.

“You’re not one to say things like that!” Charles replied with a smile.

“People change!” Matthew gave a bitter smile. “Like how I thought I’d be the one enlisting, imagining you seeing me off. And now it’s you…”

“It’s all right,” Charles said, aware that Matthew was thinking about his amputated leg.

Matthew nodded silently, a trace of melancholy in his eyes. Though he had resolved to appear strong, he couldn’t fully control himself.

“See you soon.”

“See you soon.”

After embracing a few people and saying his final goodbye to Camille, Charles climbed into the car.

As the engine roared to life, Charles kept waving to his family and friends until they faded into the distance. He suddenly found his eyes moist.

It was strange. Paris was only a few kilometers away, and he could visit every day, yet he still felt a pang of sadness.

Charles recalled a story he’d read about lion cubs. A lioness, to ensure her cubs could survive on their own, would painfully drive them away upon maturity.

Although Charles wasn’t being driven away, it felt like he was experiencing the same process.

A sense of loneliness and fear crept into Charles’ heart. He had no idea what awaited him.

Unnoticed by Charles, on the high grounds of a nearby villa, Francis stood in his pajamas, a pipe in hand. He silently puffed away, expressionless, as he watched the car pass below and disappear into the distance. After hesitating briefly, he returned inside and picked up the phone:

“Yes, he’s on his way to Paris.”

“I’ve heard his tractor factory is already producing a new type of tank, and the progress is fast.”

“We should prepare ourselves sooner.”

After putting down the phone, Francis sat alone in his chair, dazed. Somewhere deep in his heart, there was a hint of reluctance and hesitation.

But only for a moment. His gaze turned cold, his jaw tightened, and he muttered, “You forced me. If you want to destroy everything I’ve built, you’ll have to pay the price!”

...

At the Paris Defense Command

The Defense Command was located next to the police station in Paris’ 4th arrondissement. The choice of location was strategic, enabling coordinated command of both the military and police forces. One focused on external defense, the other on internal order—both under Gallieni’s control.

But that was only part of the reason.

The 4th arrondissement was home to the city hall, vital for Paris’ functioning, wartime hospitals, and the Seine River, which flowed through, offering two defensible islands in its waters.

Gallieni had chosen this location with the worst-case scenario in mind: if Paris fell, he intended to use the district’s facilities and unique terrain for a final stand against the Germans.

Fortunately, that scenario never came to pass.

Laurent drove the car along Saint-Antoine Avenue and stopped in front of the Command’s entrance.

The two sentries at the door immediately stood to attention. Yet Charles noticed that, despite their rigid posture, their eyes darted curiously toward him.

They must have heard about Charles’ appointment as a staff officer at the Command and were eager to see the rumored young man for themselves.

Perhaps out of pride, Charles worried he might disappoint them.

The first floor housed the Communications Department. The air was filled with the incessant clamor of telephone calls, and uniformed signal officers moved briskly back and forth.

When Charles entered, the noise noticeably subsided, and footsteps slowed as all eyes turned toward him.

There was admiration, envy, and, of course, jealousy.

One signal officer mustered the courage to approach Charles and extend his hand. “You must be Young Master Charles. Welcome!”

“Thank you!” Charles replied, feeling somewhat awkward. The roomful of soldiers had left him a bit overwhelmed.

Laurent, unfazed, led Charles upstairs with practiced ease. As they ascended, he checked his pocket watch and remarked, “General Gallieni usually gets up at eight. We still have twenty minutes, so we can—”

Before he could finish, Laurent noticed General Gallieni standing at the top of the stairs. The general’s faded uniform bore traces of wear, with his once-bright red trousers now tinged with pink. A pistol hung from his belt, lending him an air of authority.

When he saw Charles, an unintentional smile tugged at the corners of Gallieni’s mouth.

“General, you—”

Laurent hesitated before realizing the truth: the general had broken decades of routine to personally greet Charles.

Gallieni was tempted to throw an arm around Charles’ shoulder and warmly exclaim, “Welcome, lad! Finally, you’re here!”

But there were no secrets at the Command when it came to capitalists. Many staff members saw leaking information as an acceptable side hustle.

Gallieni could only maintain a stern expression and quip sarcastically, “Well, look who’s here! The great savior of France. We’ve been waiting for you to teach us how to fight a war!”

The surrounding officers chuckled. They caught the tone of Gallieni’s remark.

What they didn’t see was the subtle glance Gallieni shot Charles, as if to say: I’m serious, Charles. You truly are the savior of France.

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