I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 58

Chapter 58: What’s to Fear About a 17-Year-Old?

Armand’s estate, the Bled Manor, was only three kilometers from Paris and well-connected by roadways, making it the regular meeting place for the “Tank Alliance.”

This time, unlike previous gatherings, it was Francis who had summoned the others.

Nicolas was reluctant to come. His excuse was that the tank business had little to do with him. His role was simply to collect his payment and publish messages in Le Figaro as directed. He didn’t see the need to attend such meetings.

The real reason was that Nicolas didn’t think much of Francis as an aristocrat.

To Nicolas, Francis was merely a tractor salesman. Spending time on someone like that felt beneath him.

However, not long after, Grevy called Nicolas. “Francis thinks you should be present, Mr. Nicolas.”

“Oh? What great matter could this be?” Nicolas chuckled.

“Who knows? But if he insists…”

“Fine, I’ll come. But I might leave early. He’d better keep it brief!” Nicolas’s tone was laced with disdain for Francis.

When Nicolas arrived at the manor, the others were already there. He didn’t apologize but handed his cane and hat to the servant with an air of exhaustion. Without even removing his coat, he sank into the sofa. “Gentlemen, I can only stay for a short while. I have an appointment with Mr. Abel in an hour!”

“We won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Nicolas!” Francis nodded politely in greeting.

Nicolas was slightly surprised by Francis’s confident demeanor. Normally, he was timid and deferential, but now he seemed to be taking charge.

Nicolas glanced at Armand and Grevy with some confusion, but they only smiled in return.

“Here’s the situation!” Francis began. “I recently learned that Charles has built a tractor factory next to his motorcycle plant!”

The room fell silent for a few seconds before erupting into laughter.

Armand handed Nicolas a glass of red wine. “From what I understand, Charles is your grandson, Mr. Francis. Are you trying to get Mr. Nicolas here to advertise your grandson’s new factory?”

Nicolas wore a mocking smirk but spoke humbly. “I would be delighted to serve you, Mr. Francis!”

His exaggerated demeanor drew more laughter from the others.

Francis ignored their ridicule and emphasized, “A tractor factory, gentlemen. And one producing the advanced ‘Holt 75,’ with 83 horsepower and a top speed of 24 kilometers per hour. My tractors, by comparison, only have 61 horsepower and a maximum speed of 15 kilometers per hour. Doesn’t this make you think?”

Armand remained indifferent, sipping his wine dismissively.

Nicolas’s grin turned to one of resignation. He thought Francis was merely rattling off advertising details. Surely, he wasn’t serious about this?

Only Grevy had stopped laughing.

“Are you suggesting Charles intends to compete with you?” Grevy asked.

“With us, gentlemen!” Francis corrected. “If Charles modifies the ‘Holt 75’ into a tank, it will undoubtedly be faster and capable of carrying a greater load than the ‘Holt 60.’ Which do you think the military would prefer?”

Only then did the others grasp the gravity of the matter. They also realized they had misunderstood—Francis wasn’t referring to his grandson but to a competitor.

After a moment’s hesitation, Armand shrugged indifferently. “What can he do? We hold the industrial rights to tank production!”

“Exactly!” Nicolas added. “And we control the narrative!”

The advantage of owning a newspaper was clear. If Charles dared infringe on their industrial rights, they could immediately unleash both public and legal backlash against him, even if he was the original inventor.

Grevy, however, said nothing. He seemed to have realized something.

Sure enough, Francis shook his head with a wry smile. “You underestimate Charles. If things were as simple as you think, he wouldn’t have built that tractor factory in the first place.”

“So tell us about his abilities…” Armand said dismissively. “Do you think we should fear a 17-year-old boy?”

Francis was momentarily speechless, staring at Armand in disbelief. A true fool, he thought to himself. This man was both a party leader and a legislator!

Of course, Francis didn’t say any of this aloud. Instead, he leaned back into the sofa, took a deep breath to compose himself, and began speaking calmly:

“Gentlemen, I have a story to tell.”

“The German First Army was advancing on Paris. It needed only to surround the city from the west, and Paris would have been finished.”

“However, I purchased food supplies and a machine gun factory. Then I informed Gallieni that I would provide free logistical support to the French Fifth Army.”

“As a result, the French Fifth Army changed its retreat route and regrouped at Davaus.”

“The German First Army, in pursuit of the Fifth Army, altered its course, exposing its flank to Paris…”

Armand interrupted with a smirk, “Are you trying to say that you saved Paris?”

“No, Mr. Armand!” Francis sat upright, staring directly at him, and replied deliberately, “It was Charles who saved Paris. He was the one who instructed me to do all of this.”

The others exchanged looks of astonishment. They had never heard this version of events before. Or rather, it wasn’t a “story.”

The protagonist was Charles—Francis’s competitor. Francis wouldn’t praise his own enemy unless it was true. Thus, the “story” was very likely real.

Grevy seemed to have pieced something together. He looked at Francis in shock. “Are you saying Charles had already modified tractors into tanks and stationed them at Lavaus to wait for the Germans?”

Francis nodded. “Not only that, but he also trained a team of soldiers to use the tanks and led them to defeat the Germans!”

Everyone was stunned. They had always thought such accounts were mere rumors.

The official narrative credited Major Browning with training the troops and leading them to victory. Charles was simply acknowledged as the tank’s inventor.

Francis added, “I saw it with my own eyes. Major Browning only did what Charles instructed. I suspect the same was true at the Battle of Trois Roues.”

“Incredible!” Grevy stood up involuntarily.

Charles was just a 17-year-old boy, yet he demonstrated such strategic acumen, composure, and brilliance in invention. How was it possible?

Grevy had always known Charles was talented, but he hadn’t imagined him to be this extraordinary—far beyond anything he had expected.

He muttered to himself, “If Charles is our opponent, he’s a terrifying one.”

And that was precisely the point Francis wanted to make.

“Now, do you understand what kind of enemy we’re facing?” he asked.

“Do you still think there’s nothing to fear about a 17-year-old boy?”

Without waiting for their answers, Francis continued:

“Industrial rights mean nothing to him, gentlemen!”

“If I’m not mistaken, he’ll soon develop a new type of tank, one based on the ‘Holt 75.’”

“This tank will likely bypass all industrial rights—possibly a completely new design. Whatever it is, it will undoubtedly be far more advanced than ours.”

Grevy nodded slightly. “Then our tanks will be obsolete, and we might not sell a single one.”

Armand sat dumbfounded on the sofa. He had begun to envision the consequences. Financial loss was one thing, but if events unfolded as predicted, the right-wing faction’s plans to increase its influence and control within the military would undoubtedly collapse.

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