I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 46

Chapter 46: The Detestable Middlemen

The modest homes of ordinary citizens lacked dedicated living rooms or private studies for discussions. Camille hurriedly cleared the untidy dining table, turning it into an improvised meeting spot.

Charles sized up Gallieni. The man clearly cared little about appearances; his glasses sat askew on his nose, his small, fluffy white mustache seemed unkempt, and his ill-fitting suit gave him the look of a frail and scruffy old man. It was hard to believe that he was France’s most brilliant general.

Before Charles or Djoka could speak, Gallieni broke the silence. “You must be wondering why I’ve sought to speak with you in secret.”

Djoka nodded, but Charles remained composed.

Gallieni looked slightly surprised by Charles’ reaction and asked, “Have you already guessed?”

“You don’t want the capitalists controlling the Senate to find out,” Charles replied.

“Smart child!” Gallieni’s lips curled into a faint smile. “No wonder you’re the inventor of the tank and the motorcycle with sidecar. If I’m not mistaken, Major Browning’s tactics are your work as well, aren’t they?”

Charles did not deny it; while he could fool others, Gallieni was not so easily deceived.

Djoka hesitated as he glanced at Charles, uncertain whether to disclose their role in luring the Germans to Davaus.

Charles spoke up. “We can’t hide that from the general either, Father. He knows it was us.”

Gallieni was initially puzzled, but soon the realization dawned. “So it was you who drew the Germans here, exposing their flanks to us? I’d suspected as much, but I hadn’t imagined it was really your doing…”

“It was Charles, General!” Djoka interjected. “The whole plan was his idea!”

Gallieni turned his gaze to Charles, his eyes brimming with unreserved admiration.

“A brilliant idea, Charles. I never would have thought of it, especially spreading rumors to make the Germans believe Paris was an empty city. You fooled everyone!”

“If Kluck knew he was outsmarted by a child, I wonder how he’d feel!”

“I’m 17, General!” Charles protested.

Gallieni chuckled. Despite his apparent maturity, the boy was still young. Gallieni even hoped Charles would retain some of that youthful charm—he’d understand its value when he reached Gallieni’s age.

Gallieni’s gaze softened as he regarded Charles, and his tone shifted from formal to casual.

“Let’s get back to business, young man.”

“You’ve likely heard about the tanks, haven’t you? After you sold the industrial rights to Grevy, they used this war to hold the military hostage. The army is still locked in tense negotiations with them!”

Djoka grew agitated. “We had no choice, General…”

“I know!” Gallieni interrupted. “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Djoka! I’m not here to assign blame. The industrial rights were yours to sell, and to whom is entirely your decision. I have no right to interfere. I’m only here to see… if we can solve this problem.”

“What problem?” Djoka asked, bewildered.

Gallieni didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he calmly retrieved a cigarette case from his pocket, took out two cigarettes, and placed them side by side on the table. “This is you; this is the army. The army needs tanks, and you produce tanks. Our relationship should be straightforward—a simple buyer-seller dynamic. However…”

He placed the cigarette case between the two cigarettes and tapped it with his fingers, making a dull thud. “The Senate stands in the way, gentlemen! Military procurement requires Senate approval, meaning you cannot deal with the military directly. That’s where the problems arise: efficiency, pricing, quality, timelines—everything becomes an issue. And we’re forced to buy, while you’re pressured to sell, even to the extent of relinquishing your industrial rights!”

Djoka exclaimed, “Oh, I see! Those capitalists controlling the Senate have forcibly positioned themselves as middlemen, pocketing the profits from the transactions!”

He suddenly understood why Gallieni, a general, would secretly meet Charles. This wasn’t just a casual meeting—it was an attempt to bypass the middlemen and negotiate directly with the seller. Such an act would threaten the middlemen’s profits and strike at their core interests! If the capitalists discovered this, they might orchestrate a real kidnapping against Charles.

“Exactly!” General Gallieni nodded. “This forces us to pay several times the cost for subpar equipment. Sometimes, disagreements over pricing even delay critical operations. For instance, the army currently can’t acquire tanks unless we agree to purchase them at 6,000 francs apiece!”

The price shocked both Djoka and Charles.

The first-generation tanks were essentially tractors reinforced with steel plates and equipped with a machine gun. Their production cost barely exceeded 1,000 francs, yet the capitalists were selling them to the military for 6,000 francs!

This was blatant exploitation of the war’s urgency to extort the military and amass enormous profits.

General Gallieni said coldly, “They’ve taken France’s future and dignity hostage, along with the lives of our soldiers and civilians, all to siphon off public funds!”

“Despicable!” Djoka fumed. While he had always known the capitalists were ruthless, he hadn’t expected them to stoop to such vile methods to profit from national calamity. “Why don’t they let the military procure directly?”

“Because they fear the military gaining too much power,” Gallieni explained. “Once the military has power, it could easily take control of the country!”

Djoka fell silent. It was a convenient excuse for the capitalists.

Charles asked, “General, what can we do? We can’t change the current system.”

“You’re right, young man!” Gallieni nodded approvingly. “If you were like the other greedy capitalists, there’d be nothing we could do. Whenever the military tries to negotiate privately with a seller, the capitalists use their power to block the deal and offer double or triple the price. The military has never won a bidding war against them—without exception.”

Charles nodded in understanding.

The capitalists weren’t spending their own money—they were using France’s treasury, funded by taxpayers. The military’s limited budget could never compete.

“But if the seller is a conscientious capitalist, things are different!” Gallieni’s piercing gaze fixed on Charles. “That seller must resist the high-price temptations offered by the capitalists, choose to earn less, and steadfastly support the military by establishing a long-term partnership or even an alliance. In other words, they must stand with the military to resist capitalist control. Can you do that?”

Djoka’s expression grew conflicted. A merchant’s goal was profit, and selling to the highest bidder was a fundamental market principle.

Yet Gallieni was asking them to defy this principle and sell to the lower-bidding military. To Francis, such a move would be utter foolishness.

Gallieni’s gaze never left Charles.

He had thoroughly investigated Charles beforehand and knew he had used his own funds to support field hospitals and aid wounded soldiers. Gallieni believed Charles was a capitalist with a conscience—otherwise, he wouldn’t have made this trip.

After a brief silence, Charles asked, “General, can you resolve the military’s problem? I mean, how can you bypass the Senate’s control to make independent purchases?”

Gallieni’s response was firm. “The Wartime Emergency Act. During a state of war, the military has the authority to select the best equipment!”

He added, “Of course, the prerequisite is that it must indeed be ‘better.’”

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