I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 44

Chapter 44: The Kidnapping Incident

Charles and Djoka spent the entire night working tirelessly at the motorcycle factory.

Converting motorcycles into sidecars was one task; discussing tactics with Major Browning was another. Restarting production at the factory brought countless unexpected issues to address, and before they knew it, the hours had slipped away.

Camille had visited once during the night. Upon realizing they were hard at work in the factory, she felt reassured. Before leaving, she expressed some concern to Djoka: “Charles is still young—don’t overwork him!”

Djoka responded casually, though with some hesitation: “You have no idea how capable Charles is. Many decisions rely on him! Letting him take it easy might not be so simple.”

Camille felt a mix of pride and worry upon hearing this. Finally, she smiled knowingly—Charles was bound to grow up, and this day would come eventually.

After seeing Major Browning and his subordinates off at dawn, Charles finally found a moment to rest. He collapsed onto a bed in the workers’ dormitory and fell asleep instantly, not waking until cheers rang out in the afternoon.

Before Charles could fully grasp the situation, a crowd of workers swarmed into his room, with Guillaume among them. They shouted excitedly:

“We’ve won, Master Charles!”

“They fought a great battle and drove the Germans back!”

“They killed or wounded thousands of them! My God, they took out ten times as many enemies while barely suffering any losses themselves!”

“Master Charles, you’ve done it again!”

...

Still groggy, Charles sat up and blinked at the jubilant workers. It took him a moment to realize they were talking about Major Browning’s motorcycle unit.

“There’s already been a battle?” Charles asked. “How’s Major Browning? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine!” Uncle Guillaume replied. “He called us himself to thank you, Master Charles. They followed your instructions, and it worked brilliantly!”

Djoka entered the room and, seeing Charles’ tired state, said with concern, “Now that things have settled down, Charles, you should go home for a hearty meal and some proper rest. Leave the rest to me!”

The workers enthusiastically echoed this suggestion:
“That’s right, Master Charles, go and rest!”
“We’ve got this covered!”
“We’ve even called in another shift of workers to take over. Soon, we’ll be off to rest, too!”

...

Feeling that there was nothing pressing left for him to do, and with fatigue still washing over him in waves, Charles gladly accepted their advice.

...

Walking along the streets of the small town, the setting sun cast a long shadow beside him.

Unaccustomed to sleepless nights, Charles felt as though he were in a different world. His steps were unsteady.

Before he realized it, someone had drawn near. Turning his head, he saw two middle-aged men dressed in black suits and wearing bowler hats. They flanked him on either side.

“Master Charles?” asked the man on the left, who sported a pencil mustache.

“And you are?” Charles asked, puzzled.

The next second, he realized his mistake.

If they were here to kidnap him, that simple response confirmed his identity.

“Someone wishes to meet you, Master Charles,” said the man with the mustache, gesturing toward a car parked a short distance ahead. His tone was commanding. “Come with us.”

Before Charles could protest, the two men seized him firmly and began steering him toward the car.

A cold sweat broke out across Charles’ body as he snapped to full alertness.

A kidnapping?

Were they after money? Or had some capitalist sent assassins?

Meeting him here suggested they had been watching the motorcycle factory for some time and struck when he was alone...

What now?

At this critical moment, a child’s shrill cry rang out: “Murderers! Villains! They’re kidnapping Master Charles!”

It was Teddy’s voice. Charles was so moved that he wanted to kiss the boy’s chubby cheeks. All the bad memories he had of Teddy vanished instantly, and even his clumsy, rotund figure now seemed endearing.

The two men in suits paused upon hearing the cry. They exchanged a glance but said nothing, quickening their pace instead.

Encouraged by their reaction, Teddy yelled even louder:
“They’re agents of the capitalists! They’re here to take Master Charles!”
“Help! Somebody save Master Charles!”

...

Just as the men were forcing Charles into the car, neighbors came rushing over from all directions, responding to the commotion.

The baker wielded a bread knife, the workers brandished wrenches, the women carried kitchen knives and eggs, and even Carla the grocer had armed herself with a long pizza rolling pin.

“Stop them!”
“Don’t let them take Master Charles!”
“These shameless bastards! Trying to kidnap Master Charles right under our noses? Are they mad?”

...

Realizing the situation had turned against them, the two men in suits dragged Charles into the already-revving car. Just as they were about to drive off, Uncle Anthony—a bricklayer with arms like tree trunks—grabbed both men and yanked them out of the vehicle.

Despite his immense strength, Uncle Anthony remained calm. Spreading his arms like a barricade, he stopped the angry crowd and turned to Charles with a questioning look: “Do you know these men, Master Charles?”

“No, I don’t,” Charles answered honestly.

That sealed the men’s fate.

As Uncle Anthony stepped aside, the furious neighbors surged forward like a tide. They swung their improvised weapons at the men, venting all their anger in a flurry of blows:
“Beat them! Heartless scoundrels!”
“Damn capitalists, always scheming!”
“Master Charles must’ve gotten in their way, so now they want him dead!”
“They must be the ones who stole my chickens!”

...

The two men tried to explain, but the neighbors had no interest in listening. They smashed the car’s windows and pummeled the men relentlessly.

“Bang!” A gunshot rang out.

The neighbors gasped and instinctively stepped back.

Uncle Anthony immediately shielded Charles behind him.

But the pause was brief. With their overwhelming numbers and the men possessing only a single revolver, the neighbors quickly regrouped and surrounded them again.

The men took advantage of the momentary lull to scramble back into the car. With a blaring horn and screeching tires, they forced their way through the crowd and sped off.

The neighbors gave chase, pelting the fleeing car with stones, curses, and even a few shoes, which arced gracefully through the air to strike the driver’s face.

“Charles! Charles!” Camille came running down the street like a whirlwind, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. She hadn’t even had time to remove her apron.

Clearly, the neighbors had informed her of what happened.

“I’m fine, Mother!” Charles emerged from the crowd and went to meet her.

Seeing her son safe, Camille heaved a sigh of relief. She slowed her pace, pulled Charles into a tight embrace, and wept with joy. After a while, she turned to the neighbors with tear-filled eyes and heartfelt gratitude:
“Thank you! Thank you all so much!”
“It’s all thanks to you!”

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