I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 37

Chapter 37: A Near-Mutiny

Major Browning had been feeling rather dejected these past few days. Ever since his Third Battalion had defeated the German forces, they had been stranded on the northern bank of the Marne River, unable to advance.

Of the twelve tanks in their unit, five had been destroyed during the battle, most by friendly fire. But that wasn’t the issue—the issue was that they had achieved victory.

Of the seven remaining tanks, six were out of commission. Only one was operational, and even then, there was no guarantee it would remain so for long.

When General Garde had led his forces in pursuit of the retreating Germans, he had left Browning with one command: “Fix them, then catch up to us as quickly as possible!”

Major Browning couldn’t help but curse silently, “What a fool!”

“We’re soldiers, not engineers! How does he expect us to repair these things?”

Moreover, the top speed of these vehicles was a mere 15 kilometers per hour—top speed! If pushed to that limit, they’d likely break down within thirty minutes. Under normal conditions, they could only move at about 8 kilometers per hour, needing maintenance every hour.

For context, an average person walks at a speed of 3 to 6 kilometers per hour. How were they supposed to keep up in these contraptions?

Still, Browning had no choice but to salute and reply, “Yes, sir,” then strive to execute the order.

...

The situation turned out to be even worse than Major Browning had anticipated. He made several trips to the local tractor factory, hoping for help with repairs, but the responses were always the same:

“Major, I think you should wait for new tanks. We’re doing everything we can to produce them!”

“Those tanks are probably beyond repair. They’re riddled with bullet holes, their engines are destroyed or burned out. Fixing them might be harder than building new ones from scratch!”

Major Browning had to admit they had a point. But when would new tanks be ready? The answer he received was:

“We’re waiting on government funding. As soon as it’s approved, we’ll start production!”

Browning immediately realized that this meant an indefinite delay. Government funding came with layers of bureaucracy. Even in wartime, obtaining new tanks was not going to be immediate.

As expected, three days passed without any progress.

Meanwhile, General Garde sent messenger after messenger with increasingly urgent demands:

“Where are our tanks? Aren’t they repaired yet? They’re just tractors, for heaven’s sake!”

“Where are you? Bring your tanks and catch up with us!”

“God, if the tanks were here, we could have broken through the enemy lines easily. Instead, we’ve lost thousands of men!”

These complaints were not unfounded.

The German troops were well-disciplined. Even after losing the battle, they quickly regrouped, executing a retreat in coordinated waves, with each unit providing cover for the other.

In contrast, the pursuing French forces resembled children chasing a kite. They rushed forward in disorganized fervor, falling repeatedly into German traps and suffering heavy casualties.

But what could Major Browning do? He couldn’t conjure tanks out of thin air or carry them to the front lines himself.

“If only Matthew were here!” someone remarked. “That guy could do more than drive a tank—he was a skilled mechanic too!”

“How’s Matthew doing?”

“He lost his right leg. I visited him yesterday—he’s recovering well and being cared for.” Yves replied.

Matthew was a comrade in their tank crew. Yves had taken some time to visit the field hospital.

“Well, that’s a surprise!” Major Browning raised an eyebrow. “From what I know, field hospitals aren’t exactly known for their care.”

As a French officer, Browning was well aware of the conditions in field hospitals. Few who entered ever came out alive, even with minor injuries.

“Our field hospital is different, Major!” Yves leaned against a rock with his machine gun, speaking lazily. “We’ve got Master Charles!”

“What do you mean?” Major Browning turned to Yves in confusion, and the others also looked at him curiously.

“Don’t you know?” Yves opened his eyes fully, surprised at their ignorance. “Master Charles used his own money to supply our field hospital with resources and manpower. That’s why our Fifth Field Hospital is undoubtedly the best-equipped and has the highest survival rate in the army. This news has spread throughout the ranks. I thought you’d heard...”

Browning and his men were stunned. After a moment, some nodded in gratitude, while others crossed themselves:
“What a noble man. He’s a true hero!”

“May God bless him. If all French capitalists were like him, this country might have a future!”

“This puts my mind at ease. At least now, if we get wounded, we’ll be cared for and not left to die in some corner!”

...

For a soldier, there was nothing more despairing than surviving the battlefield, only to be abandoned in a field hospital, watching their life slip away in helpless agony.

Major Browning muttered bitterly, “If he cares so much, he should get us some tanks. That would reduce casualties!”

“Major!” Yves snapped, his tone tinged with anger. “Haven’t you heard? Francis stripped Master Charles of his management rights over the tractor factory!”

“What?” Browning stood abruptly. “No one told me that...”

“Of course they wouldn’t!” Yves explained. “They realized they could make a fortune turning tractors into tanks, so they sidelined Master Charles. They even forced a trade, giving him a useless motorcycle factory in exchange. It’s not what he wanted!”

The soldiers were outraged.

“These capitalists are a disgrace to France—they’re nothing but greedy scum!”

“And here we are fighting their war, shedding our blood for them!”

“How could they treat Master Charles this way?”

...

A few soldiers even stood, rifles in hand, ready to leave.

“Where are you going?” Browning hurriedly stopped them.

“We’re going to kill those bastards and take back the tractor factory for Master Charles. It’s rightfully his!”

The soldiers shouted in agreement:
“Count me in!”
“I’m going too!”

...

“No, no, listen to me!” Browning pleaded, trying to calm them down. “We don’t know the full story yet. Let me talk to Charles first—things might not be as they seem!”

The soldiers nodded, gradually calming down:
“Alright, Major! Give our regards to Master Charles!”

“If anyone bullies him, tell him to let us know. We’ll make them pay!”

“Yeah, we’re not to be trifled with!”

...

Major Browning was inwardly alarmed. Good Lord, that Charles—just rumors about him nearly sparked a mutiny!

Table of content - Next Chapter >>>