I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 35

Chapter 35: The Sidecar Design

"Whoosh!" The sound echoed as Guillaume swung open the warehouse doors and flipped on the electric light.

Although it was already midmorning and the sun was high, the dimly lit warehouse still relied on artificial light to make its contents visible. Without it, only hazy shadows could be discerned.

Under the lights, rows upon rows of brand-new motorcycles stood neatly arranged in the warehouse, like troops awaiting inspection.

“To be honest, Young Master Charles,” Guillaume hesitated slightly, “you probably shouldn’t have purchased the motorcycle factory. Its sales weren’t good to begin with, and after the war broke out, it became even harder to sell. One of the reasons the workers left was because of this—they couldn’t sell the motorcycles and therefore weren’t getting paid. They didn’t want to waste their effort here.”

Djoka nodded in agreement. He had always thought buying the motorcycle factory was unwise. Even though it was acquired at just 35% of its original value, that didn’t guarantee profitability.

“How much inventory do we have in total?” Charles asked.

“Over fifteen hundred units,” Guillaume replied. “But I’d have to check the documents for the exact number.”

“And how many can we produce each month?” Charles continued.

Guillaume and Djoka exchanged glances, their expressions akin to seeing a ghost. The inventory couldn’t even sell, and yet Charles was asking about production capacity!

“About three hundred units a month,” Guillaume answered hesitantly. “But I think…”

“Can production be expanded?” Charles interrupted. “For instance, running three shifts and hiring three sets of workers to produce around the clock?”

Djoka couldn’t hold back any longer. “Charles, shouldn’t we be focusing on selling the existing inventory first?”

Guillaume nodded in agreement. “Mr. Djoka is right, Young Master Charles. You should heed your father’s advice!”

Still a child, Guillaume thought. He treats business like a game.

Charles neither agreed nor refuted. He walked over to a motorcycle, examined it briefly, then grabbed the handlebars and twisted them slightly. Turning back, he asked, “Guillaume, are these motorcycles in working condition?”

“Of course!” Guillaume answered. “Just add fuel, and they’ll run perfectly. Their performance is excellent—they’re British ‘Victory’ models!”

(Note: The "Victory" brand motorcycles, also known as "Triumph" motorcycles, were renowned for their reliable performance and ease of maintenance. During World War I, the military praised them as the ‘trustworthy Victory’.)

“Good.” Charles stepped aside and pointed at the stand beneath the motorcycle. “We could extend a post from here and add a wheel to the side, giving it a more stable three-wheeled structure. On the side wheel’s position, we can add a vertical support for a gunner to mount a machine gun. We can even add some armor to the front for protection. Can this be done?”

Guillaume’s eyes widened instantly.
Converting a two-wheeler into a three-wheeler?
This could carry more people and more equipment!

A genius idea! Why hadn’t anyone thought of this before?

It took Guillaume a moment to process. Swallowing hard, he nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, Young Master Charles! It’s not difficult at all. In fact, it’s quite simple—I could probably modify one within a few hours!”

Charles gave a satisfied nod. “Then get to it.”

Djoka began to understand Charles’s intentions. The mention of a machine gun earlier had clued him in. “You’re thinking of converting these for military use?”

“Exactly, Father,” Charles replied. “Right now, nothing is more profitable than military goods. As long as it’s something the army needs, they’ll purchase it in bulk—regardless of cost.”

Guillaume, who was pushing a motorcycle out of the warehouse, stopped in his tracks when he heard this. Turning back with excitement, he said, “That’s right, Young Master Charles! If this proves useful on the battlefield, we’ll receive countless orders in no time. These motorcycles will sell out—and we might not even have enough stock…”

Suddenly, Guillaume realized why Charles had been talking about expanding production.

If this worked, producing just three hundred units a month would indeed be far too little. Ideally, they’d need to produce three thousand units monthly!

“We might be on the brink of a fortune!” Guillaume exclaimed as he ran out with the motorcycle, eager to implement Charles’s idea and see if it worked.

Djoka and Charles followed closely behind, curious to observe the modification process and evaluate Guillaume’s craftsmanship.

In fact, sidecar designs had already been conceived years earlier. Six years ago, during a Canadian military exercise, a sergeant innovatively attached a sidecar to a motorcycle and mounted a machine gun on it.

However, the three-wheeled design was extremely bumpy during travel, and the machine gun’s accuracy while moving was non-existent. Officers dismissed it as more likely to harm friendly forces than enemies.

As a result, the design was overlooked, making only a few symbolic appearances in exercises before disappearing completely. No one even bothered to patent it.

This lack of recognition explained why Guillaume and Djoka were unfamiliar with the concept.

In truth, very few people worldwide were aware of or remembered this design.

“So,” Djoka asked, “is this just another version of a ‘tank’?”

“No, it’s different from a tank,” Charles explained. “Tanks are designed to withstand bullets. This is about speed, Father. On the battlefield, sometimes speed determines victory.”

Djoka struggled to grasp the concept. As a businessman with no military background, he didn’t fully understand, but he trusted Charles’s judgment. After all, Charles had already helped the French army win two crucial battles—key victories.

“Do you know what the neighbors are saying about you?” Djoka suddenly chuckled.

“What are they saying?”

“They say you’re even better than General Gallieni! They think you should be commanding the French forces!”

Charles was taken aback by this suggestion. He had no intention of joining the military.

“They even made a comparison,” Djoka continued, his face full of pride. “They said Gallieni led the Sixth Army against the Germans and lost, while you, with just a few hundred men, defeated the Germans—twice! And it was the same group of Germans each time! What does that say?”

Charles lowered his voice. “Father, that could earn me a draft notice!”

Djoka froze, his smile vanishing instantly, replaced by fear. “You’re right, Charles. They can’t say such things! This… this is nonsense. We’ve never done anything like that. We’re just inventors, nothing more!”

Charles fell silent for a moment. He realized that denying or reinterpreting the rumors wouldn’t make them disappear. The people would still talk, and the military and government would still hear.

After some thought, he said thoughtfully, “No, Father. I did do those things.”

“Not only did I do them, but I also trained troops, forced deserters back, and stopped them during the army’s collapse.”

“They returned to the battlefield because they heard about tanks!”

Djoka was stunned. What was Charles thinking?

After a moment, he understood.

If denial wouldn’t work, then exaggerate the story until it sounded like an absurd rumor—completely illogical and unworthy of belief.

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