I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 30

Chapter 30: The Will of the People

They replaced Matthew’s bandages with new ones, administered him a shot of morphine, and assigned a nurse to be on-call at all times.

In exchange, Dr. Sibrel handed Charles a long list detailing the supplies and personnel urgently needed by the field hospital:
The supplies included tents, beds, blankets, bandages, medical cotton, tourniquets, styptics, and morphine.

As for personnel, besides doctors and nurses, they needed cleaners, caregivers, cooks, and laborers...

Looking at the list, Charles finally understood why the field hospital was on the brink of collapse—they were practically trying to balance a hundred-pound rock on a single strand of hair.

Charles assigned Joseph to procure supplies in Paris, while Djoka volunteered to organize manpower.

Although Joseph was reluctant to leave Matthew’s side, the thought that these supplies were just as vital for Matthew gave him the resolve to agree without hesitation.

“Don’t worry, Master Charles!” Joseph assured him. “I’ll bring back everything on the list, not a single item missing!”

Djoka wrote Joseph a check for 100,000 francs and instructed him:
“You can take my car. If the money isn’t enough, come back to me!”

“Thank you, Mr. Djoka, thank you so much!” Joseph accepted the check with both hands, his eyes filled with gratitude. He gently removed his hat and nodded to both Djoka and Charles before turning to softly pat Matthew’s pale hand on the hospital bed.

“Don’t worry, Father!” Matthew comforted him. “I’ll be fine. Charles will be here with me!”

Joseph nodded before heading off with two men toward the Ford car.

“Wait!” Djoka called out, hurrying after them. “Drop me off at the town first. I’ll gather a team there!”

...

When only Matthew and Charles were left in the tent, Matthew let out a long sigh. The smile on his face vanished, replaced by pallor and exhaustion.
“I know they amputated my leg, Charles!”

It was only in front of Charles that Matthew let his guard down completely.

Charles was taken aback. Joseph had been hiding the truth from Matthew, fearing he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Matthew gave a faint smile. “Of course I know, Charles. It’s my leg. I can feel its absence!”

“So, you’ve been pretending?” Charles asked. “Just to put your father’s mind at ease?”

Matthew didn’t answer, his gaze hollow and tinged with melancholy. “Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to die on the battlefield...”

“Is that how you truly feel?” Charles glared at Matthew angrily. “Are you so easily defeated?”

Matthew gave a bitter laugh, his eyes full of disdain as he looked at Charles.

“You capitalists could never understand people like us!”

“Do you know what they traded for my leg? 130 francs, Charles. They bought my leg for 130 francs!”

Matthew was referring to the compensation—a sum of 260 francs for soldiers who died in combat, reduced by half for the disabled.

“What can 130 francs even do?” Matthew continued. “Frugally, it might last two years. But then what?”

It was only then that Charles realized Matthew was calculating the economics of survival—considering the livelihood of his father and family. From this perspective, death indeed seemed better than disability; death provided a larger sum of money with no lingering “side effects,” while disability brought less compensation and countless complications.

“Matthew...”

“No!” Matthew cut him off with an angry glare. “I don’t need it, Charles!”

He seemed to anticipate what Charles was about to say:
“‘Come to my factory, Matthew. I’ll give you a job!’”

He didn’t want anyone’s pity—not even Charles’s.

But Charles didn’t say that.

Instead, he pulled a chair to Matthew’s bedside, sat down, and said expressionlessly:
“I won’t pity you, Matthew. I despise you.”

“What?” Matthew couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Charles revealed the truth:
“I asked Dr. Sibrel about your leg. It didn’t have to be amputated. But because they were short on manpower, they chose to save time by amputating it to focus on others...”

“What?” Matthew stared at Charles in disbelief. “They... they amputated my leg for that reason?”

For the doctors, it was a way to save a bit of time. For Matthew, it was a lifetime.

Charles ignored his shock and continued,
“Do you know who’s responsible for what happened to you?”

“It’s those capitalists who refused to spend money on field hospitals. If there had been more doctors, more medicine, or more hands, your leg might have been saved!”

Charles’s tone grew heavier:
“They’ve ruined your life, and all you can think about is how to scrape by on 130 francs!”

“You want me to pity you, to feel sorry for you?”

“No, Matthew. I despise you.”

“They’ve defeated you so easily, and so completely!”

Matthew gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. “But what can I do...”

“Stand up!” Charles interrupted him, his voice firm. “Fight them! Hold them accountable! Make them pay!”

Matthew gasped for breath, his chest heaving with effort, the blanket rising and falling with his labored breathing. Beads of sweat trickled down his pale face.

He looked pained, but the lifelessness in his eyes began to fade. A faint spark appeared, growing brighter and brighter.

Noticing a commotion behind him, Charles turned and saw that a crowd of nurses and wounded soldiers had gathered outside the tent, Dr. Sibrel among them.

The tent offered no soundproofing, and Charles’s words had spread. The injured, despite their pain, stood up one by one, gathering around Charles.

“Young Master Charles is right! They can’t treat us like this. They send us to fight but won’t even provide basic medical care!”

“They live in luxury, making money off our suffering, while we protect them with our lives!”

“We’ve had enough! Young Master Charles, lead us to confront those capitalists!”

“Yes, you’re a capitalist with a conscience. We’ll follow you!”

...

Charles was startled. His words, intended to inspire Matthew, had roused the wounded to near rebellion.

This was mutiny. The capitalists would quickly deploy troops to suppress them, as they had done many times before.

Given their current strength, such an action would be suicidal.

Charles hurriedly raised his hands:
“Listen to me, gentlemen!”

“Our priority now is to recover. Only when we’re strong can we continue the fight!”

“We must not act rashly, or it’ll only harm us further!”

...

The wounded fell silent, knowing Charles was right.

However, many of them would soon be homeless or even starve due to poverty. What fight could they wage then?

Seeing their thoughts, Charles added:
“By the way, I’ve just acquired a motorcycle factory. Most of the workers have left. If you’re willing, you can work there in the future!”

The injured were overjoyed but also hesitant:

“But many of us are missing arms or legs...”

“Don’t worry!” Charles reassured them. “I’ll find suitable positions for all of you. You’re heroes of France. You deserve better treatment!”

The wounded cheered, tears streaming down their faces as they endured their pain to salute Charles. In their eyes, he was a savior, a sentiment shared by Matthew, as well as the doctors and nurses who were visibly moved.

But only Charles knew the real reason behind his actions.

No one understood the value of public sentiment better than he did. It was the key to fighting the capitalists.
And the cheapest, most effective way to win hearts was to “offer help in times of need” rather than “add icing on the cake.”

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