I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Infantry-Tank-Artillery Coordination

Major Browning offered no explanation, brusquely pushing past Djoka to barge into the room. He only felt slightly relieved after spotting Charles. Glancing around, he strode to an old table and, brushing aside the dust, began sketching with his finger. His voice, laced with urgency, accompanied his rough drawings:

"This is the river, this is the Marne Bridge. The enemy has set up ten heavy machine guns at the bridgehead, creating a circular defensive position. There's a trench surrounding the area, and there may even be artillery in the rear!"

Major Browning looked up at Charles, who was partially shielded by Camille, and his eyes filled with desperation. "What should we do? Can tanks withstand this kind of firepower?"

Djoka and Camille, realizing the major was here merely to consult, lowered their guard.

Charles stepped around Camille and approached the "dust map" under the dim light. Without hesitation, he gave a blunt reply: "No, they cannot!"

Although the Maxim machine gun used 7.92mm rifle cartridges, which theoretically had no greater penetration than a standard rifle, the tanks’ sides would be exposed to close-range attacks from the circular defensive position, leaving them riddled with holes.

The artillery was an even bigger concern. To reduce weight, tank roofs were made of 2mm steel plates—barely more than tin. No tank could survive direct artillery fire, regardless of the weapon used.

"Then what do we do?" Major Browning pressed. "How do we attack? Do you have a plan? Tell me quickly! The next offensive is about to start!"

He looked as if he wanted to rip Charles’s ideas straight from his brain.

Charles thought for a moment before pointing at the map and replying, "Artillery support, Major!"

"Bombard the enemy’s bridgehead positions heavily. The smoke and dust raised by the shelling will obscure their vision. The thunderous cannon fire will mask the noise of advancing tanks, leaving the enemy clueless about their position—or even that they’ve crossed the bridge!"

"This might help evade the machine guns," Major Browning countered, "but what about their artillery?"

Charles remained composed.

"During our bombardment, it’s unlikely the enemy will return fire. It would be a pointless waste of shells!"

Charles picked up a stone, placed it on the map to represent a tank, and moved it forward as he explained:

"Therefore, our artillery must maintain a rolling barrage. As the tanks advance, the artillery fire will shift forward, deceiving the enemy into thinking we’re conducting indiscriminate shelling..."

Major Browning interrupted, pointing at the trenches marked on the map. "The trenches, Charles—you’ve forgotten about the trenches and the ditches! Our tanks will get stuck in front of them. If they stop moving, they’ll still be spotted and blown to pieces."

"Not necessarily," Charles replied. "You can order soldiers to carry sandbags and fill the trenches as they advance, creating a path for the tanks."

Major Browning’s eyes widened, but after a brief moment of astonishment, he turned and dashed out, leaving a shout behind him:

"Charles, you’re a genius! Thank you—you’ve saved us again!"

Djoka and Camille exchanged bewildered looks. Camille’s face showed disbelief as he hesitated and asked, "Charles, were you just... teaching them how to fight a battle?"

A regular army major was clueless about how to approach this battle, but Charles knew—and not only knew but devised a counter-strategy in mere moments!

Previously, it made sense that Charles could train French soldiers to cooperate with tanks; after all, he was the tank’s inventor. But this? This was incomprehensible to Djoka and Camille.

Where had Charles learned his military knowledge? Had he fought in a war himself, or was it all from books? And if so, what book could contain tactics the French army hadn’t yet considered? Could Major Browning be right—was Charles truly a genius?

As Djoka and Camille awaited an explanation, Charles suddenly bolted upright as though pricked by a needle. His face went pale, and his breathing quickened as he muttered, "Matthew, Matthew, he’s in one of the tanks!"

Charles was about to dash out, but Djoka, quick to react, held him back.

"Let me go, Father!" Charles struggled. "I sent Matthew to the battlefield. I designed this battle plan..."

"No, Charles!" Djoka said firmly. "Whether or not you designed this plan, Matthew would still be on the battlefield. If your plan is sound, then Matthew has a chance to survive. Without it, he’d have no hope at all! You’ve given him a fighting chance!"

Charles gradually calmed down, realizing his father was right. The plan didn’t put Matthew in danger; rather, it reduced his chances of dying.

"But," Charles said, "he’s still out there, and the plan is incredibly risky..."

Indeed, the plan was dangerous. Coordinating infantry, tanks, and artillery with such precision was no small feat. The tanks had to follow the artillery’s rolling barrage closely. If the shelling deviated, the tanks advanced too quickly, or the infantry failed to fill the trenches in time, disaster would strike.

It was clear that French soldiers, untrained in such coordination, would make mistakes. Ultimately, only some of the tanks would successfully cross the Marne Bridge.

"You can’t change anything, Charles," Djoka said. "Can you stop this war?"

Charles fell silent.

This was reality. As long as the Germans occupied the far bank of the Marne, the battle would rage on. As long as the war continued, tanks—these so-called "miracles of the battlefield"—would be deployed. And Matthew, as an experienced driver, would inevitably find himself sent to the front.

Camille gently placed a comforting arm around Charles’s shoulders. "Matthew will be fine, Charles. We’ll win this war, and he’ll come back alive."

...

On the southern bank of the Marne, the fierce battle had momentarily subsided, leaving an eerie calm in its wake—like the darkness before dawn.

Soldiers of the 3rd Battalion, 9th French Infantry Regiment, were busy in the trenches, shoveling mud to fill sandbags.

Meanwhile, tank crews conducted their final inspections. These modified tractors, now armored, were prone to frequent mechanical issues. Every spare moment had to be used for maintenance to ensure they wouldn’t break down.

"Are you really friends with Charles?" asked Yves, the machine gunner, as he loaded rounds into the feed plate beside a tank.

Matthew, lying under the tank’s chassis, grunted affirmatively while tightening a final bolt. He wriggled out like a caterpillar, stood up, wiped his hands with a rag, and replied, "Yes, we grew up together."

"He’s remarkable," Yves said, nodding toward the tank. "He invented this thing. We’re alive because of him."

The assistant gunner, Nagy, added, "I heard the major just got a battle plan from him. We’re fighting according to Charles’s strategy."

"Is that so?" Matthew smiled. That guy—who knew he had such talents?

Yves seemed surprised by Matthew’s reaction. "You grew up with Charles and didn’t know he could do this?"

"Of course I knew!" Matthew replied, slipping into a boastful tone. "I know everything about him—even when he’s thinking about a girl!"

Nearby soldiers burst into laughter, pausing their work.

One called out, "Hey, Matthew, do you think this plan will work?"

"Don’t worry!" Matthew said confidently. "I’d bet my life on it—we’ll win!"

"Cheeky bastard," Yves scoffed. "If we lose, none of us will survive, and you’re betting the least valuable thing you’ve got—your life!"

"Then I’ll bet a box of chewing tobacco!" Matthew retorted, shamelessly unfazed.

Someone tossed him a small object. "Here—you’ll need it more than we do."

Matthew caught it and was overjoyed: it was a box of chewing tobacco. He opened it immediately, pinched out a small amount, and popped it into his mouth...

(Note: Chewing tobacco, made from cigar scraps or finely cut tobacco mixed with licorice, honey, etc., was a popular stimulant during World War I. It didn’t require lighting and produced no smoke, making it ideal for soldiers in the field. It was often issued alongside cigarettes in European armies.)

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by a commanding shout: "Stay alert! Prepare for battle!"

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