I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Transporting Troops by Taxi

Djoka planned to take a taxi back to the small town, a journey of over ten kilometers that would cost 8 sous. He believed it was worth the money; after all, it wouldn’t be long before he no longer had to worry about such trivial expenses.

However, after waiting on the street for quite some time, no vacant taxi appeared. The few that passed were fully loaded with armed French soldiers.

“This isn’t good!” Djoka frowned as he watched the taxis disappear into the distance. “It looks like they’re using taxis to transport soldiers to the front lines!”

Charles let out a soft “hmm.” The historically significant event of using taxis to transport troops was widely celebrated in France as a symbol of the unity between civilians and the military in resisting the German invasion.

And now, at this very moment, with Charles and Djoka still in Paris, it was happening.

They might have to walk back to Davaus, as there wouldn’t be any transportation available—not even carriages or ox carts, since all means of transportation had been requisitioned to carry military supplies.

Just as the two found themselves in a dilemma, a taxi loaded with French soldiers came to a halt not far ahead.

Charles spotted Major Browning among the soldiers. He shouted to the driver, “Hey, stop! Pull over immediately!”

“What’s going on, Major?” The driver turned back toward Major Browning in confusion.

“We need to pick them up!” Major Browning waved toward the two men in the distance and shouted, “Hey, Mr. Djoka, Young Master Charles!”

“But we’re already full!” the driver protested.

“Then have two people get off and let them take their place!” Major Browning responded bluntly.

Major Browning’s order immediately sparked protests from everyone in the taxi. The soldiers and the driver united in opposition:

“You can’t do this, Major! We’re heading to the battlefield!”

“This is absurd! Forcing soldiers heading to the front lines to give up their seats for a couple of capitalists!”

“You’re unworthy of being a major, let alone a soldier! Your subordinates would be ashamed of you!”

...

Djoka and Charles did indeed look like capitalists—albeit fallen ones.

Major Browning waited silently for them to finish, then retorted disdainfully, “Do you know who they are?”

This only fueled the soldiers’ anger. They thought Major Browning was flaunting the identities of the two capitalists, trampling on their dignity. The protests escalated into growls:

“Who cares who they are? Nobody has that kind of right!”

“Will they go to the battlefield in our place? If so, I’ll gladly give them my seat!”

“I’d never make way for them. You, Major, could step off instead and take their place!”

...

Two soldiers even exchanged glances, seemingly contemplating throwing the infuriating major off the vehicle at the first opportunity.

Major Browning ignored them. Instead, he gestured at Charles, who had approached the taxi. “Young Master Charles, are you heading back to Davaus?”

“Yes!” Charles nodded.

Noticing the lack of space in the taxi and the furious expressions of the soldiers, Djoka quickly pulled Charles back, saying, “We’re terribly sorry, gentlemen. We can wait for the next car! We have time!”

Suddenly, the driver’s eyes widened in realization as he looked at Charles. “Wait—you’re Charles from Davaus?”

Major Browning smirked without a word, as if to say, Now you know!

Sure enough, the soldiers who had been cursing moments ago instantly fell silent. The two who had been ready to act exchanged awkward looks. All eyes turned to Charles in astonishment, and after a long pause, someone tentatively asked, their voice trembling, “Is it that... Young Master Charles, the one who invented the tank?”

Before Charles could answer, Major Browning laughed triumphantly and declared, “Who else could it be? You fools, he’s the one who saved France, and you’re refusing to let him board!”

“Now, tell me—who’s more qualified to sit here?”

“Didn’t he fight for you? Have you saved France like he has?”

“Ridiculous! You’re actually proud of heading to the front lines, yet you hold your heads high in front of Young Master Charles…”

Major Browning unleashed a tirade, venting all his frustration at the soldiers. None of them dared to respond; they simply bowed their heads and listened in silence. Eventually, one soldier jumped out of the taxi mid-scolding.

“My deepest apologies, Young Master Charles. Please take my seat!”

“No, no, please take mine instead!” another quickly followed.

“Gentlemen, please sit in my place! I can wait for the next taxi, or walk—it’s no trouble at all!”

...

Djoka felt uneasy and was about to decline, but the soldiers forcibly ushered him into the taxi before he could protest. It felt like being kidnapped.

“It’s only right. You’re far more useful on the battlefield than we are!”

“Your time is more valuable—you might build more tanks!”

“It’s an honor, sir!”

...

Reluctantly, Djoka and Charles took their seats. As the taxi drove off, the two French soldiers who had given up their spots stood at attention and saluted the departing vehicle.

Passersby on nearby streets turned to stare at the scene. Their puzzled expressions clearly conveyed a single thought: Who are these capitalists, to make soldiers give up their seats and salute them?

...

“How did you end up in Paris, Major Browning?” Charles asked through the tangle of limbs crammed into the taxi.

“I’m here to see General Gallieni!” replied Major Browning, turning back from the front passenger seat. “He wants to learn more about tanks and detailed combat strategies.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Everything is as you instructed, Young Master Charles!”

Charles alone understood what this meant: Major Browning had taken responsibility for the training and command, shielding Charles from blame.

This comment further astonished everyone in the taxi.

The driver, stealing a glance at Major Browning, asked hesitantly, “Major, are you saying you’re the one who led 300 men to defeat thousands of Germans?”

Major Browning, his face expressionless, shot back, “What do you think?”

Still simmering with anger from earlier, he had no intention of playing modest.

Another awkward silence followed. Two soldiers, unable to bear the tension, finally spoke up:

“Apologies, Major. We thought—”

“You thought I was just currying favor with capitalists, didn’t you?” Major Browning interrupted coldly.

The soldiers said nothing, their silence betraying their guilt.

“You’re right—Young Master Charles is a capitalist!” Major Browning barked, adopting the tone of a superior reprimanding subordinates. “But look closely—he’s one of the few capitalists willing to give everything for France. He’s bankrupted himself to provide us with food and invented the tank that defeated the Germans. He saved countless lives!”

“Yes, Major!”

“Understood, Major!”

“You fools!” Major Browning adjusted his uniform and slumped back into his seat. “If you were my men, I’d thrash you all!”

“Yes, Major!”

The soldiers dared not speak further, casting admiring glances at Charles instead.

The driver suddenly chuckled. “They’ll be jealous of me—I’m driving the inventor of the Marne River tank and its commander!”

“Looks like my luck’s turning around!”

Indeed, his fortunes did improve. In the following days, many sought out his taxi, willing to pay several times the normal fare just for the privilege of riding in the same car as this now-famous driver.

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