I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: A Deal is a Deal

At the 6th Army Headquarters in Paris, Gallieni paced back and forth like a restless ant on a hot pan.

So far, all the intelligence he had received was bad news:
“The Germans have appeared in Davaus and launched a fierce assault.”

“A German secret unit crossed the river last night and successfully launched a pincer attack, capturing the Marne Bridge!”

“Our defensive line has collapsed. General Garde has led the headquarters in a retreat!”

...

“Damn it!” Gallieni cursed. “When it comes to fighting, you cowards run faster than anyone! You call this a ‘retreat’? It’s nothing more than deserting the troops!”

Gallieni felt an urge to court-martial General Garde to stabilize the front.

But Gallieni was only the military governor of Paris, and the only forces he could command were the 6th Army and the police units stationed in the city. The 5th Army was under Joffre’s command.

Gallieni also knew that Joffre wouldn’t act decisively. High-ranking generals often had intricate ties with capitalists, and some even came from the so-called "Two Hundred Families." They were adept at enjoying privileges and fleeing from danger.

“The 5th Army cannot fail!” Gallieni said, pacing anxiously. “They are the only ones near Davaus. If they collapse entirely, Paris and the main French forces will be cut off by the Germans. That would mean Paris is effectively surrounded!”

This was likely the First German Army’s plan: to pierce through the 5th Army’s defenses and, in doing so, divide and encircle Paris while devastating France’s main fighting forces.

Gallieni suddenly stopped in front of the map, his tone becoming grim.

“What is Joffre doing?”

“We’re losing our chance. We need to launch a counterattack immediately to stabilize the 5th Army’s defensive line!”

“Otherwise, it’s all over—everything will be lost!”

He slammed his fist onto the map at Davaus, as though willing himself to personally defeat the Germans there.

In his heart, he prayed: Issue the order, Joffre! For God’s sake, we cannot lose this battle!

At that moment, a staff officer answering a telephone suddenly froze, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. After a moment of stunned silence, his expression turned to unrestrained joy. Forgetting all formalities, he shouted across the room to Gallieni:
“We’ve won, General! We’ve won!”

Gallieni looked utterly baffled. He turned to the staff officer and asked,
“What did you say? What victory?”

Everyone in the command center paused their work, looking at the staff officer in confusion.

With all the defensive lines in retreat, how could there be a victory? Even the army commander had fled with the headquarters—who could have achieved such a feat?

The farmers with pitchforks and sticks?

The staff officer stammered with excitement: “It was a Major Browning... no, actually, it was someone named Charles. He... he’s the key. Apparently, he invented a new weapon...”

Gallieni straightened up, his mustache trembling with agitation. Still skeptical, he barked at the staff officer:

“Speak clearly, Major! Or I’ll throw you out of here!”

The command center had no patience for people who couldn’t even report properly.

“Yes, General!” The staff officer swallowed hard, striving to calm himself, though his chest continued to heave.

After taking a few seconds to compose his thoughts, he reported:

“It’s someone named Charles. He used tractors to invent a piece of equipment. Major Browning led over three hundred men, launched a counteroffensive with this equipment at a critical moment, and achieved victory!”

The command center fell into a stunned silence. Even the clattering typewriters stopped. The typists, their glasses fogging up, lifted their heads to stare incredulously at the staff officer, as if asking: How is this even possible? Are we living in a novel?

Gallieni’s mustache trembled, but he still couldn’t believe it entirely. Half-doubting, he asked,
“Is this information confirmed?”

“It’s confirmed!” The staff officer waved the telephone in his hand and nodded emphatically. “The Germans have been driven to the north bank of the Marne River, suffering at least five thousand casualties!”

Cheers erupted in the command center. Some radio operators were so elated that they tossed their papers into the air. Sheets of paper fluttered across the room, covering the floor and ceiling.

Gallieni asked another question:
“What kind of equipment could allow three hundred men to defeat thousands of Germans?”

“I don’t know, General!” the staff officer replied. “They couldn’t explain clearly over the phone. They said it’s like an ‘iron can.’ They’re calling it a ‘tank!’”

“A tank?” Gallieni’s face was blank. The term was completely unfamiliar. He couldn’t imagine what it meant.

He decided to set the matter aside for now. His tone carried a hint of relief. “The person who invented this equipment—you said his name was...”

“His name is Charles, General!”

“Hmm!” Gallieni nodded. “Which unit is he with? We should reward him handsomely...”

“No, General!” the staff officer interrupted. “He’s a 17-year-old boy and doesn’t belong to any military unit!”

Gallieni froze. A 17-year-old boy had invented a tank and saved France?

How could this possibly be real?

“Oh, by the way!” The staff officer added, “He’s the youngest grandson of Francis, the merchant who funded us.”

Gallieni paused. Francis had funded the 5th Army’s march to Davaus. Then rumors had lured the Germans there, only for this ‘tank’ to appear and defeat them.

Could all of this be mere coincidence?

If not...

Gallieni had an unsettling feeling that he wasn’t the one directing this war, but rather an invisible hand behind the scenes.

...

While Gallieni and his staff were busy, Charles had finally escaped the enthusiastic gratitude of French soldiers.

When he returned home, he was startled by what he saw: the house was surrounded by people, several layers deep.

When they spotted Charles, they cried out in unison:
“It’s Master Charles!”

“Master Charles has returned!”

...

The crowd parted willingly, opening a path that led directly to the front yard.

Djoka and Camille were busy welcoming visitors, and the yard was piled high with gifts: flour, eggs, cheese, fruit...

“Charles!” His mother Camille waved to him over the crowd, her face glowing with pride and excitement. “The neighbors brought these gifts for you. They’re so kind!”

Charles removed his cap and walked forward, nodding humbly to the crowd.

“Thank you! Thank you, everyone!”

His polite and graceful demeanor earned him a chorus of praise:
“What a thoughtful young man!”

“It’s us who should thank you, Master Charles! You saved us all!”

“We’re so proud of you—you’re our hero!”

...

A plump boy was shoved toward Charles by his parents.

Charles recognized him as Teddy, a classmate who used to bully him. If not for Matthew, Charles might not have survived Teddy’s antics.

“Apologize to Master Charles!” Teddy’s father grabbed him by the collar like a prisoner.

Teddy seemed petrified—but not by his father.

He looked at Charles with wide, fearful eyes, his jaw trembling uncontrollably.
“Ch-Ch-Charles, you wouldn’t... wouldn’t use that ‘iron can’ on me, would you?”

Charles burst into laughter.

“Of course not, Teddy! It’s for fighting enemies, not friends!”

Then, turning to the neighbors, he raised his head proudly and said:
“Our weapons will always be aimed at our enemies, never at our friends!”

The neighbors erupted in cheers:
“Well said, Master Charles!”

“Bravo, Master Charles!”

...

Teddy relaxed and gave Charles a grateful look.
“We’re... friends?”

Charles nodded firmly.

“Of course!”

“Thank you, Charles!” Tears welled up in Teddy’s eyes, and his voice choked. “Thank you so much!”

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Leaning closer, he whispered, “I can introduce Ida to you!”

Ida was Teddy’s sister, three years older than him. With her curvaceous figure and youthful beauty, she was the object of admiration for many boys, including Charles and his peers.

Unfortunately for Teddy, his comment was overheard by Ida.

“Teddy!” Ida shrieked, pushing through the crowd with a murderous glare. She cast a flustered and embarrassed glance at Charles, her eyes betraying both panic and shyness.

Realizing the gravity of his mistake, Teddy wriggled free of his father’s grip and bolted, shouting from afar:
“See you later, Charles! I meant what I said!”

Charles responded half-jokingly:
“A deal is a deal!”

The neighbors burst into laughter, and Ida, her face flushed red, pretended to chase after Teddy.

Table of content - Next Chapter >>>