I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: This Young Man is Not Simple

It was natural for Francis to feel this way, as Charles had traveled back in time from the modern era.

At this moment, the First World War had just begun. Everyone thought the war would end quickly, but Charles knew it would rage on for over four years, claiming the lives of 1.69 million Frenchmen.

A casualty rate of 4.25%. Excluding the elderly, women, minors, and well-connected bureaucrats exempt from military service, the death rate among soldiers was roughly one in four.

What a terrifying number—one in every four soldiers dead.

And if you added the wounded, it was almost impossible for any soldier to emerge from the war unscathed.

At 17, Charles was on the verge of adulthood. If nothing unexpected happened, he would be drafted next year or the year after and face the baptism of fire.

He didn’t want his hard-won journey through time to end with an inexplicable death on the battlefield.

To avoid this fate, he decided to create a compelling reason to stay off the frontlines.

Or at the very least, if drafted, to keep far away from the war.

Charles believed the arms industry was an excellent path forward.

If he could provide the military with high-quality, even revolutionary, weapons that could help France win the war, why would they send him to the battlefield?

Surviving while making a fortune—what could be better?

...

Barely half an hour later, Francis returned.

He waved a document in his hand, announcing excitedly:
“The motorcycle factory is ours! That man was hesitant to abandon the factory and leave, but as soon as he heard about the exchange, it was like he’d grabbed a lifeline. He signed the contract without a second thought!”

Pierre stared at Francis in shock. He had assumed the negotiations would take at least a day or two, so he hadn’t rushed to stop them. He hadn’t expected the deal to be sealed in the blink of an eye.

“Father, is this really a good idea?” Pierre asked, his pessimism and disappointment plain. “Now all our assets are in Davaus. If the Germans come, we’ll have nothing left!”

Francis brushed off Pierre’s complaints, smiling as he turned to Charles.
“So, you agree with me, don’t you? That the Germans won’t make it here?”

Francis had been closely monitoring military movements. He believed the French army’s retreat was strategic and orderly, that their forces remained intact and were awaiting an opportunity to counterattack.

This belief was the foundation for his decision to wager all his assets.

But Charles shook his head.

“No, sir. On the contrary, I believe the Germans will reach here!”

Francis was surprised by the answer.

Though he was confident in his judgment, he couldn’t understand Charles’ reasoning.

If the Germans would reach Davaus, wouldn’t a greater gamble lead to total ruin?
Seeing Charles hesitate, Francis immediately realized there were things the young man wasn’t comfortable saying in front of others.

Francis initially didn’t want to indulge him—what could a mere boy know? His earlier words had likely been meant to grab attention, a stunt typical of adolescents seeking approval.

Yet curiosity drove Francis to decide to hear him out.

“Alright, let’s have a cup of coffee in the study,” he said, his tone brooking no argument, like an officer commanding a subordinate.

This irritated Charles.

The old man refused to acknowledge him as his grandson but assumed the authority of a senior?
If he hadn’t planned to use Francis to develop the arms business, Charles wouldn’t have bothered with him!

...

The study was on the second floor, its decor simple yet tasteful. Both walls were lined with bookshelves, crammed with books. At the center stood a mahogany desk with little on it but a lamp, a few chairs, and a three-tiered library ladder.

Charles and Francis sat opposite each other at the desk, each taking the dominant or subordinate position. The butler brought in two cups of coffee, placing them in front of the pair. A rich aroma filled the room.

Algerian coffee beans—Francis insisted that only beans grown in high-altitude and subtropical climates had the depth of flavor he enjoyed. He had them transported from afar at double the cost.

Leaning back elegantly in his chair, Francis held his coffee, inhaled the aroma, took a small sip, and asked casually without looking up:
“You seem to have something on your mind?”

Charles added a cube of sugar to his coffee, stirred it slowly, and replied unhurriedly:
“Sir, I believe you should be more concerned with whether France can win this war than whether the Germans will reach here.”

Francis raised an eyebrow, countering:
“Isn’t that essentially the same thing?”

Charles gently shook his head.
“No, sir. If France loses this war, the factory will inevitably be plundered, whether the Germans reach here or not.”

Francis looked up in astonishment at Charles.

The young man was right. The tractor factory, motorcycle factory, and even the machine gun production line were exactly what the Germans needed.

If Germany won the war, the factories just ten kilometers from Paris would undoubtedly be seized. The equipment, and even the tractors, would be transported to Germany.

Charles added:
“Therefore, what we must do is twofold: first, help France win the war, and second, protect Davaus.”

The first was a strategic goal; the second, tactical. Only by achieving both could the factory’s safety be assured.

Francis stared blankly at Charles before suddenly laughing. His gaze at the young man was as though regarding a joke.
“Kid, you seem eager to impress me, but you’re trying too hard.”

“Help France win the war? Protect Davaus?”

“If you were Napoleon, I might believe you, but…”

Francis shook his head, smiling faintly, his eyes showing a trace of disdain.

Charles rolled his eyes, exasperated by Francis’ arrogance. Do I need to impress you?
But he didn’t plan to argue further. The best rebuttal would be to slap the old man in the face with cold, hard facts.

Charles noticed a map on the desk—Francis’ tool for tracking tractor sales across various regions.

Moving his coffee aside, Charles spread the map in front of him. Gesturing at it, he analyzed with confidence:
“The Germans plan to encircle Paris with two armies. The First Army is on the west, and the Second on the east.”

“The western First Army is advancing rapidly, leaving the Second Army 40 kilometers behind.”

Francis murmured an amused “Mm-hmm.” This kid knows a bit.

But this wasn’t classified information. Reports from the front lines and fleeing soldiers frequently brought updates.

For a 17-year-old, this knowledge was commendable. But if Charles thought it would earn Francis’ recognition, he was wasting his efforts.

Charles ignored Francis’ skeptical look and continued:
“If things continue as they are, the Germans will undoubtedly encircle Paris and win the war.”

Francis nodded slightly, acknowledging this deduction.

Paris was France’s political and transportation hub. If Paris fell, French morale and troop movements would suffer disastrously, and the war would effectively be over.

However…
“Do you have a way to change this outcome?” Francis asked, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

This overconfident child—does he think he’s Napoleon?

Charles pointed to the position of the German First Army on the map.
“If they change their course and move to the east of Paris instead of the west, France might still win the war.”

Francis shook his head slightly, chuckling:
“Sorry, kid. We can’t command the enemy’s troops.”

He set down his coffee and signaled the end of the conversation.

Charles understood then: Francis might be an excellent businessman, but his understanding of military matters was woefully shallow. He even had the nerve to ridicule others for it.

Charles calmly slid his finger forward on the map and replied:
“You’re correct, sir. We can’t command the enemy’s troops, but we can alter the retreat of the French army.”

“That would catch the enemy’s attention. After all, the enemy is eager to destroy France’s forces.”

Charles looked Francis directly in the eye, his gaze as if sizing up a fool.

Francis’ expression changed slightly. He began to sense that this young man wasn’t as simple as he had thought.

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