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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 229
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 17:09:01 +0000 UTCChapter 229: The Tragic Defeat of Grevy
Next, Charles tested the rifle. As a colonel, it was highly probable that he would need to use a rifle on the battlefield, and therefore, he had no choice but to learn how to handle it.
He quickly realized that the Lebel rifle was just as unfriendly to beginners.
This rifle uses a tubular magazine.
Other rifles have their ammunition loaded vertically into the magazine, but with the Lebel, the rounds are loaded horizontally, one after the other. Although it has a seemingly large capacity of 8 rounds, it negatively affects the handling.
Each time a shot was fired, the rifle's center of gravity shifted. Though only slightly, it gave Charles the feeling that each shot felt like a different rifle. This caused a sense of disarray, and after practicing for a while, he still couldn't get the hang of it.
It would be easier if he could rest the rifle on something, but the battlefield isn’t always the best place to find something to prop up a rifle.
Moreover, every time he pulled the trigger, Charles felt a little nervous. The bullets in the tubular magazine were linked end to end, and he wondered, if the rounds jostled when fired, would they misfire?
"That's enough for today," Charles complained, turning to thank Dominique. "Thank you, Instructor Dominique."
"You're welcome, Colonel," Dominique answered with a smile. "I'm happy to help!"
He added, "It would be best if you could come back tomorrow to practice, Colonel. We need to reinforce the fundamentals."
"Alright." Charles waved his hand as he left.
After Charles departed, Dominique drew his pistol and aimed at the target. As he recalled Charles's earlier posture, he adjusted his stance a little.
"Bang, bang, bang!"
"Bang, bang!"
All six bullets hit the bullseye precisely.
"My God!" Dominique exclaimed, both shocked and delighted. "What a great feeling! It's much faster than before!"
He thought for a moment and then repeated the shooting stance, sighing, "This grip should be promoted throughout the army; it’s so effective!"
Suddenly, applause sounded from nearby. Dominique looked over and saw Grevy approaching.
"Hello, Grevy," Dominique asked with a puzzled look, "What brings you here?"
"I just came to see an old friend. How have you been, Dominique?" Grevy strolled over casually.
"Of course," Dominique replied, "Everything is fine."
Grevy smiled and shook his head. "The second son of Saint-Étienne, willing to be a test shooter, and now he's a trainer, and enjoys it too!"
"And what of it?" Dominique replied while loading bullets into the revolver. "Everyone has their own ambitions. Yours is politics. Mine is guns!"
Grevy raised an eyebrow, watching Dominique repeatedly demonstrate his shooting posture, clearly worried about forgetting it.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang!"
"Bang, bang!"
Once again, all six shots hit the bullseye.
"Your shooting has improved!" Grevy said, surprised.
"No," Dominique replied excitedly, "It’s this shooting posture. It allows me to shoot faster and more steadily."
"Oh, really?" Grevy complimented, "Did you invent it? Very impressive!"
"It wasn’t me," Dominique said, a hint of awkwardness on his face. "It was Charles. He invented this grip."
Then, Dominique went on, almost to himself, "It’s unbelievable. I started practicing shooting when I was eleven and never once thought to change my grip!"
Grevy’s expression changed immediately. Just moments ago, he had been smiling and chatting, but now he fell silent.
Dominique looked at Grevy with confusion. "It seems like you don’t like Charles?"
Grevy gave a light smile. He knew Dominique well. This man hardly paid attention to anything other than his gun training, so he didn’t know much about the outside world, including his relationship with Charles.
Grevy didn’t answer. He paused for a moment before asking a vague question. "Have you thought about your future, Dominique?"
"What do you mean?" Dominique casually answered, still practicing his stance, hoping to find the perfect angle.
"The future of Saint-Étienne," Grevy’s tone softened. "And your own."
"Perhaps I don’t need to think about that too much," Dominique replied as he reloaded his handgun, trying to adjust his aim to the left and right.
"No," Grevy said, taking a few steps back, "You may not know this, but your father is working with Charles. He’s even listening to Charles’s instructions, and the profits from their cooperation are split equally."
Dominique stopped his movement and turned to look at Grevy, his expression gradually growing cold.
"I think you’ve noticed by now," Grevy raised his head slightly. "For example, grenades, mortars, and those small artillery pieces. If this continues…"
"Is that why you came here?" Dominique interrupted, his voice sharp. "To try to sow discord between Saint-Étienne and Charles? Or to make me dislike Charles?"
Grevy was at a loss for words.
As old classmates, Grevy knew Dominique’s character well. While Dominique wasn’t particularly clever, once he decided Charles was a "good person," it would be hard to change his mind.
Grevy was too late.
"Forget I said anything," Grevy shrugged and tried to backtrack. "You’ll understand later…"
Before Grevy could finish, Dominique pulled the trigger and fired at the target.
"Bang, bang, bang!"
Every bullet hit the bullseye without exception.
"You’d better leave soon, Grevy," Dominique warned coldly, "Otherwise, next time it will be your turn."
Grevy raised an eyebrow. "As you wish."
This was Grevy’s most painful defeat. Back in their school days at "Henry IV," he had used all kinds of tactics to convince Dominique he was a "think tank."
Just now, Grevy had been confident he could persuade Dominique, but the outcome was the complete opposite.
"Bang, bang, bang!"
Gunshots rang out behind him. Grevy froze for a moment, gritted his teeth, and quickened his pace to leave.
Dominique stared strangely at the target. One of the shots didn’t hit the bullseye.
It was the result of distraction, not because of Grevy.
A moment flashed in his mind, one that took place at the officers’ club, when a young lieutenant had bravely stopped a group of officers who were teasing him, saying, "Enough! Give him back his letter!"
"Instructor," a staff member ran up to Dominique, "Mr. Steed wants you to go to the Ritz Hotel."
Dominique furrowed his brow and muttered, "Hmm," unsure whether it was for some social gathering. His father knew very well he didn’t like such things!
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