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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 133
🕑 Added 2025-04-04 18:03:01 +0000 UTCChapter 133: The Hand Grenade
After the family had dinner by candlelight, Djoka took the opportunity to persuade Charles while Camille was in the kitchen washing dishes.
“I don’t oppose your dedication to the tank, Charles!” Djoka said, with a trace of anxiety in his voice. “I don’t even oppose your decision to ‘stay out of competition,’ but it seems you need allies. You can’t fight the whole world on your own, even if you are exceptionally talented!”
He added, “The methods your enemies might use could be beyond your imagination. Sometimes they’re impossible to guard against, and at times, you have no choice but to pick a side!”
“I understand, Father!” Charles replied, picking up a plum from his plate and popping it into his mouth.
Camille had mentioned that plums were going out of season and suggested savoring them while they lasted—otherwise, they’d have to wait until next year.
“And...” Djoka hesitated before continuing, “Sometimes, we shouldn’t dwell on the past but focus on the current situation and the future!”
Djoka was referring to the time Charles had been tricked into going to Antwerp. Although Grevy had indeed tried to harm Charles, such schemes of alliances and betrayals were common in business. Djoka believed that if it was now advantageous, they should ally with Grevy.
More importantly, Djoka knew that individuals like Grevy, steeped in noble heritage, were skilled in the art of power struggles—it ran in their veins.
By forming an alliance with them, they could avoid a repeat of the “unexpected events” from last time.
It was a form of recognition born out of fear, similar to Stockholm Syndrome.
“I will not ally with Grevy!” Charles replied without the slightest hesitation. “They will eventually be eliminated by the tide of the times. It’s not a wise choice to ally with them!”
“Then who can we ally with?” Djoka countered.
Forming an alliance with Schneider was out of the question. It was well known that Joffre and Gallieni did not get along. Choosing Gallieni meant ruling out Joffre, and industrial giants like Schneider would not take Charles seriously. Attempting an alliance with them would only lead to humiliation.
Charles hesitated briefly before responding calmly, “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll make them come to me!”
“What?” Djoka didn’t understand Charles’ meaning.
“You’ll see, Father!” Charles said, rising to end the conversation. He casually grabbed a few more plums as he left.
He discovered that they tasted quite good. Sometimes, broadening one’s options was worth it.
...
Back in his room, Charles took out paper, a pen, and a ruler to draw a sketch.
A wooden-handled hand grenade—it was a simple concept, easily producible even by hand. With varying amounts of explosives, it could be categorized into offensive and defensive types.
It didn’t take long to complete the drawing. Although it wasn’t highly precise, such precision wasn’t necessary.
He added a page of explanatory notes, made a copy for himself, and clipped the documents together with a pin. Then he went downstairs to hand them to Djoka, who was still sitting at the dining table, lost in thought.
“Father, please take this to register for industrial rights tomorrow!” Charles said.
Djoka took the documents and flipped through them, as though he wanted to say something but ultimately only nodded without a word.
Charles understood Djoka’s unspoken thoughts:
“We don’t lack industrial rights or money, Charles. We have plenty of money now! But there are some things money can’t buy!”
Charles didn’t offer an explanation. Time would reveal the answer.
...
The next day, Paris was blessed with a rare sunny day. The sky was a vivid blue, and the sun tore through the clouds, pouring its light over the city and casting long shadows behind speeding cars.
“Can you believe it, Lieutenant?” Laurent said. “It’s pouring rain in Ypres right now!”
“Oh?” Charles asked with curiosity. “You received intelligence from Ypres?”
“Of course!” Laurent nodded. “Every detail. The General wants you to gain some insight into the battlefield during your return journey. But right now, everything seems normal—nothing unusual has occurred.”
Charles realized this was Gallieni’s way of handling his leave.
Battlefield intelligence was continuously being transmitted to Laurent. If any special situation required Charles’ attention, it would immediately be brought to his notice.
A very effective method!
It seemed unlikely that there would be any major developments in Ypres soon.
With the issue of air superiority unresolved, the German offensives would undoubtedly be thwarted by the French 75 mm cannons. On the other hand, French forces stationed in muddy, low-lying plains were in no position to launch counterattacks against the Germans, who held the advantage in hilly terrain. Such actions would be suicidal.
Charles found himself thinking that he might have saved many lives.
Historically, this battle had seen the French and German armies pushing back and forth across the Ypres plains, resulting in over 100,000 casualties on both sides (130,000 for the Germans, 100,000 for the Allies). But now, with just over 10,000 casualties, it was over.
The outcome was the same, yet the death toll had been reduced by over 200,000.
Ending wars by waging wars—saving lives by taking them. Wasn’t that a kind of irony?
...
Perhaps because the front was relatively stable, the headquarters wasn’t as busy as usual. Gallieni sat at his desk, chewing on a piece of bread while staring at a map, his mind on the front lines.
This was his long-standing habit. He almost never ate in the cafeteria, even though it was just downstairs.
“General!” Charles handed Gallieni a duplicate of the grenade sketch. “I believe we need this equipment.”
Gallieni glanced at the sketch but didn’t pay it much attention at first, his eyes returning to the map as he asked casually, “What is this?”
“A hand grenade!” Charles replied. “It’s designed to replace the explosives currently being thrown by grenadiers.”
Gallieni let out an “Oh,” and raised his head, his expression turning serious.
Before long, he put down his bread, taking the drawing in one hand and the explanatory notes in the other.
After studying it for a while, he waved the papers and asked Charles, half-skeptical, “Are you saying it doesn’t require lighting a fuse—just pulling a cord to detonate?”
“Yes, General!” Charles confirmed. “With a few seconds’ delay to give soldiers time to throw it.”
Gallieni immediately grasped its importance. Nodding emphatically, he said, “You’re absolutely right, Lieutenant! We do need this. Do you have a prototype?”
“No, General!” Charles replied. “I just designed it. The industrial rights are being registered, but I’m ready to start production as soon as the army needs it. It’s not difficult to manufacture...”
“We need it!” Gallieni said, nodding repeatedly. “Of course we need it!”
Gallieni was a practical general who often sent staff officers to the front to understand real conditions. He believed this kept command grounded in reality.
He was well aware that frontline soldiers were currently resorting to using outdated grenadier explosives, tossing them back and forth across trenches in battles with the enemy.
But these explosives had many flaws, such as being susceptible to moisture and requiring manual ignition.
Charles’ design—a hand grenade specifically made for throwing, one that didn’t require lighting a fuse and was convenient to use—was perfectly suited for trench warfare!
“We need at least 10,000 of these...” General Gallieni affirmed confidently.
Charles couldn’t help but laugh. Ten thousand?
France’s frontline forces numbered in the millions. Supplying five grenades per soldier would require five to six million grenades. Ten million wouldn’t suffice once you factored in ongoing consumption!
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