Axel
patreon
I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 70
🕑 Added 2025-02-23 18:10:03 +0000 UTCChapter 70: Uncle’s Conspiracy
When he returned home, Charles found Camille full of questions. She grabbed him and bombarded him with inquiries: How was the army? How was the food? How were the living conditions?
It felt as though Charles had been away for two years instead of two days. Camille, who had never shown interest in the military, was now curiously asking about its daily routines.
More frustratingly, she still refused to let Charles go out alone.
“Wait for your father to return, and he’ll go with you!” Camille said earnestly. “It won’t take long; I’ll call him!”
“Mother!” Charles protested. “There are soldiers everywhere, and I’m a soldier too!”
He patted the revolver at his waist, even though he had yet to learn how to use it.
Camille, however, did not know this. She naively believed that all one had to do was pull the trigger to stop any trouble. That assumption convinced her that there was no need to call Djoka back.
“Fine, Charles!” Camille finally relented.
Her eyes were full of reluctance. If she weren’t so indispensable at the factory, she might have stayed by Charles’ side longer.
“Go quickly and come back soon!” Camille reminded him. “You need rest!”
“I will!” Charles said as he left the house.
This time, the neighbors greeted him warmly. Along the way, Charles received waves, compliments, and even a few blown kisses from women. These made him puff out his chest and walk as upright as possible, trying to look more like an adult.
The soldiers he passed saluted him as well, although their expressions betrayed a trace of puzzlement. It was hard to reconcile the 17-year-old boy with the title of “officer.”
Charles walked along the road toward the factory. At a short blind turn, a car suddenly swerved out from the other direction, narrowly missing him. The driver braked just in time.
“Are you insane?” the driver yelled first, swearing, “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!”
The driver’s accusations were baseless. Charles was walking on the correct side of the road. The car had been driving against traffic, and worse, the driver smelled strongly of alcohol.
Then Charles recognized him—it was Pierre, the man he was supposed to call “uncle.”
Pierre also recognized Charles. His eyes lingered on Charles’ military uniform, and his gaze became unfocused. He chuckled drunkenly, a laugh that made him seem like a madman.
“So, it’s Charles! Sorry, I… didn’t recognize you just now! Look at you—a soldier now!”
Pierre staggered out of the car, burping and swaying as though he were about to vomit but managing to hold it in.
Charles quickly stepped back to avoid the stench.
“Speaking of which, you… owe me thanks!” Pierre said, leaning against the car to steady himself.
“For what?” Charles asked, his tone sharp with sarcasm. “For sending me into the army?”
“No, no!” Pierre shook his head with a crooked grin. “You think it’s just the army?”
Charles stared at Pierre in confusion. Was there something he didn’t know, or was Pierre merely rambling in his drunken state?
Pierre laughed again, the sound idiotic and hollow.
“Look at that—you don’t know anything!”
“I know your father, Charles! I know exactly what kind of man he is, and of course, what kind of woman he likes!”
“That’s why I went to the town, found your mother, and hired her to work as a maid in our house…”
“If I hadn’t done that, you might not even exist! Shouldn’t you… be thanking me for that?”
Charles froze.
Pierre had always been notorious for his dealings with women, a connoisseur of such matters. It was no surprise that he had orchestrated a situation where Djoka fell hopelessly in love with a maid.
But Francis, who cared deeply about social status and proper matches, would never have allowed his youngest son to marry a maid. Conflict was inevitable.
The outcome was well known: Djoka was cast out early, living a life of poverty and discrimination, while Pierre basked in the wealth of Francis’ inheritance.
Yet, Charles didn’t get angry. He nodded instead.
“You’re right, Pierre. I do owe you my thanks.”
Pierre opened his mouth to say more, but a group of soldiers called out from a distance.
“Officer, is everything alright?”
“All good!” Charles replied loudly.
Perhaps realizing Charles was not to be trifled with, Pierre mumbled a few words, climbed back into his car, and, with a mocking wave, drove off.
Laurent came rushing over, his face full of concern. “That drunkard—he didn’t hit you, did he?”
“No, he didn’t!” Charles shook his head. “I’m fine!”
Without another word, Charles headed toward the factory, not looking back.
Laurent glanced in the direction the car had gone, recognizing it as belonging to the Bernard family. Knowing it was a sensitive matter, he simply muttered under his breath and followed Charles.
Charles slowed his pace, turned to Laurent, and asked innocently, “Major, what’s the age range for military service?”
“Eighteen to forty-six,” Laurent answered, his tone becoming increasingly stiff. “As a second lieutenant, you should know that!”
He added, “You’re an exception, though. Not that it makes much sense…”
Laurent assumed Charles was asking why he, at 17, was already serving.
Charles didn’t reply. After a pause, he asked again, “Can I recommend someone for military service?”
Laurent blinked, surprised. Recommending someone for service? That was unusual. But…
“I suppose you can!” Laurent nodded. “As long as they meet the requirements.”
“They do!” Charles replied confidently. “An adult male, 43 years old, unemployed. Shouldn’t he be serving?”
“That fits the criteria,” Laurent said. “Unless there are exceptional circumstances!”
“What’s his name?” Laurent asked.
“Pierre. Pierre Bernard,” Charles said calmly.
Laurent froze. That was Charles’ uncle—the drunk driver from earlier!
But then…
Laurent grinned. “Good idea, Charles! I’ll even make sure the unit gives him ‘special attention.’”
Charles gave a satisfied nod.
Pierre had provoked the wrong person. He should have known that among all his family members, he was the weakest and the least capable.
A spoiled man who wasted his days in debauchery, Pierre avoided conscription only because Francis had intervened.
But such tricks were easy to uncover—especially for someone like Laurent.
Even Francis was unaware of Pierre’s exemption. Once the draft notice reached Pierre, it would be too late to reverse course.
Tampering with the draft was simpler before notices were issued. Once they were sent out, any attempt to rescind them could cause public outrage. People might refuse to serve, and no one could bear the consequences of such chaos.
Would traditional aristocrats like Grevy or Armand step in to help Pierre?
A party leader and a parliamentarian helping the son of a capitalist dodge conscription?
If the newspapers got wind of it, Grevy and Armand’s political careers would be ruined!
There was no one left to save Pierre.
Charles couldn’t wait to see Pierre’s reaction when the draft notice arrived!
Table of content - Next Chapter >>>
