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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 36
🕑 Added 2025-02-07 17:06:00 +0000 UTCChapter 36: Wages and Dignity
An hour later, the prototype of the sidecar stood before the three of them.
Despite over an hour of continuous labor leaving Guillaume visibly tired, his eyes shone with excitement. He paced around the sidecar, occasionally stopping to inspect or touch a part, much like admiring a fine piece of art.
“I think this idea is feasible, Master Charles!” Guillaume exclaimed with enthusiasm. “It could have significant military applications. They’ll want to buy it!”
“How can you be so sure?” Djoka asked.
“I’ve been a soldier, Monsieur Djoka!” Guillaume straightened up from examining the welding joints of the chassis and pulled back his workwear to reveal a noticeable scar on his lower right abdomen. “This scar was left by a German bayonet. I fought in the Franco-Prussian War. I know what war demands!”
A flicker of anger flashed through Guillaume’s eyes as he spoke.
The soldiers who fought in the Franco-Prussian War were heroes who had fought valiantly on the battlefield against the enemy. Yet, because France had lost the war and suffered disgrace, all blame and anger had been heaped on them, branding them as scapegoats.
It was unfair!
Charles understood his plight. “You can put down that burden now, Uncle Guillaume! We won’t lose this war. They’ll redefine the war you fought in—and redefine you!”
Guillaume’s head snapped toward Charles, startled. With disbelief, he asked, “Will… will they? Truly?”
“They might not, but we will!” Charles replied cryptically, leaving Guillaume puzzled.
Charles explained in his slightly youthful voice, “If we lose this war, the capitalists will deliberately shift public anger onto people like you to divert attention. But if we win, they won’t hesitate to heap praises upon you while claiming credit for themselves. That way, the public won’t care how much money they’ve taken.”
Guillaume was shocked, especially by the part about “capitalists deliberately shifting public anger onto you.”
He had never considered this possibility, always assuming the public’s disdain for veterans was mere misunderstanding. Yet, with Charles’s words as a reminder, he recalled how countless newspapers at the time criticized the military for corruption and incompetence, never mentioning that these flaws had been caused by capitalists.
“Those damned capitalists!” Guillaume hissed through clenched teeth.
Hatred burned within him as he reflected on the decades of humiliation, scorn, and accusations he had endured. These memories brought a wave of sorrow, which had kept him confined to the factory, avoiding others.
“In my view,” Charles continued, “you’re undoubtedly a hero. You gave everything for France and deserve respect. It’s just that some people fail to see that. If we win this war and you play a key role, their attitudes toward you will change.”
Guillaume nodded heavily.
Charles was right. If France could wipe away its previous disgrace, the military would once again earn public respect, and soldiers would regain recognition. Those who had fought for France and continued to contribute now would surely be no exception.
“So!” Guillaume looked up at Charles. “We must strive to help France win this war!”
“Exactly!” Charles agreed.
Djoka, who had been silently observing, silently praised Charles. He had a remarkable talent for giving people respect and acknowledgment, bringing them onto the same side.
When survival was secure, some people valued dignity more than higher wages. After all, dignity could not be bought with money. This realization made the motorcycle factory’s production more stable and reliable.
Charles gestured toward the sidecar. “Don’t you want to try it out, Uncle Guillaume?”
“Me? Me?” Guillaume hesitated.
Wasn’t the honor of being the first to ride it supposed to go to its inventor? Guillaume hadn’t expected Charles to bestow this privilege on him.
“I don’t know how to ride it!” Charles explained with a smile.
Gratitude filled Guillaume’s eyes as he climbed onto the sidecar. With a firm stomp on the ignition lever, the engine roared to life after two tries. Under his control, the sidecar slowly rolled into the testing grounds. At first, Guillaume drove cautiously, turning corners carefully and gaining confidence. Soon, he sped up, flying across the lot with excited cheers.
“Master Charles!” Guillaume shouted, “You should really try this—it’s much more stable than a motorcycle!”
That wasn’t entirely true. The sidecar was actually harder to handle than a two-wheeled motorcycle. Guillaume’s comment stemmed from pride in his creation.
“What’s it called?” Djoka asked.
“Sidecar!” Charles replied.
“A fitting name,” Djoka remarked.
“‘Side’ for the attached sidecar and ‘car’ for the three wheels,” Charles elaborated.
Watching the dust kicked up by the speeding sidecar, Djoka voiced his concern. “There’s one issue, Charles. Aren’t you worried it’ll face the same problem as the tank?”
Djoka referred to the risk of French capitalists copying and suppressing its industrial rights.
“No, not for now,” Charles answered.
“Why not?” Djoka asked, puzzled.
“What makes the sidecar different from the tank in terms of industrial rights?”
“France only has one motorcycle factory right now, Father,” Charles explained.
France had originally hosted three motorcycle manufacturers: Harley-Davidson (under American license), Douglas, and Victory motorcycles (both under British license). The first two had fallen into German hands during the invasion...
Most of France’s industrial zones were in the north, rich in mineral resources and ideal for manufacturing. The only remaining factory, the Victory Motorcycle Factory, was now in Charles’s hands.
Djoka raised an eyebrow. “So you mean, if they want to copy or bypass our industrial rights, they’d first need a motorcycle factory?”
“Exactly!” Charles nodded. “They’d need a production line, skilled workers, and, most importantly, their motorcycles would have to match the quality of Victory motorcycles!”
Victory motorcycles had proven their reliability on the battlefield—a fact only Charles knew.
The best equipment for the battlefield wasn’t necessarily the most advanced but had to be “reliable and easy to maintain.” On the battlefield, a malfunctioning vehicle abandoned on the road was nearly impossible to repair and could cost lives.
Victory motorcycles had all these qualities—something capitalists couldn’t easily replicate unless they directly copied the design, risking lawsuits from the British company.
In short, Charles’s innovation bound the British company to his interests, forming an alliance that deterred French capitalists from acting recklessly.
Djoka sighed. “Far-sighted, Charles. Did you anticipate all this from the start?”
Charles’s youthful face bore an unusual maturity. “I had to, Father. Otherwise, we’d go bankrupt.”
Djoka felt a pang of guilt. For the first time, he hated his own inadequacy. If only he’d been more capable, Charles wouldn’t have had to shoulder so much.
“This isn’t your fault, Father!” Charles seemed to read Djoka’s thoughts. “I chose to stand against the capitalists. Otherwise, we could sell our industry to them and make enough money to last a lifetime.”
Djoka nodded. Charles was right.
Yet, Djoka’s unease grew. This indicated that Charles sought more than just wealth. Did he also aim for power? To challenge their monopoly?
Staring at Charles, Djoka’s eyes flickered with shock and worry. Challenging the capitalists’ core interests would make them resort to any means necessary to crush Charles.
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