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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2025-02-05 17:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 31: Poaching Talent
Supplies were being delivered to the field hospital in batches from Paris.
The first group of helpers had also arrived from the nearby town. Djoka led them on foot to the field hospital. The group consisted of men and women, young and old, including Camille.
Perhaps due to the trust of her neighbors, Camille naturally became the leader of the young women. Their task was to learn basic bandaging and wound care from the nurses, supplementing the short-staffed medical personnel.
They replaced the old bandages on all the patients with new ones, then repeated the process daily. The used bandages needed to be washed, disinfected, and dried—a workload that was staggering.
Older individuals, who had more difficulty learning, were assigned to take care of the patients' daily needs. Meanwhile, the younger men handled the physical labor.
“They’re all volunteers!” Djoka told Charles. “I told them you’d pay them one franc a day, but they all refused. They said it’s their duty to do this—for France and for their children. This isn’t just Charles’ responsibility.”
Djoka glanced at the busy neighbors and sighed, “They are truly kind-hearted people!”
Charles acknowledged him with a hum, then turned to Djoka. “Do you disapprove of my actions, Father?”
Djoka burst into laughter. “No, Charles! Your mother and I have never been prouder of you. Look at her...”
As he spoke, Djoka’s gaze shifted to Camille among the crowd.
Camille had just finished dressing a patient’s wound. Noticing Djoka and Charles looking her way, she gave them a quick wave before turning back to help another patient. She smiled warmly as she worked and gently inquired about the injuries.
“There was a time when I worried about you, Charles!” Djoka said, his tone lighter now. “I feared you might turn out like Francis, but now I’m relieved!”
Of course, he wouldn’t, Djoka thought. Charles spent the money he earned from capitalists generously on those in need. How could he possibly resemble those cold-hearted industrialists?
Charles, however, knew Djoka had misunderstood. If Djoka and Camille knew his true motives, would they be disappointed?
But in the end, it hardly mattered. Charles was genuinely doing good things now.
With this thought, Charles felt at peace.
...
Charles’ methods were proving highly effective.
The most obvious indicator was the patients’ consistent remarks as they lay on the operating table:
“Doctor, can you save my hand? If not, at least one of them? I want to work for Master Charles in the future!”
The doctors always reassured them, “Don’t worry. We now have enough manpower and supplies. We’ll do our best!”
One time, Charles was caught entirely off guard. While walking along the road, he was suddenly embraced by an old woman in tattered clothing. She sobbed uncontrollably, trembling with grief.
Charles froze, afraid to move. He thought she might be mad and possibly holding a knife.
After a long while, the old woman stopped crying, bent over slightly, and looked at him with a face full of wrinkles, brimming with kindness and sorrow. She pressed an egg into his hand, clutching it tightly as her voice quivered:
“Child, if... if only Akse had met a capitalist like you sooner, he wouldn’t have died alone!”
Only after someone explained did Charles learn that Akse was her grandson, just two years older than Charles. He had been wounded in the Battle of Mulhouse over half a month ago and sent back home.
When the family arrived at the hospital, they found him already lifeless. His bloodied abdomen had been covered with... a dishcloth—a cloth used for washing dishes!
No one could imagine how hopeless, helpless, and even furious he must have been before his death—furious at his country.
This story was just the tip of the iceberg. There were countless tales surrounding Charles, many of which he had neither done nor even heard of.
Charles’ reputation soon spread to Paris. Those purchasing medicines and supplies shared his deeds in the city, and drivers delivering goods reported back on the field hospital’s condition.
When Francis heard about this, he was taken aback. With a sneer, he remarked:
“That fool. I thought he was different from Djoka, but they’re the same kind.”
Then he added, “A maid’s child, after all. I’ll wait for him to bankrupt himself because of this!”
What Francis didn’t realize was that it wasn’t Charles who would face bankruptcy—it was him. This was precisely the first step in Charles’ plan.
With the support of the people, Charles felt confident in poaching talent from Francis.
The “Holt 75” was more advanced than the “Holt 60,” but they were both produced by the same company, and the former was an upgraded version of the latter. As a result, the technology and parts were inevitably interconnected.
Charles aimed to produce the “Holt 75” tractor. Funding wasn’t the challenge; he had enough capital to import it.
The real difficulties lay in skilled technicians and workers. These individuals had honed their craft over decades in factories, passing down expertise through generations. Much of what they knew couldn’t simply be bought with money.
Charles set his sights on Joseph.
Joseph had managed Francis’ tractor factory production for years. No one knew better than him which workers truly possessed technical prowess.
Recently, Joseph had been tirelessly commuting to the field hospital after work due to Matthew’s injuries. The strain had caused him to lose significant weight.
One evening, after finishing his tasks at the factory, Joseph hurried to the field hospital before nightfall. Charles intercepted him at the entrance.
“We’ll take care of Matthew, Joseph!” Charles said. “He’s recovering well. You need to take care of yourself!”
“I know!” Joseph, physically exhausted, sat on the grass, replying weakly, “Thank you, Master Charles! But I can’t help myself. Only by seeing him—just sitting by his side—can I sleep peacefully.”
Charles sat beside him, legs bent, deep in thought. “I’ve been considering something, Joseph. You know about my relationship with Francis.”
“Yes, of course,” Joseph nodded.
“My relationship with Francis is terrible. We’re like fire and water, and we’ll be competitors in the future.” Charles continued thoughtfully, “You work for Francis, and Matthew will work for me. So, you and Matthew...”
“This won’t affect anything, Master Charles!” Joseph assured him. “If you can give Matthew a job, I’d even consider retiring. It’s no big deal!”
This wasn’t about the salary. Joseph earned 53 francs a month, nearly double the average worker’s wage. Retiring to secure Matthew’s job wasn’t exactly practical.
But Joseph understood this wasn’t about money—it was about dignity.
If Matthew didn’t get a job, he’d feel useless and cast aside by society. With nothing to do, he’d eventually be crushed.
So, Joseph was willing to sacrifice his job for Matthew’s future.
I can always find another job, Joseph thought. It’s just a pity Master Charles bought a motorcycle factory instead of something else—then it would’ve been perfect.
“Hmm!” Charles nodded. “I’m planning to import the ‘Holt 75’ and start a tractor factory. What do you think?”
Joseph was stunned. He stammered, “That... that’s... amazing, Master Charles! Though it feels a bit presumptuous, may I recommend myself?”
“Of course!” Charles extended his hand to Joseph with a smile. “Congratulations, Joseph. You’re now the manager of Charles’ Tractor Factory, with a monthly salary of 60 francs! I intend to send you to Britain to handle the importation of this tractor. Can you do it?”
Importing the tractor would require taking a team of technicians and workers for inspections and training in Britain before the production line could be brought in.
Joseph would need to poach key talent from Francis’ factory to accomplish this task.
Joseph blinked, hesitating as he asked, “Then, Master Charles, can I... bring a team with me?”
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