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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 25
🕑 Added 2025-02-02 17:01:04 +0000 UTCChapter 25: A Lucky Deal
The motorcycle factory was finally sold for 350,000 francs.
During the negotiations, Charles repeatedly tried to persuade Djoka:
"Father, the war is still ongoing, and its outcome is uncertain. Shouldn’t you reconsider?"
"We might not even be able to find enough workers—they’ve mostly fled!"
"Cars are already selling for 910 francs; can we really expect motorcycles to fetch a good price?"
...
Charles spoke the truth, but Djoka, known for his soft-heartedness, reluctantly replied:
"Charles, we should have a factory of our own. Besides, Mr. Francis urgently needs funds right now—let’s buy it!"
Although Francis outwardly agreed, he secretly mocked Djoka:
"Do you know why I sidelined you? With this kind of business attitude, you hand everything over to the other party on a silver platter, you fool!"
What Francis failed to realize was that this was all an act for him. Charles had deliberately played into Francis’s assumption that Djoka would act emotionally to drive the price down.
Djoka was no longer the man he used to be!
At this moment, Djoka seemed to embody the very person Francis wanted him to become—someone driven by hatred to exact revenge on the Bernard family, especially Francis.
The reason it only "seemed" this way was that Djoka’s real motive was to protect Charles. He didn’t want Charles to repeat his own mistakes, let alone suffer worse consequences.
After signing the contract and writing the check, Charles still appeared furious and resentful.
Francis, on the other hand, smugly raised his eyebrows at Charles, as if to say:
"You're absolutely right, Charles! I completely agree with your views, but the problem is, you’re a minor—you can’t make the decisions here!"
The two descended the stairs in silence. Djoka grabbed the crank to start the car, while Charles climbed in without a word. At this time, Ford cars still required manual starting; electric starters wouldn’t be invented for another five years.
After the car drove a short distance, Djoka and Charles exchanged knowing smiles.
"Well done!" Djoka said. "You have a natural talent for acting!"
"You weren’t too bad yourself!" Charles replied.
This deal was a bargain. The motorcycle factory was originally valued at around 1 million francs. Francis had acquired it for 500,000 francs, hoping to sell it for 600,000. Instead, he had been pressured into selling for 350,000...
From Francis’s perspective, it wasn’t a complete loss. He had cut his losses in time, as his real priority was the machine gun factory, which was steadily supplying the military with guns and ammunition. Losing 150,000 francs on the motorcycle factory seemed reasonable.
What Francis didn’t anticipate was that the motorcycle factory would also shine brightly in the future.
"Now it’s up to you!" Djoka said as he turned the wheel, glancing at Charles. "What’s your plan for the motorcycle factory?"
"No plan needed," Charles replied. "We just need to produce and wait."
Djoka was puzzled. Could it really be that simple?
Yes, it really was that simple.
During World War I, military communication equipment was extremely rudimentary. While telephones existed, they were prohibitively expensive and only wealthy households could afford them. The unique nature of military operations made widespread telephone use impossible.
As a result, communication between units relied heavily on personnel and transportation. Fast and agile motorcycles became the vehicle of choice for couriers. During the war, the British Army alone equipped 20,000 motorcycles.
The French Army had no upper limit; they equipped only 30,000 motorcycles during the war due to insufficient funding and production capacity, necessitating imports. With a military force numbering in the millions, 30,000 motorcycles were far from sufficient to meet their needs.
Faced with such a vast market and holding a motorcycle factory, what more planning did Charles need?
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Djoka. He asked Charles, "About the Holt Model 75 tractor you mentioned yesterday—aren’t you worried that Francis might also be preparing for it?"
Charles immediately understood the question.
As one of France’s earliest importers of Holt tractors, Francis would surely be following the development of the Holt Model 75. If Francis decided to purchase it first, Charles’s plans could fall apart.
Charles calmly replied, "He knows about it, but he won’t import it."
"Eh?" Djoka exclaimed, distracted enough that the car wobbled slightly.
"Focus on driving, Father!" Charles reminded him, then explained: "It’s simple. All of Francis’s equipment is designed for producing the Holt Model 60, as are his skilled workers. Switching everything to produce the Model 75 isn’t something Francis can afford right now—at least not yet!"
Djoka suddenly understood.
The key was that Francis’s tractor factory held a monopoly in France, with the Holt Model 60 dominating 70% of the market. No domestic tractor manufacturer could compete with him.
As long as Francis maintained the status quo, he could retain his market dominance without needing to upgrade to the Model 75.
Especially during wartime, when tractors were difficult to sell, there was even less motivation or funding to upgrade.
The lack of demand for tractors wasn’t due to their lack of advancement but to the diminished need for them under the threat of war. Upgrading tractors would be an unnecessary and foolish endeavor.
Thus, although the Holt Model 75 was already popular in Britain, Francis had no reason to pay the price to import it. In fact, he might even suppress the news to make French farmers believe that the Holt Model 60 remained the best tractor in the world.
"You seem to think of everything!" Djoka remarked with a smile. "I really wonder what’s in that little head of yours. Why didn’t I notice how smart you were when it came to studying?"
"Because studying isn’t the same as doing business," Charles replied. "For me, it’s pure torture!"
Djoka’s expression turned resigned. "Who cares! The point of studying is to make money anyway..."
Before he could finish, a sudden burst of artillery fire erupted from the direction of the Marne River. It sounded like thunder, growing louder and closer. A few stray shells screamed southward, exploding in fields near the town and sending residents running in terror.
Djoka grew tense. He stepped on the gas, cursing, "Damn it, our troops are attacking the Germans! At a time like this!"
When the car pulled up to their home, Camille ran out, visibly shaken.
Djoka practically dragged Charles out of the car and shouted to Camille, "Back inside, to the basement, now!"
The three of them hurried inside, opened the basement door, and rushed in. Djoka slammed the door shut, breathing heavily but visibly relieved.
Outside, the artillery fire continued, accompanied by distant shouts and gunfire.
Camille, trembling with fear, mustered her courage to whisper words of comfort to Charles: "It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine!"
Djoka turned on the light, illuminating the cluttered basement filled with musty air and dust.
"Don’t worry!" Djoka reassured them. "This place is safe!"
After a moment, he added, "We have to trust our army. They’ll defeat the Germans and drive them away soon!"
Many people thought this way. General Gallieni had brought the Sixth Army from Paris to join forces with the Fifth Army, encircling a German corps.
Two French armies against one German corps—victory seemed inevitable, didn’t it?
However, war was not as simple as they imagined. It was no game of numbers or a mere comparison of forces!
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