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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-01-31 05:53:31 +0000 UTCChapter 1: Turning to Military Industry is the Best Way Out
September 1, 1914. Exactly one month after Germany declared war on France, German forces, executing the Schlieffen Plan's "West First, East Later" strategy, swiftly broke through Belgium and advanced into France.
At this moment, the German vanguard was only about 30 kilometers from Paris, and all efforts by the French Army to repel the German right flank had failed.
Paris was on the brink of catastrophe!
...
In the small town of Davaus, nestled by the Marne River about ten kilometers east of Paris, an air of tension lingered.
Old Francis sat on a sofa, fully dressed, holding a lit pipe in his right hand. He silently stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, his gaze hollow and profound, as if grappling with a difficult decision.
Seated around him were the two sons of the Bernard family: the eldest, Pierre, and the younger, Djoka.
None of them spoke. Darkness and silence filled most of the room.
Francis’ expression was slightly stiffer than usual. Slowly, he brought the pipe to his lips, gently puffing, his crescent-shaped white mustache rhythmically dancing in the firelight.
Finally, Pierre could no longer contain himself. He stood up and said:
“Make a decision, Father. Staying here is not a wise choice.”
“The government officials have already left Paris, which means they’ve abandoned it. Everyone is fleeing now—if we don’t leave soon, it’ll be too late!”
Seated beside him, Djoka leaned forward slightly, his tone pleading:
“Pierre is right, Father. Let’s leave. You can’t stop the Germans, and nothing is more important than staying alive!”
Francis calmly removed the pipe and exhaled a long plume of smoke. In a hoarse but resolute voice, he replied:
“You two never experienced that era. I was only 20 years old back then.”
“Though young, I already owned a textile factory—the largest in Paris.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Just like today, the Germans came. They took everything they could, then crowned themselves in Paris with smug arrogance!”
At this point, Francis coughed a few times, and Djoka thoughtfully handed him a glass of water.
Pierre frowned, understanding his father was referring to the Franco-Prussian War 43 years ago. Pierre had been a newborn then and hadn’t experienced it firsthand, but every Frenchman knew of that war and regarded it as a national humiliation.
(Note: The French refer to the Franco-Prussian War as the "Franco-German War.")
After all, France had paid 5 billion francs in reparations and ceded Alsace and Lorraine.
From then on, every Frenchman, from top to bottom, harbored the desire to defeat the Germans and erase the shame.
However...
“Bringing this up now is pointless!” Pierre said impatiently. “The issue is that the Germans are invading again, and they’ll seize our factories just like last time!”
Francis sipped the water, placed the glass on the nearby table, and said calmly:
“Last time, I abandoned my factory and fled. This time, I intend to stay until the very end!”
After the Franco-German War, Francis had rebuilt his life from scratch, spending nearly half a lifetime painstakingly building a farm tractor factory.
Now, the factory employed more than 2,000 workers and produced over 500 tractors a month.
It was Francis’ life’s work, and he would not give it up lightly.
Never!
Pierre stared at Francis in disbelief. This might be what people called a generational gap.
He even thought his father’s willingness to stay stemmed from selfishness.
At 63 years old, their father didn’t have much time left to live anyway, but the younger generation did. They could sell everything they owned and enjoy the rest of their lives instead.
Djoka tried to reason with him patiently:
“Father, if we lose our lives, the factory and its machines will mean nothing—not even money will matter...”
Francis merely grunted and put on a stern face.
They wouldn’t understand.
He wasn’t simply prioritizing money over life. This might actually be an opportunity—a chance to double his assets.
The greater the risk, the greater the reward; that was the immutable law of business. Now was the time to take a bold gamble!
Unfortunately, neither of his sons had the vision or resolve to see it. They simply regarded him as a stubborn old man...
At that moment, a slightly immature voice quietly broke the silence:
“Mr. Francis, if you’re planning to stay, why not place an even bigger bet?”
Francis froze. Someone had seen through his intentions? He turned toward the corner where the voice came from—it was his unacknowledged grandson.
Djoka quickly intervened:
“Be quiet, Charles. This is a matter for the adults!”
Turning back to Francis, Djoka hastily explained:
“Camille went to care for her mother, so I brought Charles along...”
Eighteen years ago, Djoka had defied Francis’ wishes and married Camille, a maid. Francis had never forgiven this and refused to acknowledge the marriage.
This was why Charles called him “Mr. Francis” instead of “Grandfather.”
Francis ignored Djoka and asked the boy, “So, how do you suggest placing a bigger bet?”
Djoka looked anxiously at Francis. His father was taking Charles’ words seriously.
Just as Djoka was about to speak, Francis stopped him with a glance. “Let him speak!”
Seated in a chair, covered with a blanket, Charles exhaled deeply, then stood up. His tone was unusually mature for his age:
“Mr. Francis, as far as I know, there’s a motorcycle factory next to your tractor factory that recently switched to producing machine guns. Is that correct?”
Francis’ eyes lit up instantly:
“Yes, the Sidachi Motorcycle Factory!”
It had converted to machine gun production half a month ago.
When the war broke out, the government realized that ammunition and firearms couldn’t meet the front lines’ demands. They began outsourcing some production to private companies, with Sidachi being one of the lucky recipients of government orders and equipment.
Charles slowly approached the fireplace, crouched before it, and calmly added two logs. He spoke as if he were stating the obvious:
“In wartime, nothing is more profitable than arms. You agree, don’t you?”
Francis grunted in acknowledgment; that much was clear. But then he frowned:
“What if my reserve funds aren’t enough to buy the motorcycle factory and its machine gun production line?”
He was reluctant to admit the lack of liquidity but said it anyway.
Charles didn’t expose his grandfather’s embarrassment but knew exactly what the tractor factory faced.
Two months ago, a gunshot in Sarajevo had plunged all of Europe into the shadow of war.
Farmers and landowners had no idea who would own their land in the future, nor whether they’d be drafted to the front lines. Naturally, no one wanted to buy tractors.
Tractor sales had plummeted, and numerous orders had been canceled, plunging the factory into crisis.
Turning to military production was Francis’ best way out!
Charles turned his head, half his handsome face illuminated by the firelight, while the other half remained shrouded in darkness. Facing Francis, he suggested:
“I heard you own two branch factories in the south. Why not use them to make a trade?”
Francis looked shocked.
“Those two factories together are worth less than half of what’s needed...”
Charles interrupted him:
“He’ll agree to the trade, Mr. Francis. This is Paris. Once the Germans arrive here, they won’t advance further.”
“In other words, the two southern factories are safe!”
Francis immediately understood what Charles meant.
Although the two factories were worth only half the motorcycle factory’s value, their safety was paramount.
In wartime, what was more valuable than safety?
Francis hesitated for a moment before suddenly standing up. He strode toward the coat rack, grabbed his bowler hat and coat, and declared:
“Get me the flashlight, Djoka!”
“I need to speak with Sidachi immediately. If I wait any longer, that man might abandon his factory and flee!”
Pierre tried to stop him, but Francis had already taken the flashlight, opened the door, and stepped out without looking back.
Pierre and Djoka exchanged bewildered glances. They hadn’t expected their father to still be thinking about business at a time like this, even wagering the last of their safe assets.
Djoka turned his gaze to Charles, his eyes filled with confusion. He barely recognized his own son anymore!
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