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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 51
🕑 Added 2025-02-15 17:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 51: A Fine Bargain
The morning light was bright, and the autumn breeze was pleasant.
Grevy and Armand, clad in tailored hunting attire, rode their tall horses, each carrying a double-barreled shotgun as they ventured into their private woodland.
At the far end, the servants lined up in formation, holding onto the leashes of barking hunting dogs as they jogged forward. Their task was to drive the prey into the area where the two men could enjoy the hunt.
“This might be the last hunt of the year, Armand!” Grevy skillfully controlled his horse, trotting lightly as his gaze lingered on the wilting leaves on either side. With a tinge of regret, he remarked, “Once winter comes, the game will retreat to their dens, and we wouldn’t find them even if we dug three feet deep!”
Armand followed lazily behind, yawning in boredom. “That’s why I prefer prey in bed, Grevy! They’re always there, waiting for me, and completely at my disposal!”
Grevy burst into hearty laughter, but a sudden noise interrupted him. His laughter cut short, and he turned toward the rustling in the bushes with alert eyes.
A weary elk stumbled into view, panting heavily as if exhausted from running. Grevy quickly halted his horse and expertly unholstered his shotgun, taking aim at the target...
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the distant sound of approaching hooves startled the elk, which bolted away.
Grevy cursed under his breath, angrily retracting his gun. He turned toward the approaching servant, his expression dark. If the news wasn’t important, the servant was about to face his wrath.
“Mr. Grevy!” The servant reined in his horse and stopped beside Grevy. “As you suspected, Djoka went to the town hall today to handle the industrial rights for the sidecar. We intended to negotiate purchasing the rights, but someone beat us to it!”
Grevy’s expression grew grim. “Someone beat us? Was it the leftists?”
“No, Mr. Grevy!” the servant replied. “It was Gallieni. He didn’t buy the rights; he placed an order on behalf of the military!”
Grevy’s eyes widened in shock. If the military had placed an order, acquiring the rights would no longer be a simple matter.
Beside him, Armand smiled enigmatically. The military’s quick order, bypassing the Senate, signaled that Gallieni had already listed the sidecar under wartime procurement regulations. It was the second piece of equipment to be included under this policy.
“Gallieni is bold!” Armand remarked. “He’s unafraid of offending either the left or the right!”
The Saint-Étienne machine gun was favored by the left, while the sidecar was coveted by the right. Gallieni had managed to disrupt both camps.
Grevy’s face remained expressionless as he asked, “What’s the purchase price? Was an agreement reached?”
“Yes, sir!” the servant answered. “The price is 550 francs!”
Grevy gasped. “550 francs? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir!”
Without another word, Grevy jerked his horse around and galloped furiously toward the villa.
Armand, puzzled, spurred his horse to follow. Shouting over the galloping hooves, he asked, “What’s the matter, Grevy? Is it because of the 550 francs?”
“Yes!” Grevy replied amidst the thunder of hooves.
“What does this have to do with us?” Armand asked, confused. “We didn’t manage to buy the rights anyway!”
“Think about tanks!” Grevy shouted over his shoulder. “We’re planning to sell them to the military for 6,000 francs each!”
Armand still looked perplexed. To him, tanks and sidecars were unrelated—they were entirely different products.
“Think about it, Armand!” Grevy explained. “The cost of one tank could buy ten sidecars. Which do you think the military would choose?”
Armand froze in realization, his horse slowing instinctively as he fell behind.
Ten sidecars could be equipped with ten Maxim machine guns, whereas a single tank could only mount one. Tanks also had numerous drawbacks, such as slow speeds and frequent breakdowns. The military would naturally prefer ten sidecars.
Grevy ignored Armand and urged his horse faster, racing back to the villa. Leaping off at the entrance, he rushed inside and hurriedly dialed the telephone. In a tense voice, he ordered, “Five thousand francs. Sign the contract immediately!”
...
When the military representative returned, he appeared much more relaxed, even wearing a faint smile.
Francis sensed trouble but maintained a facade of calm. “You’re in luck, Louis. They don’t want to waste time, so they’re willing to offer you 5,000 francs per unit. Sign the contract.”
“Apologies, Francis,” Louis said with a smile. “Perhaps 3,000 francs per unit is a price we could accept.”
“This is outrageous!” Francis lost his composure instantly. “This is an insult! These are tanks, Louis. You need them—”
“I know,” Louis interrupted. “But we now have an alternative, and it only costs 550 francs.”
Francis immediately understood. That bastard Djoka had sold the sidecars at such a low price!
...
Charles hadn’t foreseen this development.
In his mind, tanks and sidecars shouldn’t have been in competition over pricing.
So when he heard from Djoka that the military had used the sidecars to negotiate the tank price down to 3,000 francs and had finalized the agreement, he found it almost unbelievable.
After thinking it over, Charles understood.
The military at this time lacked concepts of armored or mobile warfare. To them, tanks and sidecars likely seemed interchangeable: both had armor, both carried machine guns, both could cause significant casualties with small units...
If they were similar, why would the military pay a high price for tanks when they could choose sidecars, which were cheaper, faster, and far more reliable?
Did General Gallieni truly not understand the differences between the two, or was he pretending not to in order to force prices down?
Charles believed Gallieni might genuinely not understand. After all, tanks were a new invention, and theories of their use were still unformed. The same applied to sidecars. The unique strengths and limitations of each remained unclear, with neither capable of fully replacing the other.
“And there’s this!” Djoka handed Charles a telegram. “It’s from Joseph in Britain. The British have agreed to sell the Holt 75 production line and provide full technical support, but the price is 500,000 francs!”
Djoka’s expression carried a trace of worry. Five hundred thousand francs was beyond their purchasing power unless they immediately received payment from the military for the sidecars.
But Charles was unperturbed. Calmly, he said, “Have Joseph negotiate the price again.”
“He’s already tried many times, Charles,” Djoka said helplessly. “Joseph says this is likely the lowest price the British will offer.”
Charles replied lightly, “Tell Joseph: 250,000 francs. Not a franc more.”
“That’s impossible!” Djoka stared at Charles in disbelief.
Charles added, “Otherwise, we’ll wait for the Holt 120. Tell the British that.”
Djoka was stunned. The Holt 120 was coming? That meant the Holt 75 was on the verge of obsolescence, and the British still wanted to sell it at a premium!
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