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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 43
🕑 Added 2025-02-11 17:03:00 +0000 UTCChapter 43: I Want to See Someone
The afternoon in Paris was shrouded in a gray haze, even if sunlight might have brightened other places.
Gallieni lay alone on the bed in the command post's lounge, staring at the smog outside the window. He muttered to himself with a self-deprecating tone, "Unbelievable. Why would the Germans love this city? What's so great about it?"
Before he could finish his sentence, a dull ache in his abdomen caused his brows to knit.
It was an old wound from the Franco-Prussian War. Gallieni vaguely remembered that back then, he was just a second lieutenant leading a squad of over two hundred soldiers armed with Chassepot rifles against the Prussians.
He had been so focused when aiming his rifle at a Prussian colonel that he failed to notice he was also in someone else's crosshairs.
Almost at the same moment Gallieni fired his rifle and struck his target, a sharp pain tore through his abdomen. His body lost all strength, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to rise.
Gallieni became a prisoner of the Prussians. He thought he would spend the rest of his days in the prison camp, wracked with pain, as the Prussians would never waste precious medicine on a captive.
But fate is unpredictable. Not long after, France surrendered, and the Prussians released their prisoners per the agreement. Gallieni was among them. He survived against all odds and, over the next few decades, rose to become a lieutenant general of France.
Holding his abdomen, Gallieni struggled to sit up on the bed, murmuring to himself, "I suppose I should be grateful the Germans were using paper cartridges back then. Otherwise, France would have one less general!"
A soft knock came from outside. Straightening his posture, Gallieni called out, "Come in!" He was determined not to let his subordinates see him in a weakened state.
An aide entered. From the look on his face, Gallieni could tell it was good news.
"Well? Have we advanced another step forward?" Gallieni asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Progress bought with blood and lives was nothing to celebrate. Gallieni even suspected the Germans were intentionally retreating to deplete the French army's strength.
Yet all the officers in the command post seemed to revel in it, and newspapers continually reported and exaggerated the victories.
"No, General!" The aide, brimming with excitement, handed a document to Gallieni. "It’s the 3rd Infantry Battalion of the 5th Army Group—the unit that drove the Germans back with tanks. They’ve achieved another major victory!"
Gallieni let out an "Oh," accepting the document with a calm demeanor. He retrieved his glasses from the bedside table, put them on, and asked impassively, "They went in with tanks again? I thought those were still being negotiated for purchase."
"No, General!" the aide replied. "Not tanks—a modified motorcycle!"
"Motorcycle?" Gallieni's curiosity was piqued as he glanced at the document. It detailed the reported results from the 5th Army Group.
"Estimated enemy casualties: over 4,000 dead or wounded. More than 40 artillery pieces destroyed. Our forces suffered only 23 casualties..."
Gallieni read the figures aloud, his voice rising into a questioning tone.
A faint sneer appeared on his lips as he turned to the aide, his eyes glinting with anger. "Do I look like a fool to you, Alex?"
The aide froze. "No, of course not, General..."
"Then why bring me such a report to mock me?" Gallieni flung the document onto the table, his voice cold. "Have we stooped so low as to falsify battle achievements to delude ourselves?"
"General..."
"Do you understand how disastrous this could be?" Gallieni's anger grew as he stood slowly, glaring at the aide. "This is disgraceful deception! Other units will imitate it, Alex! Soon, everyone will be satisfied with fabricated victories and stop working toward real ones! This will lead us to ruin—no number of troops will save us then!"
"General..."
"And you—you’ve lost your basic judgment! Bringing such reports to me encourages this trend! Your actions are no better than falsifying battle achievements yourselves! You are complicit!"
Gallieni's face turned pale with fury. He had already resolved to root out everyone involved in this chain and remove them from the army.
Only by doing so could the French forces hope to achieve true victory.
"It's true, General!" the aide shouted in desperation. "They used Charles's invention—the sidecar! A combat motorcycle! That’s how they managed such results with only two hundred men!"
Gallieni was stunned. It took a while before he replied, half-believing, "Combat motorcycle? What is that?"
"I... I'm not sure!" The question stumped the aide. "They said it’s a three-wheeled motorcycle with a Maxim machine gun mounted on the sidecar, allowing it to fight on the move! We couldn’t believe the results either, but we verified them multiple times—they’re consistent!"
Gallieni remained skeptical. After a moment of silence, he seemed to recall something. "You mean Charles, the young man who invented the tank?"
"Yes, it’s him!" The aide guessed that what truly astonished Gallieni was the mention of Charles.
If Charles could invent a tank that enabled three hundred men to turn the tide of a losing battle, it was conceivable he might invent another device allowing two hundred men to achieve devastating results.
"General!" Another aide entered, standing at the doorway to report, "The Germans have retreated. Our forces have advanced seven kilometers, and along the way, we found numerous artillery remnants and corpses. The Germans didn’t even have time to retrieve their dead!"
This corroborated the 3rd Infantry Battalion's report. The artillery debris and corpses were irrefutable evidence.
Gallieni's eyes brightened instantly. His anger vanished, replaced by elation. This practically confirmed the Germans' offensive had collapsed, with no chance of a counterattack.
He sat back down at his desk, trembling hands holding the document that quivered along with his excitement.
After studying it for a moment, Gallieni issued an order. "Alex, I need to know the full details of this operation—the more thorough, the better!"
"Yes, General!"
Just as the aide was about to leave, Gallieni added another order. "Send for Laurent."
"Yes, General!"
Laurent was Gallieni’s personal bodyguard.
Perhaps "bodyguard" was an inadequate description. Laurent was one of the few people Gallieni could trust unreservedly. Even after Gallieni retired, Laurent stayed by his side voluntarily, safeguarding his safety.
At the time, no one expected the Germans to invade again or that Gallieni would be called back into service.
This meant Laurent had essentially abandoned all prospects—titles, rank, a high salary...
Before long, Laurent knocked and entered.
"Sir, do you have instructions?" Laurent asked softly.
In private, Gallieni preferred Laurent to address him as "sir."
Gallieni gestured toward the wooden door with his head. Laurent understood, turned to close it, and stepped closer to Gallieni.
In a lowered voice, Gallieni said, "I want to see someone, and no one else can know about it. Make the arrangements."
"Yes, sir!" Laurent responded, though inwardly puzzled. With Gallieni’s current status, seeing someone should be a simple matter of issuing a command.
Why all the secrecy? Why must no one else know?
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