I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

At Ypres train station, a train arriving from France pulled in, releasing a long hiss of gas-scented steam that filled the air, casting the platform in an almost mystical haze.

Ypres, a Belgian coastal city, originally had no rail connection to France. As a small nation, Belgium had been wary of its larger neighbors, and rightly so. Small nations could only survive by balancing the interests of great powers.

After the war broke out, Belgium quickly sided with the Allies, and within two weeks, the rail line from Paris to Ypres was completed.

A contingent of fresh French recruits disembarked from the train. Their uniforms were spotless, their gear meticulously arranged. But their faces revealed fear and uncertainty, as they hesitantly took in the unfamiliar city around them.

"I heard Ypres is the harshest, most dangerous part of the front," one whispered.

"Yeah, they say it's a hellish place. The Germans have been relentless here, even using poison gas lately."

"Dear God, how did we get assigned to this?"

"Because the casualty rates are so high here, Vincent," another replied grimly. "Soon enough, we'll probably be joining them."

The soldiers' fears deepened, and their gazes grew more troubled.

Suddenly, cheers erupted from the street ahead. Civilians, workers, and even train station staff stopped what they were doing to wave and shout down the street.

Curious, the new recruits looked toward the commotion and saw a unit of soldiers approaching from the other end of the street, their uniforms covered in mud and their appearance disorderly.

At first glance, the recruits assumed these were soldiers returning in defeat, a ragtag, exhausted unit. Their red trousers had been replaced by worn pants, and the red caps were now caked with grime—something strictly forbidden during training.

The recruits watched with disdain. Such actions seemed cowardly and dishonorable, as if these soldiers had discarded France's pride just to survive.

Then, the cheering grew louder, and the crowd began to call out in a variety of languages—French, English, Dutch, and even German:

"Well done, Charles!"

"You're the best!"

"You're our hero, Charles!"

(Note: Belgium is a multilingual country, with French predominant near the French border and German near the German border.)

The recruits exchanged glances, astonishment in their eyes.

"That's Charles's regiment, the 105th Infantry!"

"It's not what we expected… we thought—"

"Maybe this is what war really looks like. Maybe it's the only way to win, not what our instructors told us."

The recruits looked down at their own bright red trousers and caps, then back at the 105th Infantry. They pondered what mattered more—their lives or France's so-called honor.

The 105th Infantry marched forward with their heads held high, proudly returning the waves of the cheering crowd. They deserved this acclaim and accepted it without reservation.

Intimidated by the presence of these veterans, the fresh recruits instinctively parted to form a path, watching in admiration as the 105th passed by, their eyes full of respect.

Charles moved along with his troops, his rank insignia concealed under a layer of mud. He had purposely covered his colonel's insignia, hoping to blend in.

But he underestimated the crowd's ability to recognize him:

"There he is—it's Charles! It really is him!"

"My God, the rumors were true. He went to the frontlines himself, facing the poison gas. He's so brave!"

"I heard he captured the enemy's commander in a single attack!"

"Not just a commander—the entire German 26th Army command!"

This was a victory unlike any other. Just as everyone had thought France would be forced to surrender to Germany's poison gas attacks, Charles had turned the tide and dealt a crippling blow to the German forces.

People were ecstatic, especially in Belgium—a nation that owed its safety to Charles's daring actions. Many offered him food, which Charles declined, explaining that the 105th Infantry had more than enough supplies after seizing a German logistics hub.

At that moment, a line of cars pulled up ahead. From one vehicle emerged a senior French general, dressed immaculately, with a dignified mustache. Accompanied by guards, he stepped down from his car and waited beside the train, eyes filled with admiration as he watched the 105th approach.

Someone recognized him and gasped, "It's General Foch!"

"He came to personally welcome Charles and the 105th Infantry."

"Foch has never done this before!"

Charles was taken aback. This seemed somewhat out of place. Just the day before, Foch had subtly reiterated on the phone:

"You make a compelling case, Colonel, but I will continue to stand by my doctrine."

"I hope this won't affect our collaboration."

Charles had answered without hesitation, "Of course not, General."

He understood Foch's perspective. Even if Foch recognized that Charles's approach held some truth, he couldn't simply abandon the offensive doctrine for "Charles's theory."

The "offensive doctrine" was the French army's backbone. It bound the army together as a cohesive force. To abandon it now would be like cutting a string holding a necklace, causing every bead to scatter. Officers at the front wouldn't know how to lead, nor how to fight effectively.

In wartime, such confusion could be disastrous.

Instead, any transition would need to be gradual and carefully managed.

Yet here was Foch, personally meeting him and the 105th at the station, seemingly validating Charles's approach.

Still bewildered, Charles and Tijani stepped forward and saluted the general.

Foch smiled, shaking hands with each of them in turn. When he grasped Charles's hand, he said, "At last, we meet, Colonel."

"Yes, General," Charles replied, standing straight.

"Rest assured," Foch said, looking Charles over, "I'm only here to greet the returning heroes of France, to thank you for pushing back the enemy and securing our defenses."

"It's what I'm supposed to do, General," Charles replied automatically.

"No," Foch shook his head slowly. "Others might say it's what they're 'supposed' to do, but not you, Colonel. You are Charles—you owe France nothing. It's France that owes you."

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