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

Chapter 65: The Cunning Little Fellow

Charles had been assigned a private room, a modest but well-appointed space of just seven square meters, furnished with a bed, a table, a chair, and a small bookshelf. It was a privilege usually reserved for colonels—majors and lower-ranking officers typically shared quarters with two or even four per room, often with bunk beds.

He'd also been granted the rank of second lieutenant, the entry-level rank for officers freshly graduated from military academy, even though Charles hadn't set foot in one.

Gallieni justified it by saying, "This boy invented both the tank and the sidecar, which have proven invaluable on the battlefield. Frankly, promoting him to colonel wouldn't be excessive!" He'd added, "And if anyone else can produce inventions as useful as his, I'll give them a rank, too!"

Nobody objected, and Charles was issued a full second lieutenant's kit:

Two uniforms with a gold stripe on the cuffs for easy rotation.

A field telescope, complete with a box for convenient shoulder carrying.

A whistle, primarily used for issuing orders to soldiers and sometimes for signaling among officers.

An M1892 revolver for both command and self-defense.

An M1845 infantry officer's saber, which Charles took a particular liking to from the moment he laid hands on it.

The saber was a well-crafted weapon: a copper hilt, a single steel blade with a dual groove—one wide, one narrow—and a manufacturer's stamp on the guard. Yet, with its 87-centimeter length, it nearly brushed the ground when hung from Charles's hip.

It didn't take long for Charles to realize that wearing it in battle would be disastrous; it was too unwieldy, and it would only slow him down. Regretfully, he decided to keep it as a decoration beside his bed instead.

After donning his uniform, Charles couldn't resist admiring himself in the mirror. The French military uniform of the period was undeniably handsome. Unfortunately, aesthetic appeal often clashed with practicality in battle: the brighter and flashier the attire, the more attention it drew—meaning a swifter death.

Charles stepped out of his room to find his orderly, Adrien, waiting for him. Gallieni had assigned Adrien to manage all aspects of Charles's daily life.

Adrien glanced Charles up and down, suddenly flustered. "My apologies, sir! I neglected to bring boots with spurs for you—I'll have them changed right away!"

"Spurs?" Charles stopped him. "They're not necessary. I don't ride horses."

"But…" Adrien hesitated, "every officer knows how to ride. Even if you don't now, sir, you'll need to learn in the future."

Charles paused, then understood. In this era, horses were essential for officers. At times, they needed to ride into battle, sword raised, commanding troops from horseback. Even in the rear, officers often needed to ride to deliver orders or intelligence.

Riding a warhorse into the heart of battle? Charles shuddered at the thought. He would never do it—now or in the future.

"No need, Adrien," Charles said, glancing down at his plain boots. "These are fine."

"Adrien!" someone called. "Did you forget that Lieutenant Charles owns a motorcycle factory? He's producing motorcycles for the army, and you're suggesting he ride a horse with spurred boots?"

Adrien laughed with relief. "A motorcycle might indeed be a better fit, sir."

But Charles didn't know how to ride a motorcycle either.

At that moment, Gallieni walked over, sizing Charles up with a look of restrained satisfaction, though his words were anything but kind. "Ah, the young capitalist! You look well-maintained, I'll give you that. But I wonder if a delicate flower from a greenhouse like you will survive in the rigors of the military."

"Yes, sir," Charles replied.

Gallieni turned and called over his shoulder, "Fernand!"

"Yes, sir!" A middle-aged colonel hurried over, snapping to attention in front of Gallieni.

"He's yours now," Gallieni said, gesturing at Charles with a gloved hand. "Show him the ropes—and teach him how to salute!"

"Yes, sir!" Fernand responded, then turned to Charles. "Follow me, Lieutenant. We'll start downstairs."

The training yard was in the command headquarters' back courtyard, filled with low shrubs and flowerbeds, with a statue of Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, in the center. Lafayette, the man who had drafted the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen and created the French tricolor flag, had fought in both the American and French revolutions, earning the title "Hero of Two Worlds."

Fernand chose the open space in front of the statue to begin training, which led Charles to suspect that he intended to use it as a lesson for the "young capitalist."

As an instructor, Fernand proved to be thorough, drilling Charles in basic military etiquette and formations, from saluting to marching in formation, and even stances for holding a rifle.

Charles, however, was far from an ideal student. He found the exercises tedious, but he pretended to be enthusiastic and diligent, projecting an eagerness that deceived his instructor.

"In proper training, these routines would take months to master," Fernand muttered, frowning as he watched Charles's clumsy posture. "But the general only gave me one day. One day! How am I supposed to teach him anything in that time?"

Charles was tempted to say, Colonel, maybe General Gallieni only gave you one day because he didn't want you to waste any more time than that on me! But he kept quiet.

He suspected that Gallieni was lying in wait, ready to catch him in some display of insubordination, which might have been the real purpose behind this training.

And Charles was right. At that moment, Gallieni stood by a second-floor window, watching the courtyard, hoping to catch Charles refusing orders or challenging Fernand's authority.

Only then could Gallieni stride over to him, lecturing with righteous indignation:

"Do you think the military is some place to indulge your whims?"

"Just because you invented the tank and sidecar doesn't mean you can disregard military rules and elevate yourself above others!"

"This is the military, where discipline and obedience are paramount!"

"No matter who you are, no matter what you've done, or how many achievements you have—here, you're just a second lieutenant!"

But Charles gave him no such opportunity, leaving Gallieni feeling as though he'd punched thin air. He'd planned out every line, even rehearsed his movements in his head, imagining Charles's disheartened face… but nothing happened.

Gallieni felt a strange frustration building. He paced back and forth in the operations room, occasionally glancing out the window for any sign of defiance, but Charles simply carried on with his training, dutifully—albeit poorly.

Finally, Gallieni came to a halt, a wry smile crossing his face. "Cunning little fellow. He's figured it out—all of this is in his calculations!"

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