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

Chapter 11: What Is This "Monster"?

After a moment of stunned silence, Francis asked, "Where is Charles? Has he left with his family too?"

"No, sir," the butler replied. "They're still at the tractor factory."

Without a word, Francis began marching toward the factory, his silver-handled cane tucked under his arm. The butler hurried to catch up, pleading with him as they went:

"Sir, the Germans are right on our doorstep—they've already broken through! The tractor factory is extremely dangerous. Going there now is as good as surrendering ourselves. We should leave immediately!"

But Francis ignored him, quickening his pace as he headed downstairs, the butler struggling to keep up at a near run.

Francis wasn't concerned for Charles's safety. He simply wanted an explanation before the Germans seized the tractor factory. This arrogant, overconfident boy had persuaded him to gamble everything—and now he had lost it all.

Entering the factory, Francis immediately spotted Deyoka and Camille standing close together, facing the square. They shuddered with each round of gunfire and distant cries from beyond the factory walls.

"Where is Charles?" Francis demanded.

"Father!" Deyoka's face showed a glimmer of relief when he saw him, but he quickly realized Francis was seething with anger. Deyoka frowned, realizing his father was likely blaming Charles for all of this.

Feeling provoked, Deyoka gently pushed Camille aside and positioned himself firmly between them. "This has nothing to do with Charles, Father! Every decision here was your own."

Francis shoved Deyoka aside, only to be startled by what he saw next.

Charles stood on a platform in the square, calmly surveying the scene beyond the walls through a pair of binoculars, periodically calling out orders to the soldiers below.

At the base of the platform, hundreds of armed French soldiers stood organized into neat, compact units, each unit stationed in front of a peculiar-looking "iron box."

"What are those things?" Francis asked, squinting at the "iron boxes."

"I don't know," Deyoka answered. "Charles said they'd protect us—and the factory."

Francis let out a derisive laugh. He recognized the tracks on the vehicles; they were modified tractors, covered on all sides by steel plating. The exhaust pipes billowed smoke, and the machines rumbled, ready for action.

"He thinks he's Napoleon," Francis scoffed, "with his makeshift armored tractors."

But Francis held back, curious to see what else the boy might do.

Charles, composed and commanding, shouted, "Steady!"

"Hold steady…"

Then, his voice sharp and decisive, he ordered, "Advance!"

With a low rumble, the "iron boxes" began moving forward, and the French soldiers followed closely, clutching their rifles as they advanced in two lines behind the machines.

There were twelve "iron boxes" in total. Nine of them rolled in a line at the front, while three lagged behind, seemingly to maintain a strategic distance.

This was Charles's plan.

He had organized the "tanks" into four groups of three, deploying the front three groups to punch through the enemy formation, while the fourth group stayed back as a reserve, ready to reinforce or respond to unexpected threats. If the flanks were attacked, this reserve could quickly fill any gap, a critical advantage in battle.

The "iron boxes" clattered toward the factory wall, and with a loud crash, they plowed right through it, their tracks crushing the rubble as their wedge-shaped fronts rose, revealing them to the charging German soldiers.

The German soldiers, who had been pressing their advantage in pursuit of the retreating French, froze at the sight, stunned into immobility.

"My God, what is that?"

"Is it a secret French weapon?"

"We've walked into a trap! They lured us here!"

Fear of the unknown quickly rippled through the ranks, breeding anxiety and whispered rumors that spread like wildfire. Several soldiers instinctively took a few steps back, clutching their rifles but forgetting to fire.

This unit was the elite of the First Army, known as the "Iron First Regiment," led by Colonel Jonas. When Jonas saw the disturbance up ahead, he rushed over with his guards, just in time to see the "iron boxes" rumbling over the rubble and onto flat ground.

Without hesitation, he barked, "Attention, everyone! Raise your rifles—destroy those things!"

Under his command, the German soldiers summoned their courage, raising their rifles and taking aim at the slow-advancing "monsters."

In this moment, the Germans' discipline was on full display. Even though these "monsters" filled them with dread, they held their fire, waiting for their colonel's command.

"Fire!"

Gunshots echoed across the field, a torrent of bullets hurtling toward the "monsters." But to their astonishment, the bullets merely sparked against the steel plates, producing a cacophony of clangs and pings without leaving a single dent.

The German soldiers stared in shock, wide-eyed, each grappling with the same question:

If bullets don't work, how do we destroy it?

With bayonets?

Or perhaps the spikes on our helmets?

Colonel Jonas's shock was no less profound than that of his soldiers. But his combat experience and the responsibility of command forced him to swallow his terror as he ordered, "Ready your rifles!"

Mechanically, the German soldiers reloaded and took aim again, many of them pale and sweating, a few nervously gulping.

"Fire!"

This volley was even more synchronized than the last, an attempt to concentrate their fire for maximum impact. But it was equally useless. The bullets left only faint dents, like raindrops on smooth sand. The "monsters" continued their advance, unrelenting, their engines growling ominously.

From the platform, Charles watched through his binoculars, his gaze cold. The Germans' efforts were doomed. At a distance of about two hundred meters, they had no hope of piercing nine-millimeter steel—especially given the angled armor at the front.

Camille's eyes widened, clutching Deyoka's hand as she gasped, "Deyoka, do you see this? It's working!"

"It's unbelievable—it's actually working!"

She looked up at Charles, her eyes bright with pride and astonishment. "He's amazing!" She instinctively moved toward him, but Deyoka held her back.

"No, Camille," he whispered. "The battle isn't over. We shouldn't disturb him…"

Camille quickly realized her error, her tearful eyes flashing with a sheepish smile. "You're right—I almost made a mistake."

Even as she spoke, her gaze never left Charles, and she murmured softly, "He's our son—our son…"

Francis watched the incredible scene on the battlefield, his expression a mixture of awe and doubt.

Could it be that this boy, when he convinced me to risk everything, had already planned to use these machines to repel the Germans?

If so, the foresight and resolve were frightening.

Just then, the battle took another turn:

The machine guns mounted on the front of the "iron boxes" roared to life, spraying bullets at the German soldiers, while the French troops, emboldened, poked out from behind the tanks to join the assault.

(End of Chapter)

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