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

Chapter 13: Attack Within Defense

Originally, Matthew wasn't supposed to go to the battlefield.

Charles had planned everything carefully, handpicking a group of tractor drivers for the mission—an easy task at the factory. But as soon as they learned they'd be driving tractors onto the front lines, serving as shields against bullets, each driver turned pale with fear:

"We're just drivers, Master Charles, not soldiers!"

"We've got families to support!"

"We make only 28 francs a month, barely enough to make ends meet!"

Their meaning was clear: risking their lives wasn't worth a meager salary.

Charles felt a surge of frustration, tempted to offer them more money but ultimately resisting. He knew that once he opened the door to raises, further complications would follow. French soldiers, too, were fighting for their lives on the battlefield, many of whom also had families to support and earned less than factory workers. Did they not deserve more?

With entire army divisions here in Davaz—tens of thousands at the very least—could Charles afford such a precedent?

Volunteers were the only solution; he couldn't simply pay for this loyalty.

While he debated his options, Matthew stepped forward.

"Let me go."

Without hesitation, Charles refused. "You're needed in the assembly workshop. We need skilled drivers—this is a battlefield, not a game."

He emphasized the word "battlefield," hoping to convey the gravity of the situation.

Matthew's eyes flickered with understanding, and with a wry smile, he looked Charles squarely in the eye, answering each word deliberately, "I grew up driving tractors, Charles. No one here is more skilled than I am."

Matthew raised an eyebrow knowingly, as if to say, You already know this.

Of course, Charles knew. But he didn't want Matthew taking on the risk.

Matthew's words left him no choice; if he denied Matthew now, none of the others would volunteer either.

Seeing Charles's reluctant approval, Matthew turned to the other men, raising a hand in encouragement.

"Think about it, gentlemen! We could actually beat the Germans—that's the best way to protect our families. Or would you prefer to kneel before them and beg them not to harm your loved ones or take everything you own?"

"Stand up, gentlemen. I, for one, won't live that way."

Matthew's words resonated, and the drivers fell silent. After a few moments, hands began to rise.

"Count me in!"

"I'll take my chances. If I make it back, maybe I'll be one of those who defeated the Germans!"

"I'll join! I don't have family, so it doesn't matter if I don't return."

And so, these ordinary but courageous men went off to war.

They'd had no military training, driving modified "iron boxes" that were untested and hastily constructed. Yet here they were, about to face scores of ruthless German soldiers and countless dark barrels aimed in their direction.

...

Due to the limited visibility inside the tanks, two "iron boxes" soon became stuck in the trenches, unable to move.

Joseph grew anxious—what if one of those was Matthew's?

Charles cursed silently. He had warned them to be cautious near trenches; these early tanks couldn't handle such terrain, as their treads were only meant for muddy fields or farm ditches.

The German soldiers noticed, too, seizing on a sliver of hope, or perhaps making a last desperate stand. Some ducked into the trenches, trying to regroup.

The Germans' response revealed their discipline—even in the face of disaster, some refused to give up.

But their efforts would prove futile.

The "iron boxes" stopped before the trenches, not advancing further. Instead, their machine guns aimed directly at the German soldiers below.

Behind the tanks, French soldiers used them as cover to take out the Germans in coordinated fire. One team would shoot, then retreat to reload while the other stepped up to continue.

It was a lopsided fight. The trenches, hastily dug by the French themselves, faced the wrong direction and were incomplete. German soldiers, forced to huddle low, could only hide.

Meanwhile, the French soldiers advanced with the cover of several massive shields in the form of tanks. The "iron boxes" were in a solid line, separated only by a narrow passage, leaving the Germans' angles severely limited.

The battle's outcome was clear. One by one, German soldiers fell, their last efforts ending in frustration and regret as they were cut down in the trenches.

Behind the tanks, Major Browning yelled, "Hold the line! Keep the formation!"

This was an unbelievable tactic, he thought.

Up to this point, the French army's tactics had always been to "attack, attack, and attack again!"

It didn't matter if a commanding officer was formally trained; everyone knew the French approach was to push forward in every situation. The French strategy was straightforward: advance, regardless of circumstance.

If the enemy held a line, they pushed forward.

If the enemy retreated, they pressed forward.

If the enemy attacked, they charged even harder.

But now, they seemed to be both advancing and defending.

In essence, it was an attack within a defense. Using the tanks as shields, they moved steadily forward while remaining protected.

And under these tactics, the German forces finally crumbled. Thousands of elite German soldiers had been routed by a force of just over three hundred French soldiers.

Before now, such a scenario would have been unimaginable; defeating a German regiment of this size would have required at least ten thousand French troops. Here, they had only a few hundred men, plus a handful of tractors. Browning estimated their own casualties at twenty or so.

"It's a miracle!" he exclaimed while commanding. "Hell, what were we doing before? They've been wasting lives out here—this is how we should always fight!"

The soldiers felt the same, encouraged by the success. Shooting as they advanced, they grew confident that this new tactic meant French victory was inevitable.

Their courage surged, growing as the Germans, panicked, retreated toward the Marne bridge. Meanwhile, the German forces on the opposite bank continued to press forward as ordered. The two waves of soldiers collided at the bridge, creating a jam of bodies, with men stumbling, falling, and some getting jabbed by fallen helmets. Screams echoed as others were pushed off the bridge and into the river below.

"Drive them onto the bridge!" Browning shouted. "Machine gunners, target the enemy on the bridge!"

The machine guns roared, spraying bullets across the bridge without much need to aim, hitting their mark effortlessly.

The powerful 8mm French rounds easily pierced through the German ranks. Under the relentless gunfire, the bridge became a slaughterhouse.

The entire span turned crimson, as sticky blood pooled along the edges, dripping into the Marne and staining the river's surface a ghastly red.

Finally, the Germans on the bridge realized they were trapped and tried to escape by jumping down to the riverbank.

But that would not prove to be a better option either.

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