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

Chapter 27: Infantry, Tanks, and Artillery Coordination

Major Brownie wasted no time explaining. He brushed past Derek, hurrying in with urgency. Spotting Charles, he finally relaxed a bit. Glancing around, he quickly moved to a dust-covered old table, tracing lines with his fingers in the dust. As he drew, he spoke in a tense voice:

"This is the river, this is Marne Bridge. The enemy has set up ten heavy machine guns at the bridgehead, positioned in a circular formation. There's a trench line in front of the position, and artillery might be in place behind it."

Brownie looked up at Charles, who stood partially shielded by Camille, his eyes filled with urgency. "What should we do? Can the tanks hold against this kind of firepower?"

Realizing Brownie was only here for advice, Derek and Camille relaxed their guard.

Charles stepped forward, studying the "dust map" in the dim light. Without hesitation, he shook his head. "No, they can't."

While the Maxim machine guns used 7.92mm rounds with penetration similar to rifles, the tanks would be fired upon from multiple directions due to the enemy's circular position, and at close range, which would turn the tanks into sieves.

The artillery was an even graver threat. To reduce weight, the tanks were fitted with 2mm steel plating on top—essentially just a sheet of metal—insufficient to withstand artillery shells. Any kind of cannonfire would tear through.

"Then what do we do?" Brownie asked anxiously. "How can we attack? Do you have a plan? Please, tell me! I don't have much time before the next offensive."

He looked as if he wanted to reach into Charles's mind and pull out his ideas.

Charles thought for a moment, then pointed at the map and answered, "Artillery cover, Major!"

"We need to bombard the enemy's bridgehead. The smoke and dust from the shells will obscure the enemy's view, and the sound of artillery will mask the noise of the advancing tanks. This way, the enemy won't know the tanks' exact location—they might not even realize they've crossed the bridge!"

"This might shield us from their machine guns," Brownie objected, "but what about their artillery?"

Charles remained calm. "If our artillery is bombarding them, it's unlikely the enemy will respond with their own—they'd just be wasting ammunition."

He picked up a small rock, placed it on the trench as a makeshift tank, and pushed it forward on the map. "So, our shelling must be continuous, keeping the fire rolling forward as the tanks advance. This way, the enemy will think it's still just a general bombardment."

Brownie pointed to the lines he'd drawn on the map and interrupted, "Trenches, Charles! Don't forget about the trenches! Our tanks would have to stop before them, and if they stop, they'll be sitting ducks and eventually blown to bits."

"Who says they have to stop?" Charles replied. "Order soldiers to carry sandbags, and when they reach a trench, use the sandbags to make a passage so the tanks can roll across."

Brownie's eyes widened. He was taken aback for only a moment before he turned and dashed out, shouting over his shoulder, "You're a genius, Charles! Thank you—you've saved us again!"

Derek and Camille exchanged glances, both astonished. Camille hesitated, asking incredulously, "Charles, were you… teaching them how to fight a battle just now?"

A major in the regular army couldn't devise a battle plan, yet Charles could.

And not only could he, but he'd come up with an effective strategy almost immediately.

Previously, they might have thought Charles's success in training French soldiers to coordinate with tanks was due to his being the tank's inventor. But now, Derek and Camille were awestruck. Where did he learn all this military knowledge? Had he actually fought in battles? Or read it in books?

Was there even a book with battle strategies beyond the comprehension of the French army?

Could Brownie be right—was Charles truly a genius?

While Derek and Camille waited for Charles to explain, he suddenly sprang to his feet, as if pricked by a needle. His face went pale, and he began breathing quickly, muttering, "Matthew, Matthew—he's driving a tank!"

Charles was about to bolt outside, but Derek was quick and blocked his way.

"Let go of me, Father!" Charles struggled. "I sent Matthew to the front. I'm the one who made the battle plan—"

"No, Charles," Derek interrupted. "Matthew would have gone to the front regardless of who made the plan. But with your plan, he at least has a better chance of coming back alive. Without it, he'd have no chance at all. You're giving him a chance to survive."

Charles slowly calmed down, realizing his father was right. This battle plan wasn't putting Matthew in danger—it was reducing his risk.

"But," Charles said, "he's still out there, and this plan is dangerous…"

It was true. Charles's battle plan sounded simple in theory but was extremely challenging to execute.

It required flawless coordination between infantry, tanks, and artillery. The tanks would have to advance immediately behind the artillery fire. If the artillery veered off-target, the tanks advanced too quickly, or the infantry failed to bridge the trenches in time, disaster would strike.

There was no doubt that the French soldiers, untrained in such precise coordination, would make mistakes. Ultimately, only some of the tanks would likely make it across Marne Bridge.

"You can't change any of this, Charles," Derek reminded him. "Can you stop the war?"

Charles was silent.

This was reality. As long as the Germans were on the other side of the Marne, this battle had to be fought. And as long as there was fighting, tanks—this 'miracle weapon'—would be used. Matthew, as an experienced driver, would inevitably be called to the front.

Camille gently embraced Charles, trying to comfort him. "Matthew will be alright, Charles. We'll win this war, and he'll come back."

…

South of the Marne, the brutal fighting had reached a lull, casting a strange quiet over the area, like the darkness before dawn.

Soldiers of the French Ninth Infantry Regiment's Third Battalion were digging in the trenches, filling sandbags.

Meanwhile, the tank crews performed final checks on their vehicles. Once armored plates were fitted to the tractors, they became prone to breakdowns, so every opportunity had to be taken to inspect them to ensure they would run.

"I hear you're friends with young Charles?" Yves, a machine gunner, asked while loading rounds into the ammunition tray next to the tank.

From under the tank, Matthew, who was tightening the last bolt on a tractor, responded with a grunt. He slithered out, caterpillar-style, then took a rag and wiped his hands. "Yeah, we grew up together."

"He's brilliant," Yves said, motioning to the tank. "This thing is his invention. We're alive now thanks to him."

Nagy, the assistant gunner, added, "Word is, the Major just went to see Charles. We're about to execute his battle plan."

"Really?" Matthew chuckled. That rascal—I never knew he had it in him.

Yves raised an eyebrow. "You grew up with him and didn't know he was capable of this?"

"Of course I knew!" Matthew boasted. "I know everything about him—even when he's got his mind on a girl."

The soldiers nearby couldn't help but laugh.

Someone called out from across the trench, "Hey, Matthew! Do you really think this plan will work?"

"Trust me!" Matthew responded confidently. "I'll bet my life that we'll win!"

"Crafty bastard!" Yves said with a grin. "If we don't win, none of us will come back alive, yet you're betting on the least valuable thing you've got—your life!"

"Fine then, I'll wager a box of chewing tobacco," Matthew replied smoothly, without batting an eye. His ability to bluff was impeccable.

Someone tossed a small item to him, saying, "Here, you'll probably need this more than us."

Matthew looked down, delighted. It was a box of chewing tobacco. He opened it right away, pinched some between his dirty fingers, and stuffed it in his mouth.

(Note: Chewing tobacco, made from cigar remnants or finely shredded tobacco mixed with licorice and honey, was often used by soldiers during WWI. Unlike cigarettes, it didn't require lighting or produce smoke, making it suitable for combat conditions. It was issued to soldiers alongside cigarettes.)

Suddenly, a sharp whistle blew. An officer shouted, "Get ready for battle!"

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