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

Chapter 37: A Near Mutiny

For several days, Major Browning had been in a foul mood. Since defeating the Germans, he and his Third Battalion had been stranded on the north bank of the Marne River, unable to advance. Out of their twelve tanks, five had been destroyed in battle—mostly by friendly fire. But that wasn't what bothered him; what mattered was that they had achieved victory.

Of the seven remaining tanks, six were out of commission due to mechanical issues, leaving only one operational—and even then, no one could be sure how much longer it would last. When General Gard led the forces to pursue the retreating Germans, he left Browning with one order: "Repair them and catch up with us as quickly as possible!"

Browning couldn't help but curse to himself: What an idiot!

We're soldiers, not engineers! he thought, exasperated by the absurdity of the command. Plus, the top speed of these machines was only 15 kilometers per hour—and that was if they didn't break down. Realistically, they could only maintain about 8 kilometers per hour, and even then, they needed maintenance every hour. An ordinary person walking could almost keep up! And he expects us to catch up in these?

Still, he could only respond with a reluctant "Yes, sir" and attempt to follow orders.

The reality turned out even worse than expected. Browning made several trips to the tractor factory, hoping for assistance with repairs, but was met with the same responses each time:

"Major, I think you'll have to wait for new tanks. We're working on it."

"Those tanks are likely beyond repair. With all the bullet holes, burnt engines, and blown parts, it might be easier to build new ones."

Browning had to admit they made a valid point, but when exactly could he expect the new tanks?

"We're waiting on funding from the government. As soon as it arrives, we'll start production."

Major Browning immediately realized this could take a while. Government funding always involved a complex set of procedures, and even in wartime, new tanks couldn't be expected immediately.

Three days passed without any progress. Meanwhile, General Gard sent messengers with increasingly urgent demands:

"Where are those tanks? Haven't they been repaired yet? They're just tractors!"

"What's your location? Bring the tanks up to support us!"

"For God's sake, we'd be able to break through the enemy lines if those tanks were here! We're losing thousands of men without them!"

These complaints weren't exaggerated.

The German forces, with their military discipline, had managed to regroup quickly and retreat in an organized fashion, covering one another as they went. In contrast, the pursuing French troops were like children chasing a kite, recklessly running into German ambushes and suffering heavy casualties.

But what could Major Browning do? It wasn't as if he could conjure tanks out of thin air and carry them to the front line.

"If only Matthew were here!" one soldier remarked. "Not only could that guy drive a tank, but he was great at fixing them, too."

"Any news on Matthew?" another asked.

"He lost his right leg. I visited him yesterday. He's being well looked after and recovering nicely," replied Yves, Matthew's former comrade.

Major Browning raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising to hear. The field hospitals aren't exactly known for their care."

As a French officer, Major Browning was well aware of the grim reality of the field hospitals; few men came out of them alive, even those with minor injuries.

"But our field hospital is different, Major," Yves said, lounging against a rock with his machine gun at his side. "We have Young Master Charles."

"What do you mean?" Browning asked, puzzled, while the others turned curious eyes on Yves.

"You haven't heard?" Yves opened his eyes fully, a bit surprised. "Young Master Charles used his own money to supply the field hospital with more resources and personnel. Our Fifth Field Hospital has become the best-equipped in the army, with the highest survival rate. This news has spread throughout the ranks; I thought you'd heard."

Browning and the soldiers were stunned. Some nodded, visibly moved, while others crossed themselves.

"A noble man—a real hero," someone murmured.

"God bless him. If only more of France's capitalists were like him, there might be hope for this country."

"It's a relief to know that if we're wounded, we'll be properly cared for and not left to die alone."

To a soldier, nothing was more bitter than surviving the enemy's attack on the battlefield only to be abandoned in a field hospital, watching helplessly as their life slipped away.

Major Browning grumbled, "If he's so concerned, he should make sure we get more tanks! It would save lives."

"Major!" Yves shot back angrily. "Didn't you know? Francis took control of the tractor factory from him."

"What?" Browning shot to his feet. "Nobody told me this."

"Of course they wouldn't," Yves explained. "Once they saw how profitable it was to convert the tractors into tanks, they took over and pushed Young Master Charles out. I heard they handed him the motorcycle factory instead, as if that could make up for it. It's not what he wanted."

The soldiers were instantly incensed.

"These capitalists are a disgrace to France! They only see money—they're animals!"

"And here we are fighting and dying for those animals!"

"How could they treat Young Master Charles this way?"

A few soldiers even slung their rifles and stood up, ready to leave.

Browning quickly stopped them. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We're going to take back the factory from those bastards and return it to Young Master Charles—it's rightfully his."

The other soldiers chimed in, one after another.

"Count me in!"

"Me too!"

"No, no!" Browning shouted, trying to keep the men from going any further. "Listen to me! We don't know the whole story. Let me speak to Charles first. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems."

The soldiers reluctantly agreed, one by one, to this suggestion.

"All right, Major! Give Young Master Charles our regards."

"If he needs anything, tell him we've got his back. We won't let them bully him!"

"Yeah! We're not ones to be messed with!"

As Browning listened to their words, he realized just how close Charles had come to inciting an outright mutiny—without even knowing it.

(End of Chapter)

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