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

Chapter 36: Wages and Dignity

An hour later, the prototype of a sidecar motorcycle stood before the three men.

Although the hour of continuous work had left Guillaume visibly tired, his face was still animated with excitement, his eyes shining as he paced around the sidecar motorcycle, occasionally pausing to inspect various parts with admiration, as if observing a work of art.

"I think this idea could work, Young Master Charles!" Guillaume said eagerly. "It could prove quite useful for military purposes—they'll be interested in buying it!"

"How can you be sure?" Deyoka asked.

"I served, Mr. Deyoka!" Guillaume replied, standing up from where he had been examining the chassis welds. He lifted his shirt to reveal a scar on his lower right abdomen. "This was from a German bayonet. I fought in the Franco-Prussian War, so I know what's needed on the battlefield."

Guillaume's expression darkened with a hint of anger.

The veterans of the Franco-Prussian War were heroes, too. They fought the enemy on the front lines with just as much bravery and determination. But because France lost that war, society heaped blame and shame on them, treating them as scapegoats for the nation's disgrace. It was unjust.

Charles acknowledged this with understanding. "You can lay that burden down now, Uncle Guillaume. We won't lose this war. They'll come to see that war—and you—differently."

Guillaume looked at Charles as though pricked by a needle, disbelief evident in his eyes. "They... will? Really?"

"They may not," Charles replied cryptically. "But we will."

Guillaume didn't fully understand Charles's meaning, so Charles elaborated with a voice that was still youthful but filled with insight.

"If we lose, the capitalists will deflect the public's anger onto you soldiers to shift the blame. But if we win, they won't hesitate to sing your praises while taking credit for the victory. That way, the public won't care how much they've profited off the war."

Guillaume's eyes widened, the words sinking in, especially the phrase: "The capitalists will deflect the public's anger onto you."

Guillaume had never considered it that way. He'd always assumed that the public's disdain for veterans was due to a misunderstanding.

Charles's words made him rethink everything. He recalled that newspapers back then had been full of criticism about the military's corruption and incompetence, but they'd never once mentioned that much of this was due to the capitalists' influence.

"Damn capitalists!" he muttered through clenched teeth, remembering all the years of humiliation, blame, and contempt he'd endured. These memories came flooding back, alongside a sorrow so profound it made him avoid people, even isolating himself at the factory.

"As I see it," Charles continued, "you're heroes who gave everything for France. You deserve respect. Once we win this war and they see the critical role you played, public opinion will shift."

Guillaume nodded resolutely. He knew Charles was right. If France erased its previous disgrace, the military would be accepted by the public once again. Soldiers who had once fought for France—and who were now contributing again—would receive recognition.

"Then," Guillaume said with renewed determination, "we must do everything we can to help France win."

"Exactly," Charles agreed.

Deyoka, who had been observing the exchange, couldn't help but admire Charles's ability to show people respect and pull them to his side. Sometimes, people valued dignity more than wages, and that wasn't something money could buy. It would also make operations at the motorcycle factory far more stable and productive.

Charles nodded toward the sidecar motorcycle. "Aren't you going to give it a try, Uncle Guillaume?"

"Me?" Guillaume hesitated, surprised. Wasn't it customary for the inventor to take the first test drive? He hadn't expected Charles to offer this honor to him.

"I don't know how to ride," Charles explained with a smile.

Touched, Guillaume climbed onto the sidecar motorcycle, pressing down on the kick-start pedal. With two pulls, the engine sputtered to life, and the sidecar roared forward. Initially moving slowly, Guillaume navigated carefully, testing turns before gradually accelerating until he was racing around the testing grounds, shouting with joy.

"Young Master Charles!" he shouted. "You've got to try it—it's way more stable than a regular motorcycle!"

Of course, that wasn't strictly true; sidecars were actually trickier to handle than two-wheelers. But Guillaume was too proud of his handiwork to admit that.

"What do you call it?" Deyoka asked.

"Sidecar," Charles replied.

"Fitting," Deyoka mused. "A sidecar with three wheels."

As he watched the vehicle kick up dust, Deyoka voiced a concern. "There's just one problem, Charles. Aren't you worried this will run into the same issue as the tank?"

He was referring to potential infringement by other French capitalists, who might copy or suppress their design.

"At least not yet," Charles replied.

"Why not?" Deyoka asked, puzzled.

Charles explained, "Currently, there's only one motorcycle factory left in France, Father."

Before the war, there had been three motorcycle factories in France: one producing American Harley motorcycles under license, and the other two manufacturing British Douglas and Victory models. But the German advance had captured the other two factories. Most of France's industrial zones were in the north, rich in resources but now under German control. Charles had acquired the last remaining Victory motorcycle factory.

"So you're saying," Deyoka remarked with a raised eyebrow, "that to copy or bypass our design, they'd first need a factory?"

"Exactly," Charles nodded. "They'd need a production line and skilled workers. Most importantly, their motorcycles would need to be as reliable as Victory bikes."

Victory motorcycles could withstand the rigors of the battlefield—something only Charles knew with certainty. The best wartime equipment wasn't necessarily the most advanced, but the most reliable and easy to maintain. On the battlefield, a machine failure could mean death, and quick repairs were seldom possible.

Victory motorcycles had these qualities, something that couldn't be easily replicated. Even if French capitalists tried to copy it, they'd be faced with lawsuits from the British company.

In short, Charles's new invention created a shared interest with the British company, forming a coalition of mutual benefit. This would make French capitalists think twice before trying to infringe on their design.

Deyoka looked at his son with admiration. "Strategic thinking, Charles. You didn't anticipate all this, did you?"

With an unusual air of maturity, Charles replied, "I had to, Father. Otherwise, we'd go bankrupt."

Deyoka felt a pang of guilt; it was the first time he'd ever regretted his own limitations. If he'd been more capable, Charles wouldn't have had to shoulder such concerns.

"This isn't on you, Father," Charles reassured, sensing his father's self-blame. "I'm the one who chose to oppose those capitalists. We could just sell our designs to them and live out our days in luxury."

Deyoka nodded, knowing Charles spoke the truth. But he still worried, realizing that Charles wanted more than wealth—perhaps even power, or the means to break the stranglehold of the capitalists.

He stared at his son, his eyes reflecting both pride and fear. Challenging the capitalists at their core interests would inevitably make them Charles's most formidable foes.

(End of Chapter)

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