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

Chapter 77: British Reinforcements

General Geiss let his frustration show, making no attempt to hide his complaints from Charles.

"We've been doing everything we can to fight the enemy, Lieutenant," he grumbled, "even taking on responsibilities far beyond our means!"

"From the moment our king shared Germany's military plans with your country, to refusing Germany's so-called 'harmless passage' and fighting back, to launching attacks on their supply lines!"

"Hasn't that been enough? Who else could do all that?"

"We could have stayed out of this, but we fought to uphold Belgium's dignity—and that means something!"

"Yet, here we are, still fighting alone, with no reinforcements when we need them most—no reinforcements at all…"

Despite his scattered complaints, Charles caught the general's drift. King Albert of Belgium had indeed provided critical information to France months before, alerting them to Germany's Schlieffen Plan. And while France hadn't fully capitalized on that intelligence, Belgium had nevertheless refused Germany's demands and even proactively disrupted German supply lines near Paris. Belgium had helped France at every turn.

Yet now, when Belgium itself desperately needed help, the only aid France had sent was… Charles himself.

Now, Charles finally understood the coldness he'd encountered from Belgian soldiers at the airfield. To them, Belgium had done so much for France, and France had given so little in return.

Charles struggled to find the right response. He had no authority over reinforcements; all he could do was report Geiss's concerns back to France. Perhaps this was the true reason the general had voiced his grievances so openly.

Just then, a communications officer approached. "General, British reinforcements have arrived. General Winter is waiting outside for your reception."

General Geiss shot up from his seat. "Excellent! Show him in right away!"

Geiss immediately forgot about Charles, striding swiftly toward the door to greet General Winter.

General Winter, a tall and confident figure, entered the room with a warm handshake for Geiss. "A salute to you, General Geiss! You and your men are some of the bravest soldiers in the world. It's an honor to join you in this glorious fight to repel the invaders!"

Winter's words lifted Geiss's spirits, and the weight of despair fell from his shoulders. His confidence seemed to return all at once.

"Thank you, General," Geiss said, gripping Winter's hand firmly. "A salute to you, our steadfast allies, for coming to our aid in our hour of need."

The words carried a thinly veiled jab at Charles—and by extension, France. Although Charles couldn't exactly represent France in an official capacity, it was clear that he was now unwittingly seen as a stand-in.

Charles grew uneasy as Winter's triumphant tone began to take hold in the room. Though the British general hadn't explicitly claimed victory, his confident demeanor seemed to suggest that the British reinforcements could now handle the defenses and drive out the Germans. Yet, Charles knew the reality was far from so simple.

Noticing Charles's French uniform—the striking red trousers in particular—Winter raised an eyebrow. "Is the French army here too?" he asked.

Before Charles could answer, General Geiss cut in dismissively. "No, he's here to conduct an assessment. Just a lieutenant."

The disdain in Geiss's voice was unmistakable. Compared to Britain's show of support, sending a full general and reinforcements, France's lone lieutenant seemed paltry, almost insulting. It was as if Britain had sent a thousand-pound gift, while Charles had brought a crumpled newspaper.

Back in Paris, Armand and Grevy were riding back to the estate in a horse-drawn carriage along September Fourth Avenue.

Amid the steady rhythm of hooves, Armand asked casually, "How can you be certain he won't make it back, Grevy?"

"The mission is real. The pilot is real. The pilot is even waiting for him to finish the mission and fly back."

"What if he completes it safely? It doesn't seem impossible."

Grevy replied without expression, "The key isn't the pilot, Armand."

Armand glanced over at Grevy, confused. The pilot and the plane could easily bring Charles back safely, so why wouldn't they matter?

Grevy allowed himself a slight smile. "Surely, you've noticed how famous Charles has become?"

"Of course," Armand agreed. "Practically every paper has reported on his accomplishments. Even I'm a bit envious of him."

Grevy shook his head subtly. He knew Armand wouldn't envy Charles for fame; he'd only envy him if he had a charming lady at his side. That was now unlikely—a man who wouldn't return wouldn't be taking anyone to his side.

Relaxing back against the seat, Grevy exhaled and continued, "Germany knows about him too."

His voice was soft, but Armand felt a chill at his calculated tone. Grevy's approach was impeccable.

Charles was an inventor—the mind behind the tank and the sidecar motorbike. He was also a strategist, credited in the papers with masterminding victories over the Germans. From any perspective, Germany would have good reason to keep Charles from returning to France.

If they could capture him, they'd likely try to coerce him into working for them. If not, they'd destroy him; letting him escape would only put Germany at a disadvantage.

Whether Germany recruited him or silenced him, Charles wouldn't be returning—and thus would no longer pose a threat to Grevy.

"So, all we had to do was ensure the Germans knew Charles was in Antwerp," Grevy concluded. "The rest is up to them."

Armand then posed a final question, "Aren't you worried he might defect?"

A man of Charles's talents defecting to a powerful Germany would indeed be a nightmare for France.

Grevy adjusted his coat and looked out at the passing buildings. "That wouldn't be our concern, Armand. That would only be a problem for France and the Left."

Understanding dawned on Armand.

If Charles did defect, he'd likely become a German industrialist, competing against France's left-wing capitalists rather than the Right's aristocrats. In fact, such competition could even benefit the Right by forcing French capitalists into ruin, reducing their influence over the working class.

Armand's heart skipped a beat as he considered Grevy's deeper intentions. Could he have orchestrated all this with the specific aim of forcing Charles to defect? Grevy had thought far beyond the present moment, while Armand was only just beginning to comprehend his strategy.

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