Chapter 153: A Price Trap

Chapter 153: A Price Trap

Gallieni glanced at the cost sheet: each grenade was priced at 2 francs, totaling 20,000 francs for 10,000 grenades. Without a second thought, he signed his name. He had no idea he was stepping right into Charles's carefully set price trap.

Wooden-handled grenades were very inexpensive to produce, and Saint-Étienne already had ready-made facilities for explosives, woodworking, and mold casting. Combining these resources, a grenade factory was set up in no time. The true cost of each grenade was only 35 centimes, and with the typical markup of 100%, a fair price would be about 75 centimes per grenade. But Charles knew that Gallieni had no concept of the scale of hand grenade needs—otherwise, he wouldn't have offhandedly ordered "10,000 grenades."

This wasn't just a matter of "10,000 grenades"; frontline consumption could reach millions or even tens of millions of grenades monthly. Had Gallieni realized this, he would have scrutinized each sou and centime, gradually negotiating down the cost. Even a single centime saved per grenade could ultimately amount to an enormous figure.

However, Gallieni, unfamiliar with the scale, believed 10,000 grenades would last the troops for a while. At a unit price of 2 francs and a total of just 20,000 francs, he considered Charles a "conscientious businessman" and saw no reason to negotiate. He signed without hesitation.

Charles, thrilled, calculated: with a profit margin of 165 centimes per grenade, shared equally with the Saint-Étienne factory, each partner would earn 82.5 centimes. With even a conservative estimate of 1 million grenades consumed monthly, this meant a profit of 825,000 francs per month. That came close to what he earned selling 100 Mark I tanks monthly!

Not to mention, the actual battlefield demand could easily be ten, twenty, or even fifty times higher.

Charles almost felt guilty—was this too much? But then he reasoned that if he didn't profit from the military's needs, capitalist profiteers would only swoop in to take advantage, selling useless goods for deadly prices. So he comforted himself: he was at least providing essential supplies, unlike those businessmen who profited at the soldiers' expense.

Relieved, Charles watched as Gallieni handed back the signed contract, asking, "So, does this make you and Saint-Étienne allies of some sort?"

"In a way, yes." Charles held up the contract. "Saint-Étienne has experience with light weapons manufacturing, plus established facilities and labor, while I had nothing at the time. This partnership benefits both sides—and, of course, the military."

Gallieni nodded approvingly. A partnership meant that as long as the fighting intensified, supply issues wouldn't arise, with Saint-Étienne working to maintain ample stocks. He mentally applauded Stede; the savvy businessman had grasped Charles's importance, ensuring Saint-Étienne's future success through this alliance.

"Now," Gallieni gestured to the map beside him, "Lafaux is yours. Whatever plans you have, carry them out."

"Yes, sir!" Charles saluted Gallieni, then turned toward his desk, calling out his first order to Colonel Fernand before he'd even reached his seat: "Send out the reconnaissance and fighter squadrons, Colonel."

"Yes, sir!" Fernand responded, relaying the orders through the telephone.

At the Carter Flying Club

Despite the persistent drizzle and lack of food or shelter, reporters braved the cold and hunger, crowding the outskirts of the club. Periodically, they raised binoculars to check the skies, breaking the monotony by chatting with each other.

"What do you think, will Charles deploy his rocket planes?"

"Possibly, but I don't think it'd be very effective."

"Why not?"

More informed reporters, usually those covering military affairs, seized the chance to enlighten their peers:

"It's the rainy season, so rockets mounted on wings could easily get damp, even with waterproofing."

"And low visibility is another big problem. Rocket planes need to dive toward targets accurately, but with heavier rain, pilots could lose sight of their targets—or even the ground."

"Likely outcome? A nose dive straight into the ground."

A chorus of "Oh, I see!" rose up from the group, while the military correspondents looked satisfied with their expertise.

Just then, the faint rumble of engines drifted from the airfield, and the reporters snapped to attention, raising cameras and binoculars in unison. One by one, planes took off in quick succession, forming squadrons in the sky like a swarm of bees.

The scene was met with enthusiastic cheers, and frantic questions rippled through the crowd:

"What kind of planes? Avros? How many?"

"Does anyone see rockets?"

"No, they're fighters! I can see machine guns on their noses!"

"There are reconnaissance planes too—Caudrons and some Dove models."

The initial group was composed of a fighter squadron with six Avro planes, accompanied by two reconnaissance squadrons of Caudron and Dove aircraft. Normally, Charles wouldn't dispatch fighters alongside reconnaissance squadrons, especially the Dove model, as German forces also used Dove planes for reconnaissance, making identification difficult on rainy days.

Yet, as Carter had briefed Charles, "As long as even one Avro remains in the sky, the Germans keep all their planes grounded. We haven't had much to do for quite some time!"

Thus, the deployment was largely a formality. French air supremacy remained unchallenged until the day Germany would unlock the secrets of synchronized machine gun firing.

At the German stronghold in Lafaux, enemy activity had everyone on high alert.

"Enemy planes!" A lookout perched on a high vantage point shouted, gesturing skyward with one hand while clutching his binoculars in the other. "The enemy's planes are coming!"

Colonel Halil climbed out of the command bunker and quickly spotted the faint outlines of Avro planes in the sky.

"Order the artillery to keep camouflaged!" Halil barked down into the command bunker. "No one fires without my command!"

"Yes, sir!" The radioman swiftly relayed the orders.

Halil cast a confident look back up at the sky. So, Charles was still banking on aerial bombardments to take out the artillery? He smirked. This time, Charles was in for a disappointment.

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