Chapter 166: Player or Pawn

Chapter 166: Player or Pawn

Charles didn't rush to contact Cobb. He maintained a necessary level of caution regarding the matter.

Charles understood that moving into the press business meant signaling his independence to everyone, which could potentially lead to a series of complications. For example, there was Steed, who controlled Saint-Étienne. His relationship with Charles remained somewhat ambiguous: did Saint-Étienne truly intend to form an alliance with Charles, or was he simply hoping to recruit him into his service?

If it were the former, and he already regarded Charles as a "player," then there wouldn't be any issue. But if it were the latter, where Saint-Étienne merely saw Charles as a "pawn," he would certainly dislike the notion of Charles establishing his own faction.

Such a situation could shatter their nascent alliance, leaving Charles isolated once again to face all the capitalists alone. And this was something the military could not resolve—no victorious battle would change that.

So, even though Charles did indeed need a media outlet, he still felt that the timing was not yet right. After careful thought, he concluded that it would be wise to wait until Saint-Étienne truly depended on him before making any further moves in this direction.

For now, he planned to delay the call with Cobb and assign him some other work. Perhaps later, an opportunity would present itself to involve him in developing the newspaper business.

However, an unexpected opportunity soon altered Charles's thinking.

The next day, Charles returned to headquarters as usual. To avoid the overly enthusiastic Parisians, he reported in an hour early. It was barely past seven when he arrived, and Gallieni had not yet risen, as he usually slept until eight when there was no immediate warfront news.

A few people were already at headquarters organizing documents—besides the overnight-duty staff and radio operators, Lieutenant Colonel Fernand was also there.

"Good morning, Lieutenant!" Lieutenant Colonel Fernand greeted him with a knowing smile. "Congratulations, you've got new business again! But unfortunately, we've also got a problem!"

"What?" Charles was confused by the lieutenant colonel's remark.

Lieutenant Colonel Fernand handed Charles a document. "The grenades you produced were a hit the moment they arrived on the battlefield. The soldiers are raving about them, saying they're exactly what they need, and they've already seen plenty of success. However, the ten thousand grenades we bought were all used up in under half an hour!"

Charles then realized it was about the grenades.

"Is it an issue with the price?" Charles glanced like a guilty thief towards Gallieni's room. "Is the general unhappy with the cost?"

"That's only part of it, Lieutenant!" Fernand turned to face Charles, resting an arm on the back of his chair, the pencil in his fingers bouncing up and down. "The general is discussing price with the capitalists, but the real issue is… yes, those ten thousand grenades were used up, but I didn't say they were all thrown at the enemy!"

Charles chuckled, "You're quite the joker, Colonel. If they weren't thrown at the enemy, did they throw them at…?"

Charles stopped mid-sentence, realizing the problem. The soldiers hadn't been trained in grenade handling. Hastily providing them with grenades was bound to lead to accidents.

Fernand nodded, confirming Charles's realization, and gestured to the document in Charles's hand.

Charles opened the report, which recorded a variety of bizarre incidents from the front lines:

A soldier's hand slipped, causing the smoking grenade to fall at his feet.

Some soldiers opened the safety caps too early and got the fuse caught on something while running.

And there were even those who, intrigued, decided to keep a few grenades as novelties...

Fernand put a hand on Charles's shoulder. "General Gallieni believes you should be responsible for this, as he knows your tank troops were trained before using grenades on the battlefield."

Charles nodded, frustrated. He had only thought about the front line's need for grenades and rushed to supply them without considering that grenades were a completely new piece of equipment for the military of this era. Training was necessary before deployment, even if many of them were seasoned veterans.

Just then, Gallieni emerged from his room, fully dressed in his uniform. He immediately noticed Charles.

"You're just in time!" Gallieni motioned for Charles to follow as he headed to his desk.

Charles approached Gallieni's desk as requested. The early morning light was dim, and Gallieni switched on his desk lamp, its warm, orange glow illuminating his workspace. Charles noted that the desk bore an accident report identical to the one in his hands.

A staffer brought Gallieni a plate of bread and a cup of coffee. Gallieni bit into the bread and asked Charles, "You're aware of the situation, I assume? What's your plan to fix it?"

"My apologies, General!" Charles responded. "I'll immediately draft a detailed set of instructions and transport guidelines…"

"Just that?" Gallieni interrupted, his tone displeased. "We can handle that ourselves, Lieutenant. My headquarters has thirty-two staff officers; each one of them is capable of doing what you just described."

"Then…" Charles was at a loss for what else to do.

"One franc!" Gallieni suddenly stated.

"What?" Charles looked at him, baffled.

"The unit price for grenades!" Gallieni said between bites. "I think one franc per grenade would be reasonable!"

"No, that's impossible!" Charles quickly caught on—Gallieni was taking this chance to push down the price.

Gallieni, unhurried, began to explain his calculations to Charles. "One division, ten thousand grenades gone in half an hour. We have forty-four divisions, and they're still increasing. So, tell me—how many grenades do you think we need?"

Gallieni's gaze bore into Charles, as if to say, "With such demand, how can you, a profit-driven capitalist, not reduce your price?"

"We must consider production costs, General…" Charles started.

"I've already spoken to Steed; you can't fool me!" Gallieni cut him off.

Charles was momentarily stunned. If Steed had let something slip, or if their statements didn't match, it would complicate things. However, he noticed Gallieni glancing his way as he sipped his coffee, which gave him confidence.

"No, General!" Charles replied confidently. "One franc wouldn't even cover production costs. At most… I can lower it to 1.5 francs. That's the best offer."

Gallieni looked somewhat disappointed; the young man hadn't taken the bait.

He had indeed called Steed, but that cunning fox had left the matter entirely up to Charles, acknowledging him as the one with full decision-making authority here. Still, lowering it by half a franc would yield significant savings.

"Alright!" Gallieni nodded. "One million grenades, 1.5 francs each. But remember, this isn't the final price."

For now, there was no one else capable of producing grenades—so what choice did he have?

"Now!" Gallieni looked up at Charles. "Tell me about your training plan. How do we quickly teach all forty-four divisions on the front lines to use grenades?"

(Chapter End)

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