Chapter 185: The Tactics of Capitalists

Chapter 185: The Tactics of Capitalists

As winter approached, the weather grew colder, with rain falling almost daily. Before heading home, Charles had to switch into a thicker infantry coat. The French military was particular about their uniforms, issuing two pairs of socks every month. With additional pairs received with each promotion, Charles now had more socks than he could possibly wear. However, he knew this generosity was only because the war had just begun.

A year or two from now, after war had drained France's resources, newly conscripted soldiers would be asked to bring their own boots. Supply shortages on the front would become so severe that fallen soldiers' boots would be salvaged for reuse to prevent troops from trudging through the muddy trenches in worn-out civilian shoes.

When Charles arrived home, Camille immediately noticed the two new gold stripes on his cuffs. Since he'd joined the army, Camille had learned a great deal about military ranks from Deyoka, including how to recognize them.

"And what's this?" she asked, taking his hand and looking up with concern. "Does this mean you're now a major?"

"Yes, Mother!" Charles replied, waving goodbye to Major Laurent and brushing the raindrops off his infantry coat. "Don't worry; it's all thanks to the victory at Lafaux."

A broad smile spread across Camille's face. "Yes, I heard about that battle. Joffre launched dozens of assaults without success, and then you led a single attack and had the enemy surrender in just over an hour!"

Charles gave Deyoka a puzzled look, recalling that Joffre had only launched four attacks in total.

Deyoka shrugged. "Everyone in Davaas believes it, and your mother is firmly convinced as well," he explained. "They say that the newspapers only counted four official assaults with tank support, but many other attempts weren't recorded."

Well, by that logic, it did add up. If they counted probing attacks and reconnaissance missions, the total might indeed reach a dozen. Silently, Charles felt a bit sorry for Joffre—he had no way of helping to clear the General's name.

Breakfast was freshly baked pizza. Camille, placing it on the table, said, "Now that it's colder, we need more energy. Switching to pizza will help us stay warm."

Charles had no complaints but couldn't help questioning the word "switch." Whether it was sausage and bread or apple pastries, it seemed similar to pizza…he'd have to think hard about what the real difference was.

"Francis' tractors are officially for sale now," Deyoka said cautiously, watching Charles's reaction. "They're priced the same as our Holt 75—1200 francs. And they're selling to the military at that price, which is half of what we're charging."

Charles nodded. He was well aware of this maneuver. Schneider was using aggressive pricing tactics to push Charles's tractor out of the military market. And he knew Schneider and the right-wing factions were capitalizing on this moment, spreading unfavorable rumors about him in the press.

Newspapers like Le Figaro, Le Matin, and Le Petit Parisien were running a front-page story: "Charles Profits Immensely Off the War by Selling Outdated Holt 75 Tractors to the Army at Twice the Price of the Holt 120."

Those who understood the situation knew this was misleading. Before Charles, other capitalists had charged four or five times more, or even higher prices, to the military—making Charles seem modest in comparison. But the general public didn't know this; they would simply compare the prices and draw the conclusion that Charles was overcharging, profiting off taxpayers' money, and exploiting the war.

This was the power of capitalists—they could use the media and their influence to present only partial truths, turning white into black or black into white. The public, meanwhile, were just tools in their scheme.

Deyoka didn't want to trouble Camille or Charles with this bad news, hence his cautious tone.

Charles responded calmly, "I know what's happening, Father."

Deyoka glanced towards the kitchen, then lowered his voice. "Word will eventually reach your mother. People in town know—they're just not talking about it…"

Charles nodded.

"So, what do you plan to do?" Deyoka asked with some urgency. "You should release a statement to clarify things. You have The Honor Gazette—it's time to strike back."

"It won't work, Father," Charles interrupted. "The prices are there for everyone to see. Our model is more expensive."

"Then…you're just going to do nothing?" Deyoka asked, bewildered.

Charles remained silent, contemplating his options. He couldn't ignore this attack. His greatest strength lay in the support he had among the public and military. If the capitalists destroyed his public image, he would be no different from any other profiteer.

"I'll handle it," Charles replied as he ate. This wasn't a battle to be won through The Honor Gazette—it would take a different approach.

Deyoka looked resigned. "Alright, then," he said, changing the topic. "Matthew has completed a prototype track, and Captain Estigny has drawn up the plans for the new tank. They're hoping to get your opinion."

"I won't be visiting the factory today," Charles replied coolly. "They need to build confidence on their own and improve through trial and error."

He added, "And let Matthew know he should prepare to study under Eric."

"Study?" Deyoka looked puzzled. "But Eric runs the aircraft factory…"

"We also just hired the auto technicians. They're engine specialists, and I think Matthew would be interested in learning from them," Charles explained.

Deyoka nodded, finally understanding Charles's strategy: The auto engineers would develop aircraft engines, and Matthew would study with them to later upgrade engines for tractors and tanks.

"So, where are you going today?" Deyoka asked.

"Not just me—we're going," Charles replied, surprising him. "I've arranged a meeting with Stede at the hotel."

Deyoka froze. Charles, meeting with Stede? To Deyoka, Stede was a towering figure, the kind of capitalist that was hard to reach even for a brief conversation. But here was Charles, casually arranging a meeting and expecting Stede to wait for him.

It was hard for Deyoka to wrap his head around it. His son had grown into someone who could meet Stede on equal footing.

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