I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 102

Chapter 102: The Ingenuity of Le Petit Journal

After dropping Charles off at home, Laurent drove back to the factory alone, pondering whether to reinforce the defenses near Charles’ house.

Additionally, it was time to expel those anti-capitalist troublemakers from the guard battalion!

If Colonel Durand could be manipulated by capitalists into persecuting Charles, then these elements in the guard battalion could undoubtedly become "instabilities."

Since the general at headquarters had already dropped the pretense, there was no need for the guard battalion to continue pretending either. Keeping these “unstable elements” would always pose a hidden threat; they should be decisively reassigned!

As he was lost in thought, a car suddenly came barreling toward him against the sunlight. Laurent swerved sharply to the side and braked hard, narrowly avoiding a collision. His car stalled in the process. Just as Laurent, now Major Laurent, was about to lose his temper, the other driver beat him to it.

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” the man yelled.

Laurent turned his head, his gaze following the car as it sped away. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the vehicle—it belonged to Pierre Bernard of the Bernard family, Charles’ uncle.

This guy had clearly spent another night partying in Paris and was only now returning home.

Laurent’s thoughts turned to the recruitment quota Charles had recommended two days ago. The matter had slipped his mind while he was confined to quarters, but now it seemed Pierre had conveniently walked straight into trouble.

Laurent raised an eyebrow, retrieved the crank, restarted the car, and merged back onto the road.

Upon arriving at the factory, Laurent immediately called the recruitment office.

“Hello, this is Major Laurent from the city defense headquarters!”

“I need you to investigate someone. I suspect he may have falsified his exemption from conscription.”

“Pierre Bernard from Ravaz Town.”

“You know how it is—troops are in short supply these days, yet cases of draft evasion through falsified documents are becoming more rampant. We need to make an example out of someone!”

“Yes, make it urgent!”

...

Having spent many years in the military, Major Laurent knew how to phrase things to get their attention.

After hanging up the phone, Laurent suddenly reconsidered expelling the anti-capitalist faction within his guard battalion. These men, after all, were longtime subordinates who had sided with him due to his own propaganda. Their loyalty was not in question; they were simply a bit dull.

Reassigning them to other units or sending them to the frontlines would be unfair. Laurent was not that heartless.

They could still be useful. For instance, they could be sent to “protect” Francis’ factory. After all, Francis’ tractor factory, which produced tanks, required close monitoring and special attention.

Laurent lit a cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and muttered to himself: “Everything is under control.”

...

In Ravaz Town, the reporters who had been crowding near Charles’ house suddenly left in frustration. A moment ago, they had been swarming eagerly, but now they disappeared without a trace.

Camille and Djoka were bewildered. Had something happened again?

Charles had made them so jittery that, after everything they’d witnessed, they wouldn’t have doubted him even if he claimed to be from a hundred years in the future.

Before long, they found out why.

The reporters had barely left when neighbors began gathering around Charles’ house.

“Mr. Djoka, I heard that young master Charles saved Antwerp! He’s incredible!”

“Yes! He went to Antwerp all by himself, without even a bodyguard, and defeated the Germans!”

“I heard he was even awarded the Kingdom Crown Medal—the highest honor in Belgium!”

...

Djoka stepped outside and asked in confusion, “How do you know this?”

Someone waved a copy of Le Petit Journal in their hand. “It’s all in the paper! You didn’t know?”

Djoka grabbed the paper and said, “Sorry, may I have one?”

“Of course!” The neighbors eagerly handed over their copies.

“This one’s today’s!”

“And this one’s yesterday’s!”

“This one’s from the day before!”

...

Djoka stared in astonishment at the three newspapers in his hands, each from a different date, collectively detailing Charles’ entire journey to Belgium.

This was the brilliance of Le Petit Journal.

While other media outlets were under government censorship, Le Petit Journal had already begun documenting Charles’ actions in Belgium and printed extra editions daily.

Censorship?

No problem. These editions were stored in their warehouse, not distributed.

For every day of censorship, another day’s edition was added to the pile. Bonnet knew these papers wouldn’t go to waste. At worst, they’d take up a bit of storage space.

Once the military lifted the censorship, Bonnet flooded the market with all the stored editions in one go. Every detail was there, complete with imaginative cartoon illustrations.

Meanwhile, reporters from other newspapers were still lingering outside Charles’ house, frustrated over their inability to secure interviews.

This sudden release was why they left so abruptly. With Le Petit Journal on the shelves, interviews were pointless. Everything was already in the paper—anyone could learn the details by simply buying a copy!

Bonnet became an instant winner in life. Le Petit Journal’s circulation skyrocketed, becoming one of the hottest publications.

The people of France, meanwhile, were ecstatic over Charles’ monumental success in Antwerp. His heroic deeds in Belgium became the talk of every street and alley.

Unlike saving France, this was Charles bringing glory to the nation from abroad. Alone, he had outshone an entire British force of over ten thousand men, who seemed insignificant by comparison. The only credit the British could claim was rescuing Charles from captivity.

The French were swelling with pride, declaring: “Behold, the strength of France!”

But what the newspaper revealed terrified Djoka and Camille.

Djoka read aloud from the paper with difficulty: “Three ‘Big Bertha’ guns—the Germans’ heavy artillery—with a caliber of... 420 millimeters!”

Camille grabbed a tape measure and measured her waist, which came to 581 millimeters.

“My God!” she exclaimed. “The gun barrel is nearly as wide as my waist!”

“No, Camille,” Djoka, more familiar with military matters, corrected her. “420 millimeters is the inner diameter. With the thick gun barrel, it could be about 600 millimeters!”

Camille turned pale. Such enormous artillery was beyond anything she had ever imagined. And yet Charles had destroyed all three of them.

The airships described in the paper were even more astonishing. The report included their approximate dimensions: 144 meters in length, 25 meters in diameter, and a speed of 75.6 kilometers per hour.

“Am I reading this correctly? 144 meters?” Djoka stared at the paper in disbelief. “Did they forget a decimal point?”

Camille, unfamiliar with such measurements, hesitated before asking, “How far is 144 meters?”

Djoka thought for a moment before answering, “About the distance from the town’s entrance to our house.”

Camille froze in place. Then, overcome with both anger and fear, she exclaimed, “They actually sent Charles to face such monsters? Gigantic beasts that can fly!”

To those unfamiliar with military equipment, the relative importance of different weapons didn’t matter. What stood out were their sheer size and terror.

“The important thing is that Charles came back!” Djoka consoled her. “Charles defeated them. He’s upstairs right now!”

Even so, this did not deter Camille from planning to confront the military. She believed it was the only way to prevent something like this from happening again.

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