The dinner table was filled with laughter and conversation. Shire and Eliza occasionally talked about their teachers and classmates, creating a relaxed and joyful atmosphere.
After the meal, Shire gentlemanly saw Eliza and Aunt Lina to the car and instructed Lauren to send them home.
Western social relationships are not complicated, always revolving around the same set of patterns, and have become quite formalized.
However, this might be limited to commoners. Shire’s social circle wasn’t broad, but he’d heard that upper-class relationships could be so complex as to make everyone indistinguishable from each other, resembling a "mass carnival."
Back in the room, Camille hastily put down the plate and walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands while asking Shire with eyes full of anticipation, "What did you think?"
"What do you mean?" Shire feigned ignorance.
"Come on, you’re already eighteen," Camille said, "It’s time to find a girlfriend. Yet you’re always in the military camp, busy saving the world..."
Shire rolled his eyes. "Saving the world" is a pejorative term in modern times.
However, it seemed Shire was indeed "saving the world."
"Eliza is a good girl," Camille pulled Shire to sit at the dinner table. "She joined the communications corps, so she’s essentially a member of the military. She’s also fighting for France."
"Communications corps?" This was the first Shire had heard of this unit.
"Yes," Camille answered, though she wasn’t quite sure and instinctively looked toward Dejoka.
Dejoka chimed in, "It started forming three months ago. The military began hiring women for communication tasks, mainly riding motorcycles to deliver messages or documents to the military, generally operating in safe areas at the rear."
This was due to a lack of manpower. In the future, workers would be replaced by women, including farm labor and manufacturing weapons and ammunition in factories. Even police officers and politicians were included—essentially men would go to the front lines, and women would handle the jobs at the rear.
This also created an opportunity for women to elevate their social status.
(The picture shows female activists in Britain during World War I)
Camille leaned in closer, continuing to urge, "She’s also your admirer, Shire. Her father is a serving major, I think she and you would have a lot in common..."
"Mother," Shire interrupted Camille, "We’re not a good match. She seems too young."
Camille looked at Shire in shock, "But she’s your classmate, Shire, you’re the same age!"
Dejoka nodded slightly, understanding.
This wasn’t about age. Shire’s cognition had far exceeded that of an eighteen-year-old, and his peers’ conversations likely seemed childish to him.
Dejoka commented, "What Shire likely needs is a girlfriend who can discuss war, inventions, or making money with him."
Camille turned and glared at Dejoka, "Do you think there’s such a woman? Someone as exceptional as Shire?"
Dejoka replied, "I’m not sure, but I think it’s at least not someone like Eliza."
Camille became angry, her voice containing a hint of fury, "Then please tell me, what kind should it be?"
"I’ve already said," Dejoka spread his hands, "It requires fate, Camille. I believe there is such a person..."
Shire took the opportunity to stand up, "Let me know once you’ve finished discussing. I’m a bit tired."
With that, he ran upstairs to his room, escaping the scene and leaving Camille and Dejoka staring at each other in the living room.
It had been a long time since Shire woke up naturally in his own room. He lifted the quilt, got up, stretched lazily, and saw that the sun was already high in the sky. Suddenly, he remembered today’s plan and cursed, "Damn, overslept!"
He hurriedly put on his uniform, went downstairs, grabbed a piece of bread from the dining table, and rushed out the door.
Camille seemed to be preparing lunch. She chased after him and called out to Shire’s back, "Where are you going, Shire?"
"Tractor factory!" Shire answered, waving his hand without looking back.
It was only a few hundred meters away, so Shire didn’t bother calling Lauren to pick him up; he chose to walk, or rather, jog.
Neighbors enthusiastically waved at Shire along the way.
Aunt Elisa called out, "Want a croissant, Shire?"
"No thanks," Shire waved the bread in his hand, "Thanks, Aunt Elisa."
Granny Kara poked her head out of the pizza shop, yelling to Shire, "Slow down, kiddo, which country is waiting for you to save them?"
Unable to speak with bread in his mouth, Shire could only turn halfway to wave in greeting.
Several guards chased after him from both sides, initially just two, but soon more and more joined, holding their rifles like they were heading to battle.
A concerned captain approached nervously, "What happened, Brigadier? Do I need to inform others?"
"No, it’s fine," Shire said helplessly, feeling like he was constantly being watched, "Return to your posts."
"Yes, Brigadier." The guards stopped and dispersed under the captain’s command.
Ten minutes later, Shire burst into Dejoka’s office, asking, "Father, where did you put the ’Saint Chamond’?"
"’Saint Chamond’?" Dejoka recalled, "In the warehouse, it was stored there after arriving from Paris."
It had arrived via railway, the tracks connecting directly to the warehouse of the tractor factory.
Shire checked his pocket watch; it was past eleven. He had over four hours before he had to report back to his camp, but he needed to hurry.
"Who’s in charge of the tractor factory research now, Father?" Shire asked.
"It’s always been Joseph," Dejoka replied, puzzled, "Why do you ask?"
Matthew’s father, he didn’t understand the equipment, he’s only responsible for coordination and logistics.
"And the design?" Shire asked again.
"Matthew," Dejoka answered, "He and Colonel Estiny often discussed the designs together. They’re considering designing a new type of tank."
Estiny and Matthew were a perfect match, the former focused more on military tactics and battlefield experience while the latter focused on mechanical manufacturing and realization. Thus, the new tank design was taking shape.
But at this moment, Shire wasn’t concerned about that.
"Call Matthew here," Shire said, "I’ll be waiting for him at the warehouse."
In warehouse number three of the tractor factory, the indoor lighting was dim because the windows were sealed shut for confidentiality.
The lights turned on, illuminating three ’Saint Chamond’ tanks. Shire approached, circling one of them twice, occasionally measuring with his hands.
Then, hesitant footsteps echoed from behind, and Matthew stood at the door, smiling at Shire, "Long time no see. Look at you, you’re already a brigadier general."
"How’s everything with you?" Shire sized up Matthew. He had grown a beard, making him look more mature. His cheeks were thinner, but his eyes shone brightly.
Matthew gestured with his hands and laughed heartily, "Can’t you tell?"
Saying that, Matthew pulled a chair, sitting sideways and turning his gaze to the ’Saint Chamond.’ "Tell me, how do you plan to modify it?"