Blair Manor, Armand's estate, was just three kilometers from Paris, and its central location made it an ideal gathering spot for the "Tank Alliance." Unlike past meetings, however, it was Francis who had called this one.
Nicolas, a member reluctant to attend, initially offered the excuse that the tank business had little to do with him. His role was simply to collect his fees and ensure coverage in Le Figaro when necessary; he didn't see the point of a meeting. In truth, Nicolas didn't consider Francis a genuine aristocrat. To him, Francis was simply a tractor dealer, hardly worth his time.
But soon, Grevy himself called Nicolas: "Francis feels it's important for you to be there, Monsieur Nicolas."
"Oh? And what's this big news he has to share?" Nicolas chuckled.
"Who knows? But if he insists…"
"Fine, I'll be there, but I may leave early," Nicolas replied with a tone dripping with contempt for Francis.
By the time Nicolas arrived at the estate, everyone else had gathered. He didn't apologize, only handed his hat and cane to a servant and, without even removing his coat, dropped onto a sofa and said, "Gentlemen, I only have a moment. I'm meeting with Monsieur Abel in an hour."
"We won't waste too much of your time, Monsieur Nicolas," Francis replied with a nod.
Nicolas observed Francis's confident demeanor with some surprise. Usually reserved and deferential, Francis now appeared to be taking command. Glancing toward Armand and Grevy, Nicolas noted that both responded only with slight smiles.
"Here's the situation," Francis began. "I recently learned that Charles has opened a tractor factory right next to his motorcycle plant."
The room fell silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.
Armand passed Nicolas a glass of red wine. "As I understand it, Charles is your grandson, Monsieur Francis. Are you trying to get Monsieur Nicolas to advertise your grandson's new factory?"
Nicolas responded with a mocking smile, yet with an air of servility: "I'd be delighted to help you, Monsieur Francis."
His exaggerated courtesy only drew more laughter from the others. But Francis ignored their jeers, pressing on.
"It's a tractor factory, gentlemen—and not just any tractor, but the advanced 'Holt 75,' with a horsepower of 83 and a top speed of 24 kilometers per hour. My tractor, by comparison, only offers 61 horsepower and a top speed of 15. Does that make anyone think twice?"
Armand continued to sip his wine with an indifferent shrug, while Nicolas's smirk became one of mild resignation. He still assumed Francis was merely advertising Charles's factory.
But Grevy's smile faded.
"So you're saying Charles plans to compete with you?" Grevy asked.
"Not just me. All of us," Francis corrected. "If Charles modifies the 'Holt 75' into a tank, it'll undoubtedly be faster and carry a larger load than our 'Holt 60.' Which model do you think the military would prefer?"
At this, the men began to recognize the gravity of the issue. They realized Francis wasn't speaking of Charles as his grandson, but as a competitor.
Armand paused, shrugging with nonchalance. "So what? We hold the tank patent."
"Yes," Nicolas agreed. "We still have control."
The advantage of the press was that if Charles dared infringe on their patent, they could immediately retaliate with both public outcry and legal action. Even as the inventor, Charles wouldn't be exempt from this.
Grevy remained silent, as if already suspecting the true issue.
Francis simply shook his head, smiling. "You're underestimating Charles. If it were as simple as you think, he wouldn't have built this factory."
"Oh, so tell us what he can do," Armand scoffed, unconcerned. "Do you think we should fear a seventeen-year-old boy?"
Francis almost choked on his response, eyeing Armand incredulously. This fool, he thought, was an elected politician, even the head of a party! Of course, he said none of this aloud, instead leaning back on the sofa, taking a deep breath, and speaking calmly.
"Gentlemen, I have a story for you."
"The German First Army was advancing on Paris and needed only to encircle it from the west. The city would have fallen."
"But I bought food and the machine gun factory, promising General Gallieni I would supply the Fifth French Army for free."
"As a result, the Fifth French Army diverted its retreat, regrouping at Davoz."
"The First German Army, in turn, pursued the French Fifth Army, thereby exposing its flank to Paris…"
Armand interrupted with a smile. "Are you saying you're the savior of Paris?"
"No, Monsieur Armand," Francis replied, sitting up to face him, his tone measured. "Charles is. He was the one who planned it all. I simply carried out his instructions."
The others exchanged stunned glances. They had never heard this account before, and sensed it wasn't just a "story." With Charles as the main character—and Francis as his adversary—Francis would have no reason to glorify him. This "story" was likely the truth.
Grevy, struck by a realization, turned to Francis. "So Charles had a tank ready and waiting at Davoz, planning to ambush the Germans?"
Francis nodded. "Not only that. He trained a team of soldiers to operate the tank and led them to victory over the Germans himself."
The entire room was taken aback. They had always dismissed such rumors as mere tales. Official reports credited Major Browning with training the tank units and leading the troops, while Charles was only acknowledged as the tank's inventor.
Francis added, "I saw it with my own eyes. Major Browning followed Charles's orders. I believe it was the same with the sidecar operation." Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on NovᴇlFɪre.ɴet
"Incredible," Grevy murmured, standing in astonishment. The idea that Charles—a mere seventeen-year-old—had such strategic prowess, foresight, and ingenuity was beyond his expectations. Grevy had known Charles was talented, but this surpassed all his assumptions.
"If Charles is an opponent," Grevy muttered, "then he's a terrifying one."
"That's my point," Francis said. "Now you understand who we're up against."
"Do you still believe he's just a seventeen-year-old boy and nothing to fear?"
Before the others could respond, Francis continued:
"The tank patent means nothing to him, gentlemen. If I'm correct, he'll soon develop a new tank based on the 'Holt 75'—an entirely different model that could bypass all existing patents. Whatever it is, it will undoubtedly surpass our tank."
Grevy nodded slightly. "Then our tank would be obsolete. We might not be able to sell a single unit."
Armand slumped back in his chair, visibly shaken by the implications. Losses would be one thing, but if Charles succeeded, their entire scheme to increase their influence and power within the military would disintegrate.
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