I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Inside the trench that served as the command center on the 43rd Division's front line, Captain Claude was engaged in a tense discussion with Tijani under the dim light of a kerosene lamp. Claude was fortunate; when the Germans launched their gas attack, he and his unit had just completed their two-week rotation on the second line of defense.

At this time, the French front line operated on a rotation system, with units assigned to rear positions for drills and rest before gradually rotating forward until spending two weeks on the front line, after which they'd cycle back for recovery. By sheer luck, today was rotation day. Had the Germans attacked just one day later, it would have been Claude's troops on the front line, exposed to the lethal gas.

However, Claude's luck was double-edged. As one of the key figures in the "Christmas Truce" event, he remained stuck at the rank of captain despite his commendable record. Not only that, but the most dangerous missions were invariably assigned to Claude's second company. And this time, due to concerns that the 105th Infantry Regiment might be unfamiliar with the front-line situation, Claude was dispatched to remain on the front line alongside them.

"We can't assume we'll be able to hold this position, General!" Claude argued resolutely. "I know you're from Charles's unit and that you've won in Gallipoli, but this is different—this is poison gas. It's unlike any battle we've seen."

"I know, Captain," Tijani responded, a hint of amusement in his tone. "That's exactly why we're here—to solve the problem."

Claude, pointing at the map, laid out his plan:

"Here's my proposal, General."

"The Germans probably don't have gas protection measures themselves, so they won't advance immediately after releasing the gas."

"So why don't we conceal our forces on the flanks and rear, making the enemy think we've retreated? Then, when the Germans move into our trenches and the gas has dissipated, we launch a counterattack."

Tijani studied the captain with interest. Though low-ranking, Claude had a tactical mind far sharper than many generals who only knew how to charge forward.

At that moment, a shadow entered the dugout, and a voice preceded the figure: "Why are you so sure the Germans don't have protective measures?"

"Because they're advancing cautiously," Claude replied. "They could have pursued us as we fell back but chose not to. They only moved forward about 3.25 kilometers before halting to dig in and build defensive positions."

The French forces had retreated five or six kilometers in terror. The Germans could easily have advanced another two kilometers or more, but they hadn't. The only explanation was that they were wary of the gas themselves, uncertain of its effects, its duration, or if it might even harm their own forces.

Charles gave a thoughtful "hmm," agreeing with the captain's assessment.

As the glow from the kerosene lamp illuminated Charles's face, Claude's eyes widened in astonishment. He stammered, "C-Charles… is it really you?"

Charles looked puzzled. "You know me?"

"Of course, Colonel," Claude said, straightening up, his voice shaky with excitement. "Do you… remember Christmas?"

A flash of recognition crossed Charles's face as he raised a finger in thought. "You were the captain I negotiated with that night?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Claude," he said, reintroducing himself with understanding.

"Apologies for forgetting your name," Charles admitted, unbothered by the oversight. At heart, he was a man from China, where French names didn't come easily.

"No need, Colonel," Claude responded with deep respect.

"But I do remember something you said," Charles continued, smiling at him. "Does it still hold true?"

"Of course, sir, absolutely." Claude nodded firmly.

After their negotiations that night, Claude had said to Charles, "My men and I would be honored to one day fight under your command."

After a brief pause, Claude clarified, "But it wasn't a promise, Colonel; it was more of a wish. Now that it's come true, I consider myself very fortunate."

"No, Captain," Charles replied with a knowing smile. "You shouldn't consider yourself fortunate for being on the battlefield."

Claude said nothing but didn't agree. He firmly believed that serving under Charles was indeed a privilege. His soldiers felt the same way.

Nearby, Tijani exchanged a glance with Claude. He shared that feeling, especially after seeing Charles's military genius in action. He felt he would be lost without Charles's guidance.

"Now," Charles said, turning his gaze to the map, "what's the situation on the front?"

"It's dire, Colonel," Claude said, indicating the map. "To our left, we have the sea, and to our right is the French 45th Division. But I don't think we can rely on them."

Charles asked, "Are they rattled by the gas?"

"You could say that," Claude nodded, then added, "They're an Algerian division."

Charles understood instantly—they were French colonial troops.

From the Algerian troops' perspective, they had little reason to fight to the death in a war that wasn't theirs. France exploited and discriminated against them, and now, in this moment of peril, they'd been thrown into the poisonous fog. It would be more surprising if they were eager to hold the line.

Claude, sensing Charles's thoughts, looked uncomfortable. After all, French and British soldiers fared little better in their courage under similar circumstances, so he couldn't fault the Algerians.

He didn't voice this, however, and continued his analysis: "If our position falls, the 50,000 Canadian and British troops on our right will be surrounded by the Germans, creating an ever-widening gap in our line that could trigger a domino effect."

"So, we really have no option but to hold?" Charles asked.

Claude nodded. "No option but to hold."

They could, technically, retreat another two kilometers, but recovering that ground would cost tens of thousands of lives.

"Your plan has one flaw, Captain," Charles pointed out. "Your idea to counterattack as the Germans settle into our trenches after the gas dissipates is a sound one. But…"

He tapped the front line on the map. "If the wind favors them at that moment, and the Germans use gas for defense, what's your contingency?"

Claude's face fell.

In that case, French forces would have no choice but to charge through the gas.

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