Chapter 682: Still Charles's Strategy
Namur Castle, Allied Headquarters.
The moment Gilles stood before Charles, he realized there was no way to keep the Seraing Steelworks for himself.
If he resisted, he had no doubt the steelworks would end up in ruins—blown apart by artillery or bombed to rubble. What he would receive then wouldn't be a steel factory, but a pile of scrap metal.
Still, watching half his shares go for half the price made his heart bleed. Selling 50% of Belgium's largest steelworks at a discount—how was that any different from giving it away?
Yet there was one consolation: Charles was taking over. With him involved, the steelworks would be protected by one of the most powerful figures in the war. Gilles wouldn't have to worry about management, wartime risks, or even the threat of nationalization. All he needed to do now was sit back and collect dividends.
When weighed against that, Gilles realized—there wasn't much left to hesitate about.
He retrieved a folder from his briefcase and handed it respectfully to Charles, though his eyes still betrayed reluctance.
"General," he said, trying to sound composed, "this is our offer. If it's acceptable…"
Charles glanced through the document. The price was listed at 12.5 million U.S. dollars.
It was a massive sum. But Charles knew very well it was more than worth it. Even without having personally toured the steelworks, he was aware of its strategic value.
"Very well," Charles replied smoothly. "I'll have the funds transferred immediately—"
"No, General," King Albert I interrupted gently. "You may want to wait until the situation stabilizes before making that decision. Who knows? The price might go down."
His meaning was obvious: Liège fortress hadn't been captured yet. As long as German artillery remained in range, the steelworks was under threat. If Charles waited, the cost of acquisition might shrink even further.
Gilles shot Albert a nervous glance—trying not to show his discomfort. How generous of His Majesty, spending other people's money so freely.
But Charles shook his head with a polite smile. He had no intention of taking advantage of the moment.
The Seraing Steelworks was too important to the Bernard Group. It would finally break Schneider's grip on the European steel market. No amount of bargaining was worth risking that opportunity.
"I appreciate the thought, Your Majesty," Charles replied. "But this amount is of no consequence to us. I'm happy to reach an agreement with Mr. Gilles as quickly as possible."
He saw Gilles exhale subtly—relief flooding his face.
…
In the town of Lavaz, Dreyoka was discussing a different problem with Stokes: potential industrial patent issues surrounding the new tank cannon.
"Even though our tank gun is quite different from the French 75," Stokes explained, brows furrowed, "it's still a derivative design. The operating mechanism and many of the components are nearly identical—some are just scaled down. I'm worried Schneider might sue."
Dreyoka thought for a moment. "Would you say the mechanism is similar to the British 6-inch field gun?"
"Certainly," Stokes nodded. "There are differences, but they're minor."
Dreyoka tapped the air with one finger, a thoughtful look on his face. "Then we'll say it's based on the 6-inch. We already have samples. We had no reason to copy the French 75 at all."
Stokes blinked—then caught on. The 6-inch cannon had a 152mm caliber, very different from 75mm. On paper, it would seem unrelated. Yet structurally, the tech was close enough.
He smiled slowly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Dreyoka. We based everything on the 6-inch. And we're producing smoothbore barrels. Totally different from the French rifled 75s."
"Exactly," Dreyoka said, grinning. "A different design, a different production line. There's no infringement here."
The two men exchanged knowing looks.
In truth, the new tank gun had been modified so heavily that it barely resembled the original 75. The only thing they really had in common was the caliber—and that wasn't something that could be patented.
Just then, a knock came at the door. A secretary entered and handed Dreyoka a telegram.
"Mr. Dreyoka, General Charles sent word. He's requesting a transfer of $12.5 million to this account for the purchase of 50% of the Seraing Steelworks."
Dreyoka took the telegram without much reaction. He was still relatively new to the business world and didn't grasp the full scope of what Seraing meant. He'd heard of the factory, but it held little meaning for him.
Stokes, however, gasped aloud. "Seraing? Fifty percent for twelve and a half million?"
Dreyoka glanced at him. "Is it worth it?"
"Are you joking?" Stokes looked stunned. "Mr. Dreyoka, that's not just a bargain—it's a strategic coup. You're buying influence over half of Belgium for a song. Even if you had the money, no one would ever sell something like that… unless it was to Charles."
Then it hit him.
Of course—it was Charles making the deal. That explained everything.
Dreyoka arched an eyebrow and joked, "The spoils of victory."
Military triumphs. Political maneuvers. Business expansion. Under Charles's control, all these realms were feeding into each other—amplifying one another like a snowball gaining speed and size.
…
Back in Namur Headquarters, after confirming the funds had been transferred and the contract signed, Charles saw off Albert I and Gilles.
The king looked pleased, triumphant. Gilles, by contrast, left looking devastated.
Charles was very satisfied with the deal.
He understood Albert's intent: retaking Liège was now a strategic necessity. Only then would the steelworks be truly safe. The two were inseparably linked.
But Charles was willing to board that ship.
Liège fortress?
Once the Ardennes were pierced, the German troops stationed in Liège would suddenly feel a chill run down their spines. The frontline would need to shift—toward the mountains.
As Charles reviewed documents on the steelworks, Tijani burst in with a telegram in hand.
"General! The Russians have launched a massive counteroffensive—four army groups, 570,000 men! They broke through two points on the Austro-Hungarian line in just hours and achieved major victories!"
Charles blinked. He glanced at the calendar on his desk. It was only April.
"He's attacking early," Charles murmured.
"Who?" Tijani looked confused.
"Brusilov," Charles replied, frowning. "He was supposed to wait until June."
But then Charles remembered—this probably wasn't Brusilov's decision. Russia was on the verge of collapse. They needed a quick victory to defuse internal unrest.
Given a workable plan, they had likely rushed into action, desperate for results.
"How do you know it's Brusilov?" Tijani asked, eyes widening.
Then he paused, stunned. "You met him, didn't you? This was your plan?"
Charles didn't answer—he didn't need to.
Tijani looked crestfallen.
Just moments ago, he had been excited by the idea of a new general emerging with a new tactical approach.
But now he realized—it was still Charles's strategy all along.
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