Chapter 716: The Fabian Family
Verdun – Fort Belleville Training Base.
Charles was enjoying a hearty dinner in his office, a local Verdun specialty: boeuf bourguignon, or Burgundy wine-braised beef.
(The image above shows boeuf bourguignon, a dish made by slow-braising beef with red wine, carrots, onions, and other vegetables until the meat is tender and infused with the aroma of wine.)
Charles found it curious. In these days of wartime rationing, acquiring not just beef but even basic vegetables was no easy feat.
And yet, someone in Verdun had managed to get it.
Not only that—they had prepared enough to feed the entire division. From top to bottom, every man in the armored division got a serving.
The beef was delicious, especially the sauce, which was very much to Charles's taste. He didn't even leave a single piece of carrot on the plate.
Just then, Major General Browning came in to report: "General, Mr. Fomorin would like to speak with you."
"Who?" Charles asked, mouth still half-full of beef. It was the first time he'd heard that name.
Browning leaned in and explained quietly, "He's the owner of Fabian Mining, which controls several coal and iron mines primarily located near Mézières."
Charles gave an "oh" and glanced at his now-empty plate. "So this dinner was his doing, I take it?"
"Yes, General," Browning replied.
"Send him in," Charles said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. A servant deftly cleared away the dishes and silverware.
Charles had assumed Mr. Fomorin would be an older man—at least middle-aged.
In this era, it was typically mature, seasoned individuals who ran such enterprises. But to his surprise, the man who walked in was young, barely in his twenties, fair-skinned, with a fashionable pair of pointed mustaches.
"A pleasure to meet you, General!" Fomorin removed his hat and bowed.
Charles stood up and shook his hand. "I should be the one thanking you for dinner, Mr. Fomorin. That was remarkably generous of you."
"No, no, it's the least I could do," Fomorin responded quickly, nodding as he spoke. "You risk your lives to reclaim land for France and restore property to its people. I don't know how to express my gratitude. This was simply a small token of appreciation."
Charles didn't bother to get entangled in pleasantries. He gestured toward the couch and got straight to the point: "So, what do you want?"
He didn't believe in charitable capitalists—not in France, not in wartime. If such capitalists ever existed, they'd already have been driven out.
In these times, competition among capitalists was brutal.
Take for example a philanthropist who gave bread to starving civilians. That act would drive down bread prices and eventually make it impossible for other capitalists to hire workers at low wages.
Such "conscientious" capitalists were promptly ostracized by their peers—just like Charles himself had been.
Only, Charles had now grown into a giant that could no longer be ignored or squeezed out.
This natural antagonism between capitalists and civilians wouldn't begin to shift until a few devastating economic crises taught capitalists not to be so shortsighted.
Sure enough, Fomorin got to his point. "I'd like to cooperate with you, General. I'm willing to offer 30% of the shares in my coal and iron mines. I wonder if you might be interested…"
Charles cut him off. "Sorry, Mr. Fomorin. That's not my department. You've come to the wrong person."
"Of course," Fomorin said, not pushing the issue. He stood up tactfully. "Apologies for the interruption, and once again—thank you."
…
Outside the door, his butler noticed Fomorin's calm demeanor, even a hint of satisfaction, and couldn't help asking, "Sir, General Charles clearly refused our proposal. Yet you don't seem the least bit concerned."
"Of course he refused," Fomorin said with a light smile. "He's a general, a central figure in the military. How could he openly work with us? That would be handing ammunition to his enemies."
"But…" The butler looked confused. "If you knew he'd refuse, why bother?"
Fomorin glanced back toward Charles's office, a knowing look in his eyes. "He already agreed."
"Agreed?" The butler was baffled. Charles hadn't said a single word of acceptance.
"Yes." Fomorin nodded confidently as he stepped into his car. Once his butler joined him, he said, "Didn't you catch what Charles said? 'That's not my department. You've come to the wrong person.'"
The butler's eyes widened. "So... it's not under Charles, it's under the Bernard Group. We should go to Dejoyka?"
"Exactly." Fomorin smiled and leaned toward the driver. "To Paris—Davaus Town!"
…
Charles had indeed agreed.
Coal and iron were critical materials for the Bernard Group—vital to keeping the steel mills running and, by extension, vital to the blood flow of France itself, both in war and peace.
And not just the Bernard Group.
The Saint-Étienne Arms Factory, the FN Manufacturing Plant, the Brest Shipyards—all relied on coal and iron.
Only by owning the raw materials could they avoid being strangled by others. This was a piece of cake handed to Charles on a platter.
The problem? Most of those resources were monopolized by the Wentail family.
By acquiring a stake in the Fabian family's operations, Charles would effectively be taking a stand in a conflict that had so far remained behind the scenes.
And that might have been Fomorin's intention all along. Smart move—using Charles as a protector. It was the only way he could avoid being devoured.
So be it, Charles thought. Let it come. He wouldn't shy away.
After all, the area around Mézières was now the front line.
And if the Wentail family's mines were too big to defend with the troops and equipment they had, Charles was fine with the Germans blowing them up.
During wartime, military power dictated everything. Charles wanted to see just what cards these powerless capitalists thought they were holding.
"General," a communications officer called out from a few meters away, holding up a receiver. "It's General Gallieni on the line."
Charles stood, took the phone, and identified himself.
"Everything going smoothly?" Gallieni asked.
"Yes, General. Everything is under control," Charles replied. "General Foch is currently advancing toward Buzancy. He should arrive in two days."
Buzancy was a critical junction.
Once Foch's forces reached it, they would link up with Tijani's mechanized troops. At that point, the German collapse would be complete.
"Very good," Gallieni said. "If you can spare the time, I believe you should come to Paris."
"Paris?" Charles was surprised.
Though he had no pressing tasks at the moment, things were still unsettled. He believed he should stay in Verdun to oversee the situation.
But Gallieni was insistent. "Yes. Romania has declared war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire."
Charles was stunned. Without any negotiations or assurances, Romania had just declared war?
What gave them the courage to tug at the lion's beard?
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