Chapter 329: The Feeling of the Battlefield
After returning to his seat, Charles immediately began sketching the French Adrian helmet.
There is an interesting story behind the French helmet: during a fierce German artillery bombardment, a cook placed a metal pot upside down on his head, which resulted in only minor injuries, while many others around him were severely wounded or even killed by shrapnel and stones.
After hearing this story, General Adrian of the French army was deeply inspired and requested that military engineers develop a metal helmet for the troops. This is how the French standard helmet came to be known as the "Adrian Helmet."
...
This order, of course, had to be entrusted to Steed. After all, Charles did not have to do anything but receive half the profits. It was as if Steed were working for Charles, with Charles only needing to provide the ideas.
The meeting took place at dinner time, once again at the Ritz Hotel, though this time not in a meeting room but in the restaurant. Dominique was also present.
Steed sat at the head of the table, while Charles and Dominique sat facing each other in secondary seats. The spotless white tablecloth, the ornate yet not overly complicated crystal chandelier overhead, bathed the large dining room in light, making it seem like broad daylight.
"This is for your triumph, Colonel!" Steed's eyes were full of admiration as he looked at Charles.
He genuinely admired Charles' courage. As a capitalist, he understood the biggest difference between the rich and the poor: poor people live in poverty, feeling like their lives are worthless or hoping to stand out, so going to the battlefield is quite normal for them.
Wealthy people have a good life to look forward to. If they die, everything they worked for loses its meaning.
Charles, though one of the wealthy, voluntarily chose to go to the battlefield, which was something many had not expected.
Seeing Charles look somewhat doubtful about the servants standing at the sides, Steed explained, "Don’t worry, Colonel. Everyone who can walk into this restaurant is one of my people."
Charles was satisfied with Steed's arrangement, but his disappointment grew as he looked at the food on the table—steak, red wine, caviar, and some fruits.
Charles was somewhat let down. The French upper class ate the same things, but theirs were supposedly of higher quality—like Australian rib-eye steak, wine from a specific year, caviar from the sturgeon species Caspian Sea caviar, and so on.
Charles didn’t particularly care about these details. He was not very particular when it came to food. The differences in taste were there, but not to the extent that they needed to be treated as the ultimate standard.
Dominique came around the table and poured a glass of red wine for Charles. With some skepticism, he asked, "Is it true what they say? Did you actually fight with a rifle on the battlefield?"
"Yes," Charles nodded. "I had to. At the time, we were seriously understaffed, and the defense line would have collapsed without my rifle."
Sitting at the head of the table, Steed raised his glass towards Charles and praised, "A brave act, Colonel!"
But Charles didn’t feel that way. By the time of World War I, this had already become a norm, and most had grown used to it, even though it had only been less than a year since the war had started.
Dominique gave Charles a complicated look, then cautiously asked, "How does it feel, Colonel?"
Charles was taken aback. He didn’t understand what Dominique meant by the question.
But soon, he understood.
Dominique liked guns and enjoyed shooting, but he might never get the chance to step onto a battlefield. He could never hold a gun and aim it at a living person, pulling the trigger.
The purpose of guns was for war, to kill the enemy, but Dominique would only ever shoot at targets on a range.
"You won’t like it," Charles answered expressionlessly. "If the distance is close, you can actually see the pain in their eyes when their soul leaves their body. You empathize with them and uncontrollably wonder what it would be like if you were the one getting shot... You might even..."
"Feel cruel," Dominique finished his sentence.
"Yes," Charles replied.
Returning from the battlefield, he felt that his mindset had changed.
It had nothing to do with enduring hardship; it had to do with having killed an enemy. Even though it was an enemy, the difference between having done it and not having done it was significant.
Charles truly understood the fragility of life. Afterward, things he had previously considered cruel now seemed trivial in comparison.
Steed glanced at Dominique, who was lost in thought, and smiled, saying, "People didn’t expect you to do that, Colonel. Now they can’t say anything, not even the lawmakers can pick apart your brave actions!"
Steed saw opportunity, a huge opportunity.
Charles had been to the battlefield, while the lawmakers had not. The capitalists hadn’t either.
In the future, if there was controversy over what equipment to use, for instance, whether to use Charles’ gear or Schneider’s gear, Charles' actions could be used as a marketing gimmick: Charles had been on the battlefield, he understood war better than you, he knew what soldiers needed!
Perhaps this was the real reason Charles had chosen to risk going to the battlefield, Steed thought.
After a satisfying meal, Charles took the helmet sketch out of his bag and handed it to Steed. "We can try producing a batch, about ten thousand helmets!"
Charles had intentionally kept the number at "ten thousand."
At this time, the size of military divisions was large—one division had two brigades, and four regiments, with an average of over ten thousand men, sometimes even up to twenty thousand.
If they produced twenty thousand helmets, everyone would get one, and there would be no way to see the difference between "having" and "not having."
But if there were only ten thousand, it would be clear that only a portion of the troops would be equipped.
The same unit, fighting in the same environment, would likely face the same level of German artillery bombardment. If the soldiers wearing helmets had fewer casualties, it would quickly demonstrate the difference.
When Steed first saw the sketch, he didn’t take it seriously; it was just a helmet, nothing special.
But after thinking for a moment, his eyes widened in surprise. He looked up at Charles and asked, "You mean, if it works, it will become the standard helmet for the troops?"
Charles calmly nodded, "Mm."
Steed's face immediately lit up with joy. This could be a huge business. France had over a million soldiers. If each soldier needed one, that was over a million helmets.
Not to mention, helmets were consumables. They could be lost, damaged, or rust, and with each new batch of recruits, everyone would need one. This demand would far exceed a million helmets.
"We must be careful," Charles reminded. "If the first batch is unpopular or doesn’t work, you know what the consequences will be."
"Of course, Colonel!" Steed nodded quickly. "Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s done properly."
After a few seconds of consideration, Steed gave his direction: "We should aim to reduce the weight as much as possible while ensuring the strength, so we should use high-strength steel!"