Chapter 329: The Feeling of the Battlefield
Returning to his quarters, Charles immediately set to work sketching the first design for what would become the French Adrian helmet.
The story behind the helmet was somewhat legendary: during a fierce German artillery barrage, a French cook had flipped his metal pot over his head and miraculously survived with only minor injuries, while others around him had been gravely wounded by shrapnel and rocks. General Adrian, upon hearing this story, was inspired to develop a metal helmet for soldiers, hence the name "Adrian helmet" for the French Army's iconic headgear. (The image shows the original Adrian helmet, widely regarded as the ancestor of modern military helmets.)
…
Naturally, Charles planned to hand this new helmet contract over to Steed. After all, Charles barely needed to lift a finger—simply offering ideas, leaving Steed to handle production while he collected half the profits. It was practically as if Steed was working for Charles at this point.
That evening, they met for dinner, not in a conference room but in the opulent dining room of the Ritz, with Dominique in attendance as well. Steed took the head of the table, with Charles and Dominique seated opposite each other. Under the glow of pristine chandeliers, the white tablecloth glistened, and the expansive room was illuminated as brightly as day.
"This dinner is in honor of your triumph, Colonel!" Steed toasted, admiration shining in his eyes as he looked at Charles.
For Steed, Charles's courage was genuinely impressive. He understood that the wealthy and the underprivileged faced starkly different choices. Those with little to lose might go to war seeking fortune or a way out of hardship. The wealthy, however, with all the comfort and security waiting for them, rarely risked it all by choosing the frontlines. Charles, having every reason to stay far from harm, had volunteered for the very place most feared to tread.
Noticing Charles glancing warily at the waitstaff lining the walls, Steed reassured him, "Rest assured, Colonel, every staff member here is on my payroll."
Charles was pleased with the arrangement, though his attention soon shifted to the food: steak, red wine, caviar, and a fruit selection. Charles couldn't help but feel let down by the grand spread—it was still the same fare he'd seen among France's wealthy. The rich loved the finer details, specifying their beef as Australian ribeye, the vintage of the wine, and the exact species of caviar. Yet for Charles, such luxuries seemed exaggerated; he could tell the difference but didn't see the need for all the pomp.
Dominique leaned forward, filling Charles's glass and, with a hint of skepticism, asked, "Is it true what they say? That you fought on the battlefield, rifle in hand?"
"Yes," Charles replied with a nod. "I had no choice. We were critically short on manpower, and without my rifle, we would've been hard-pressed to hold the line."
Steed, raising his glass, offered a toast, "To courage, Colonel!"
But Charles felt differently. Frontline combat had become commonplace as the war dragged on, though less than a year had passed since its start.
Dominique's expression grew complex. Carefully, he asked, "What's it like, Colonel?"
The question caught Charles off guard. At first, he wasn't sure what Dominique meant. Then he realized: Dominique loved firearms, but he would likely never experience a battlefield himself. He'd never have to aim at a living target, much less pull the trigger.
"It's not something you'd enjoy," Charles replied, his face impassive. "If you're close enough, you can see the pain in their eyes as life leaves them. You feel it yourself. You can't help but wonder what it would be like if you were the one shot. You even…"
"Feel like a monster," Dominique finished for him.
"Yes," Charles agreed.
Since returning from the front, Charles felt his outlook shifting. It wasn't about enduring hardship but rather about facing the reality of taking lives, even enemy lives. Having crossed that line changed him in ways he couldn't ignore. He had become deeply aware of life's fragility, and things he might once have found cruel now seemed trivial.
Steed, catching Dominique's thoughtful gaze, gave a knowing smile and said, "People never expected the Colonel to take such a risk, and now they can't find fault in him. Even the politicians can't criticize his bravery."
For Steed, Charles's actions presented an enormous business opportunity. Here was a man who had fought while parliamentarians and capitalists stayed safe behind the lines. Going forward, if the military faced debate over which supplier to trust, Steed knew that Charles's combat experience would be invaluable. He could advertise: Charles has been to the battlefield; he understands war and knows what soldiers need.
After dinner, Charles reached into his bag, pulled out his sketches of the helmet design, and passed them to Steed. "We can begin with a trial run of about ten thousand helmets."
He had set the initial order at ten thousand for a reason. Units were large in this period; a single division comprised two brigades and four regiments, totaling over ten thousand men. By producing just ten thousand helmets, only some soldiers would receive them, allowing for a clear comparison. The soldiers would fight in the same conditions, facing similar artillery barrages. If helmet-wearers had lower casualty rates, the results would speak for themselves.
Initially, Steed had dismissed the design as just another helmet. But as realization dawned on him, his eyes widened, and he looked up at Charles.
"So, if this works, you're saying it could become standard issue for the entire army?"
"Precisely," Charles replied calmly.
Steed's face lit up with excitement. This was a massive business opportunity. The French army numbered in the millions, meaning a demand for millions of helmets. And helmets were consumables; they could be lost, damaged, or rusted on the battlefield, while every new recruit would need one. The total would far exceed a mere million units.
"We'll have to be careful," Charles warned. "If the initial batch isn't popular or doesn't work, you know what that could mean."
"Of course, Colonel!" Steed replied eagerly. "Rest assured, I'll make sure they're done right."
After a brief pause, Steed added thoughtfully, "We should prioritize strength while keeping them as lightweight as possible. High-strength steel would be ideal."
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