When Cobb arrived to report for duty, Charles and Lieutenant Colonel Fernand were just heading to the officers' ss hall for lunch. Cobb's arrival surprised Charles—he had only called Cobb at around ten, and it was just noon. Cobb had clearly co directly to the city defense headquarters without delay.
Introducing him to the others, Charles said, "This is Cobb, our editor-in-chief I ntioned."
A chorus of "Wow!" greeted Cobb, as several officers stepped forward to shake his hand.
"Mr. Editor-in-Chief, does this an we're finally going to have our own newspaper?"
"Can I sign up for an interview first? Make the first story!"
"Get in line, Cotter! It doesn't work that way!"
The enthusiasm helped ease Cobb's nerves.
"Co along, Cobb!" Charles didn't bother with small talk as he led him to the dining hall. "This will be your dining hall from now on, so take a mont to get familiar with it."
Charles handed Cobb a tray. "Help yourself to whatever you like."
Cobb hesitated, eyeing the other officers in uniform around him. "Can I… can I really?"
"Of course!" Charles helped himself to so stew and mashed potatoes, replying, "You're already listed as a second lieutenant in our records. You just haven't received your commission order or uniform yet."
Cobb quickly followed suit. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor!"
Charles grabbed a cup of coffee and took a sip, waiting while Cobb, a little timidly, put two steaks on his plate. He glanced around before deciding against taking a third, although he clearly wanted it.
Charles chuckled. Cobb would soon grow accustod to the food here—plenty of chances awaited.
As they sat down, Charles steered the conversation to work. "We'll need so printing presses. Do you know where we can buy them?"
"Yes, sir!" Cobb said, sitting across from Charles at a small table. "Schneider sells them—the 'Triumph' offset press."
He added, "German-made, roughly two thousand francs each."
Charles smirked at the thought of acquiring German presses from Schneider for the military gazette. Quite ironic.
"We'll need about ten," Charles said as he ate. "Our imdiate priority is to instruct the troops on how to use grenades properly."
"Grenades?" Cobb looked up. "Those hand-thrown bombs used during the assault on Lafouques?"
"Yes!" Charles was a bit surprised by Cobb's awareness; many were still unfamiliar with grenades.
"We need to make sure the entire army knows how to use them," Charles explained. "Unfortunately, many soldiers don't know how, which has led to a series of accidents. Publishing proper instructions will be the gazette's first mission."
Cobb nodded, focusing on his work as he cut his steak thoughtfully. "If that's the case, then ten presses might not be enough."
"What do you an?"
Cobb explained with confidence. "Each press can print a maximum of 8,000 copies per hour. With ten presses running non-stop, we'd only get 80,000 copies in an hour, not accounting for machine malfunctions or paper jams. Plus, we'll likely have only two to three hours for printing."
Charles realized the tiline: journalists would spend the day gathering information, writing articles, and setting up layouts. Only then could they start printing. For copies to be delivered by dawn, ten presses simply wouldn't cut it.
"If we're including copies for the public, we'll need at least 300,000 copies," Cobb continued. "About 200,000 for frontline soldiers and another 100,000 for the public. We can adjust as demand changes."
"Then we'll need twenty presses," Charles replied. "Would that suffice?"
Cobb shook his head. "At least fifty presses, to be prepared."
"Prepared for what?" Charles asked, puzzled.
Cobb paused and looked Charles in the eye, resolute. "If demand surges and Schneider has control over the presses…"
Charles instantly understood—if they relied on Schneider, the price could skyrocket, especially if it followed the military's usual procurent practices.
"Alright, fifty it is!" Charles glanced over Cobb's civilian clothes. "This will be your responsibility, Mr. Cobb. Since you haven't formally received your commission, you can purchase these as a private individual. Find a suitable location for the newspaper's headquarters as well."
"Yes, sir!"
"You can get an advance from Mr. Deyoka in Davas Town," Charles added. "I've arranged it with him."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you drive?" Charles asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Good!" Charles raised an eyebrow. "After you get the funds, buy a car. It'll make your job much easier."
Cobb was stunned. His own car? This was a luxury few workers could afford even after years of saving. Recovering, he thanked Charles profusely. Following Charles was already proving to be the right decision; he had indeed reached a turning point in his life.
...
After Cobb left, Charles casually went upstairs. He found Gallieni reclining in his chair, resting with his eyes closed.
"General, we've made so progress on the military gazette. We just need a na."
Gallieni yawned and opened his eyes, responding in a sleepy tone, "A na, huh? How about… the French Military Gazette?"
He quickly dismissed it as sounding too official, fearing it would feel distant to ordinary soldiers.
"The Frontline Gazette?"
He shook his head again. While fitting, the word "frontline" might make soldiers shiver just hearing it.
After so thought, Gallieni said, "Let's call it The Honor Gazette."
He felt this na was ideal; it would feature people and events that had made significant contributions on the battlefield, motivating the troops to persevere.
Charles, indifferent to the na itself, casually added, "We'll need fifty printing presses, each at four thousand francs."
"Take note of it," Gallieni replied. "We'll settle the expenses once governnt funds are allocated."
"Yes, General."
Of course, this "settlent" would likely be entirely funded by the military.
Charles, in reality, was simply making gains with minimal investnt. Beyond a few favors to Cobb, he was securing ownership and influence at low cost—a move with everything to gain.
Why not?
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