Derek planned to take a taxi back to the town. The ten-kiloter ride would cost around 8 sous, a price he felt was worth it, especially since he anticipated a future where he'd no longer have to worry about such expenses. However, after waiting on the street for a while, no empty taxis showed up. The few that did drive by were all full, carrying French soldiers heavily ard for battle.
"This doesn't look good," Derek muttered, watching the taxis disappear in the sa direction. "It seems like they're using taxis to transport soldiers to the front lines."
Charles nodded. This must be the famous "taxi mobilization" of history, widely celebrated by France as a symbol of military and civilian solidarity in resisting the German invasion.
He hadn't expected to witness it himself, right here in Paris. It looked like they might have to walk back to town since every mode of transport, even horse carts and ox carts, was likely commandeered for moving supplies and troops.
Just then, a taxi packed with French soldiers pulled over not far from them. Charles spotted Major Browning inside and waved, shouting, "Hey, stop! Wait!"
"What's going on, Major?" the driver asked, turning back to Browning.
"We need to pick up those two," Browning replied, waving at Derek and Charles.
"But we're already full!" the driver protested.
"Then get two n out to make room for them!" Browning barked.
Browning's suggestion imdiately drew protests from everyone in the car. The soldiers and driver united against him.
"You can't do that, Major—we're on our way to the battlefield!"
"This is absurd, kicking out soldiers bound for the front to make room for a pair of capitalists!"
"You're a disgrace to your rank, Major, and to every soldier here!"
Indeed, Derek and Charles had a sowhat "bourgeois" look—though more like the remnants of a fading class.
Browning stood by as the soldiers had their say, then calmly countered, "Do you even know who they are?"
This question only riled up the soldiers more, thinking Browning was flaunting the pair's status to trample on their dignity. Their protests turned into a chorus of angry growls.
"Who cares who they are? No one has that right!"
"Are they going to fight in our place? If so, I'll gladly give up my seat!"
"I wouldn't make way for them. But maybe you should get out and give them your seat, Major!"
Two soldiers even started exchanging glances, fists clenched, seemingly looking for an opportunity to toss this insufferable officer out of the car.
But Browning ignored them. With a slight nod, he signaled to Charles, who had co closer.
"You're headed back to Davaz?" he asked.
"Yes," Charles replied.
Derek noticed the cramped taxi and the soldiers' resentful expressions, and he quickly intervened. "It's fine, gentlen. We can wait for the next one. We're not in a rush."
The driver's eyes suddenly lit up as he realized sothing. "Wait—you're Charles from Davaz?"
Browning smirked silently, clearly thinking, Finally, they get it.
Sure enough, the soldiers who'd just been loudly cursing fell silent. The two who had been ready to get physical exchanged a sheepish look. They all stared at Charles for a mont before one of them hesitantly asked, voice trembling, "Are you... the Charles who invented the tank?"
Before Charles could answer, Browning cut in, looking pleased with himself. "Who else could it be? You idiots—he saved France, and you wouldn't even let him ride with you!"
"Tell , then—who deserves these seats more?"
"Hasn't he fought for you? Haven't you saved France the way he has?"
"How absurd! You puff your chests up just because you're heading to the front while he already saved countless lives!" Browning continued his scolding, venting his earlier frustration at their lack of respect.
Not a single soldier dared to interrupt. Then, one by one, they began to offer up their seats.
"My apologies, Charles. Please, take my seat."
"No, no, take mine!"
"Please, sir, sit here! I'll take the next taxi—or walk, if it cos to that!"
Seeing that refusal would be pointless, Derek and Charles accepted the offer and climbed into the car.
As the taxi pulled away, the soldiers who had given up their seats stood at attention and saluted the departing car. Passersby on the street turned their heads, so casting puzzled glances, wondering who these "capitalists" were to warrant such deference from soldiers.
…
"How co you're in Paris, Major Browning?" Charles asked, peering over the packed seats in front.
"I'm here to report to General Gallieni!" Browning replied, twisting around in the passenger seat. "He wants a full briefing on the tank and the battle details." He paused before adding, "All as you instructed, Mr. Charles!"
Only Charles understood the implication—Browning had taken responsibility for the training and command, shielding Charles from the lilight.
This revelation brought renewed shock to the others in the taxi.
The driver, glancing to his side, turned and asked, "Major! Are you the officer who led three hundred n to defeat thousands of Germans?"
Browning, still fuming from earlier, replied coolly, "What do you think?"
The car fell silent. The two soldiers who had gotten into the taxi with them were now thoroughly humbled.
"We're sorry, Major. We... we thought—"
"You thought I was just pandering to capitalists, right?" Browning cut in, voice icy.
The soldiers didn't dare to respond, their silence as good as admission.
"Yes, Mr. Charles is a capitalist," Browning continued, in the authoritative tone of an officer addressing his subordinates. "But you'd do well to rember, he's one of the few willing to give everything for France. He spent a fortune feeding us, invented the tank, and won the fight against the Germans. He saved countless lives!"
"Yes, Major!"
"Understood, Major!"
"If you were my n," Browning grumbled, adjusting his uniform and sinking into his seat, "I'd have you court-martialed!"
"Yes, sir!" the soldiers replied in unison, keeping their heads down. They occasionally glanced at Charles, admiration in their eyes.
The driver, breaking the tension, chuckled. "They'll be envious of ! Here I am, driving both the man who invented the tank and the commander of the Battle of the Marne. This is my lucky day!"
And indeed, his "luck" soon beca well-known. Many would later go out of their way, even offering several tis the usual fare, just to ride in his now-famous cab.
(End of Chapter)
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