I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start Chapter 420 420: The Fuel Crisis

chelen is a moderately-sized town in northern Belgium, with a population of over seventy thousand. Located 22 kiloters from Brussels and just 13 kiloters from Antwerp, it was where Mr. Mignolet ran a small gas station at the town's southwestern entrance. But recently, he'd reluctantly decided to shut down the business.

Ever since the German occupation of Belgium, German cars and motorcycles would arrive at the station, refuel, and then leave without paying a single franc.

"At least they haven't caused us trouble," his wife said with a hint of relief. "I thought they'd loot the whole place."

"You think that's a good thing?" Mignolet replied. "They're just being careful not to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. They're using us as a steady source of fuel!"

Mr. Mignolet, who closely followed international affairs, knew Germany was under a British naval blockade aid at starving them of supplies. But Belgium's rchants, being outside the blockade, were unwittingly helping Germany access vital war resources.

"Incredible," Mignolet muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "In reality, we're funding the Germans' control over Belgium."

"But what can we do?" his wife replied in a frightened tone. "What would we live on if we shut down the business? Starve?"

She hesitated, then added, "Besides, do you really think they'd let us just walk away from this?"

Mignolet fell silent, realizing his wife was right. For now, their cooperation was voluntary, but if they tried to stop, the Germans would force them to continue.

Just as Mignolet found himself in a dilemma, a convoy of tanks rumbled down the road, followed by a long line of vehicles. They slowed as they neared the gas station and then pulled over.

Seeing the large convoy, Mignolet's face went pale. "Dana, looks like the ti has co to kill the goose after all."

His wife and the station employees stared in shock at the line of vehicles. Refueling them all for free would ruin the station.

Just then, the hatch of a tank opened, and a weary-looking captain with a mustache, his face sared with oil, erged. His helt and uniform were unfamiliar to Mignolet.

This must be the Germans' new uniform, Mignolet thought.

The captain called out in French, "Hey, sir! Do you have any gas? Fill us up!"

Mignolet hesitated, glancing at the convoy behind the tank. "I'm sorry, Captain. We don't have that much fuel."

"Just give us whatever you can," the mustached captain urged. "We're in a hurry!"

"Alright, Captain," Mignolet replied, thinking, At least he gave us a choice.

Mignolet subtly signaled to his wife and the employees. "Just give them a little fuel and get them on their way," he whispered.

The employees nodded in understanding and began to roll fuel barrels out to the tanks, setting up hoses and pumps with deliberate slowness.

Mr. Mignolet personally went over to keep an eye on things, worried that his employees might accidentally reveal the truth.

The captain jumped down from the tank, glanced toward the town, and casually asked, "Are there any Germans here?"

"What?" Mignolet asked in surprise. Then, realizing what he'd just heard, he perked up. They had spoken in French. "You're… French?" he asked, almost not believing it.

The employees froze, staring at the strange soldiers before them.

"Do we look German to you?" the captain replied with a faint smile.

The soldiers around him chuckled.

"But…" Mignolet stamred, "how… how did you get here? I an… where are the Germans?"

The captain responded calmly, "That's actually my question for you."

This brought a louder laugh from the soldiers.

One of them answered directly, "We're Charles's n. You've heard of Charles, haven't you?"

"Of course, of course!" Mignolet exclaid, struggling to find his words in his excitent. "Who hasn't heard of Charles? You're really his n? But I didn't even hear gunfire…"

Mignolet looked around, wondering if he'd missed sothing.

"Don't worry," said the captain lightly. "We moved quickly. The Germans are far behind us. Just tell —are there Germans in the town? If so, where?"

"Yes, sir," Mignolet replied, nodding vigorously. "There are two German units in the town. They're stationed in the governnt building and the police station to control everything."

The captain spread a map across the tank and looked over it. "The governnt building and the police station…"

Mignolet pointed to their locations on the map. "Here, and here. There aren't many of them, probably fewer than a hundred."

The captain's face showed mild disappointnt. He turned back and called, "Luca, tell Jero to take his n and clear them out!"

"Yes, Captain."

Two tanks and a squad of armored cars moved past the convoy, heading toward town, loaded with heavily ard French soldiers.

Now Mignolet felt certain they were the French forces—here to liberate Belgium. He quickly turned to his wife and shouted, "Dana, bring out all the fuel—every last bit!"

The captain raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Didn't you just say you were low on fuel?"

"That was for the Germans, sir," Mignolet replied with a grin, unable to contain his excitent.

...

Charles's forces made chelen their staging point, using it to regroup and prepare for the upcoming battle.

The biggest challenge for the armored and chanized divisions was the need for massive amounts of fuel. Tanks alone consud over 200 liters of fuel per 100 kiloters, and by the ti the convoy had reached chelen, their supply was nearly exhausted. Their reserves were still en route, delayed by German attacks on the roads and railways.

Additionally, although the Charles A1 tanks had undergone several upgrades, traveling over 100 kiloters ant they required inspection and repairs before the push to Antwerp. Otherwise, they might not be in fighting shape when they arrived.

However, the fuel crisis was quickly resolved. The people of chelen, upon hearing that Charles's army needed fuel, organized themselves, transporting gasoline from nearby areas and even emptying their personal car tanks for the soldiers.

"Only thirteen kiloters to go," Charles noted as night began to fall, a new idea forming in his mind.

The Germans would assu that the tanks, being unable to fight at night, would wait for dawn to launch an assault.

Perhaps it was ti to give them a little surprise.

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