Truck

In the bustling French port city of Le Havre, Brumanck rose early in the morning, as was his routine, to prepare beans and fodder for the two sturdy horses in his stable. Brumanck was a freight carriage driver by trade, a profession he had taken up after years of driving horse-drawn carriages for others. Through frugal living and some help from relatives, he had managed to buy his own carriage and now made a decent living transporting goods to the wharf and occasionally helping other merchants with their transport needs. His life, though modest, was fulfilling.

Each morning, Brumanck took great care in feeding his horses soy and hay, the animals that were not just his companions but also his livelihood. After seeing to their needs, he would join his family for breakfast. This particular morning, as he watched his wife preparing the meal and his children playing joyfully in the yard, a deep sense of contentment washed over him. He had everything he needed: a thriving business, a loving family, and the time to enjoy a few drinks and conversations with friends each week. Life was good.

After breakfast, Brumanck meticulously checked his carriage before hitching up his horses and heading towards the pier. As he drove, his wife's words from earlier that morning echoed in his mind. It was time for their son Frank to start school, and not just any school, but a good one, which meant substantial fees. "I need to take on more jobs to support the family," Brumanck mused, his mind racing with calculations and plans.

Lost in thought, Brumanck was startled by the loud roar of an engine from behind. He expertly maneuvered his carriage to the side of the road to let the vehicle pass. Cars were still a rarity in Le Havre, owned mostly by the wealthy and the industrialists. Jean Victor, the owner of the dock where Brumanck worked, possessed a Renault that he treated like a prized possession, rarely letting anyone even come close to it.

The vehicle that zoomed past Brumanck, however, was unlike any he had seen before. The front resembled a typical car, but the back was fitted with a cargo compartment much like his own carriage. Intrigued and slightly bewildered, Brumanck shrugged off his curiosity; his priority was earning a living, not pondering the eccentricities of the rich.

Upon arriving at the dock, Brumanck noticed the same strange vehicle parked in the cargo area, drawing a crowd of onlookers. Curious, he joined the crowd and spotted his friend Wilgard among them. He tapped Wilgard on the shoulder and asked, "What's all this about?"

"That," Wilgard replied, nodding towards the vehicle, "is Mr. Jean Victor's latest purchase. It's meant for transporting goods."

Brumanck's eyes widened in disbelief. The cost of such a vehicle for mere transportation seemed exorbitant. He overheard a dock worker named Andrew excitedly telling the crowd, "That's what they call a truck. Brockley drove it here today. When I saw it, I thought Mr. Jean Victor had changed his car, but Brockley told me it's just for hauling goods. And guess what? It only cost the boss 185 pounds!"

The crowd laughed at Andrew's next joke about how even he could afford such a vehicle to impress the ladies, prompting a good-natured ribbing from a fellow worker about Andrew's perennial lack of funds.

As the workday siren blared, the crowd dispersed, but Brumanck was left feeling uneasy. His entire livelihood depended on his carriage and horses. What place would there be for them in a world where such trucks could do the same job more efficiently and cheaply?

Throughout the day, Brumanck couldn't shake his concern. The truck could carry 1.5 times the load of his carriage and at twice the speed. If not for a minor breakdown it suffered, it would have outperformed traditional horse-drawn transport entirely.

At the end of the day, the workers gathered around the truck again, marveling at its capabilities. Brockley, the driver, mentioned a few minor issues like broken glass but overall praised the truck's performance. A quick-witted worker seized the moment to ask Brockley for a favor, promising drinks in exchange for a recommendation to Mr. Jean Victor to become a truck driver.

That evening, a worried Brumanck returned home and shared the day's revelations with his wife. The possibility of losing their source of income weighed heavily on them both. After a moment of thought, Brumanck made a decisive suggestion. "Before the news spreads and the value of carriages plummets, I'll sell ours and buy a truck. We might have to mortgage the house, but it will be worth it."

His wife, distressed at the thought of mortgaging their home, cried, but Brumanck reassured her. "With the truck, I can earn more, and we can afford a better place."

The very next day, Brumanck visited the local Volkswagen dealership. After inquiring about the truck and the terms of purchase, including a week-long training in driving and maintenance, he made a down payment. He then traveled to Rouen, where he managed to sell his carriage and horses at market price, a decision that pained him but was necessary.

Upon returning, he mortgaged their house and, with enough money secured, purchased the Volkswagen truck. His neighbors were astounded by his bold move, but Brumanck was confident in his decision, believing that it was not just a new vehicle he was driving home, but a new future for his family.

In the heart of Germany, Karl Benz and his assistant Ludesmann were deep in discussion over a Volkswagen truck. "This is incredible. How do they make money with such pricing?" Karl Benz mused, his voice tinged with both awe and skepticism.

Ludesmann, puzzled, could only shake his head in confusion. "Ludesmann, this is a mystery known only to God and the crown prince," Benz quipped, his words carrying a rare trace of wit that seldom surfaced in conversations with his assistant.

"We've dissected every truck we've bought," Ludesmann continued, "and based on our production costs, hitting 200 pounds is the absolute limit."

Karl Benz nodded, his mind already racing for solutions. "I've sent people to Romania to investigate. I'm confident we'll soon uncover their methods," he reassured his assistant.

Meanwhile, in Romania, the marketing manager Francisco Francisco relayed some uplifting news to Edel, the crown prince. "Your Highness, our trucks are performing exceptionally well across Europe. The initial batch of 3,000 trucks sold out within a week. Given their superior quality, we now project a demand for 35,000 units across Europe, with a long-term target of 300,000."

Edel, whose plans for Romania's economic future hinged on the success of this venture, felt a wave of relief wash over him. Despite his optimism, the tangible success was crucial for the smooth execution of his strategies.

"Now, we must accelerate production and dominate the European market," Edel instructed Minoba, the general manager of Volkswagen.

Minoba, a figure handpicked by the royal family for his loyalty and proven track record, reassured him promptly. "Do not worry, Your Highness. I've already arranged for the workers to put in extra hours to meet the increased demand."

"Any challenges we should be aware of?" Edel inquired, his tone calm yet filled with the gravity of their ambitious undertakings.

"We've recruited an additional 2,000 workers who are currently undergoing training. They'll soon be ready," Minoba reported. He also mentioned an increase in inquiries about their production processes, suggesting a growing interest or perhaps espionage from competitors.

Edel, confident yet cautious, knew the importance of saturating the market quickly. "The key is to flood Europe with our trucks before anyone else can catch up. If someone else decides to invest heavily, they could carve their own path through sheer financial power. Market saturation is our best defense."

After their meeting, Francisco and Minoba stepped out from the palace, their minds heavy with the weight of their responsibilities. Francisco, visibly frustrated, vented to Minoba, "Our factory's capacity is maxed out, and orders keep pouring in. Those 2,000 new recruits from yesterday, what can they possibly contribute right now?"

Minoba, maintaining his composure, assured him, "They'll be up to speed soon enough." With that, he adjusted his impeccable suit and headed back to the factory.

Back in Constanta, Minoba quickly demonstrated why Edel valued him so highly. The new recruits were each paired with seasoned workers, ensuring a rapid transfer of skills. Regular checks were conducted to monitor their progress, and within days, the new workforce was integrated smoothly into the operations.

At the Volkswagen factory, as the evening shift ended, Sodaval and his friends trudged back to their dormitory, exhausted yet satisfied with the day's work. "At least we're not as worn out as before," Nisidel grumbled, only to be met with a playful retort from Sodaval.

"Come on, Nisidel, you were the one who was all excited about making good money here," Sodaval teased.

"I know, but can't I just vent a little?" Nisidel sighed, then quickly shifted the topic. "Anyway, payday's tomorrow! What are your plans?"

Sodaval listened as Nisidel excitedly outlined his plans to save part of his earnings and spend the rest on a lavish day out in the city, including a visit to the famed Brotner Street, rumored to be lined with charming ladies.

"How do you even know about Brotner Street?" Sodaval asked, half amused, half curious.

"Morse told me during a break. You know how he boasts about his adventures," Nisidel replied with a grin.

Sodaval, not a fan of gossip or braggadocio, changed the subject to his own plans. "I'm sending most of my pay back home. Times are tough, and every little bit helps."

Hearing this, Nisidel offered to treat Sodaval, wanting to ensure his friend also enjoyed their rare day off. After some hesitation, Sodaval agreed, grateful for the gesture.

As night deepened, the two friends drifted to sleep, their dreams filled with hopes for a brighter, more prosperous future, underpinned by the success of their hard work at the Volkswagen factory.