I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 110

Chapter 110: The Collision Upstairs and Downstairs

Upstairs was Gallieni's lounge, while downstairs housed the officers' mess hall. Though separated by just a wall, the discussions taking place were on entirely different planes.

Upstairs:
"We're critically short of pilots. This current number is far from meeting our needs. In the foreseeable future, we'll require even more."

Downstairs:
"Do you think the military will take us? It's not easy finding a stable, long-term job these days!"

Upstairs:
"If they refuse, we can consider increasing the stipend. If 60 francs isn't enough, we can raise it to 80 francs!"

Downstairs:
"We only need 20 francs a month. After all, that's about what an average worker earns—this would already be a luxury for us!"

Upstairs:
"This requires risking lives; it's not something money alone can buy!"

Downstairs:
"What kind of life-threatening risks could pilots possibly face? All they do is fly around to scout for the enemy. The most dangerous thing they might do is launch rockets at a balloon! Compared to starving on the streets, how could this even be considered dangerous?"

Carter suddenly thought of a brilliant idea. Placing a hand on Eric's shoulder, he spoke in as friendly a tone as possible, "Brother, if Charles could buy my flight club, all our problems would be solved!"

This suggestion immediately garnered widespread approval from the pilots:
"Yes, exactly! Then we wouldn't have to worry about the military assigning us tasks because Charles is one of them!"

"He would definitely look after his own business!"

"If he buys the flight club, we could skip the step of relying on Charles's connections to get assignments. All we'd need is for him to purchase it!"

Eric was dumbfounded as he looked around. Were they getting more and more outrageous? Buying a flight club was no small matter!

...

Charles came downstairs with a troubled expression, wondering if drafting the pilots into the army would earn him a beating.

He even glanced at the guardroom, debating whether to bring Laurent along, but ultimately decided against it. The army's guns couldn't be aimed at its own people, and the guards wouldn't solve this problem.

The moment he stepped into the mess hall, Charles was surrounded by the pilots.

Charles froze, inwardly sensing trouble. Could it be that they had caught wind of his plans?

Reluctantly stepping forward, Eric hesitated before finally asking, "Uh, Lieutenant... They’re hoping you might buy the flight club!"

"What?" Charles was stunned.

This happened to be one of his assigned tasks. As Gallieni had said, the army needed a dedicated airfield.

Carter immediately stepped in, his tone carrying a hint of pleading. "Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I won’t raise the price unreasonably. I invested 200,000 francs in the club, but I’m willing to sell it to you for just 100,000 francs. What do you think?"

"100,000 francs?" Charles was shocked.

Earlier, he had spent some time checking records with Major Fernand, and they both agreed that purchasing a flight club would likely cost 300,000 francs.

The military tended to overestimate prices, especially since they often purchased goods at exorbitant rates from capitalists.

Seeing Charles's astonished expression, Carter quickly amended his offer. "No, Lieutenant! If you’re willing, 80,000 francs will suffice. But on one condition: you must take all the club’s pilots, myself included!"

"You’re saying... buy the club and get the pilots as a bonus?" Charles could hardly believe his ears.

Pilots were exactly what he needed, and he required them in large numbers.

Carter raised his hand in assurance. "Please rest assured, Lieutenant! We’re all experienced pilots—most of us have more than two years of flight experience!"

Considering that airplanes had only been invented 11 years ago, surviving two years of flight experience was no small feat.

The other pilots eagerly chimed in:
"Yes, Lieutenant! We don’t ask for much—20 francs a month would be enough!"

"We won’t cause you any trouble. We’ll strive to do our best!"

"You can even let Carter continue managing us; he’s an excellent manager!"

...

Charles looked at the pilots, swallowed hard, and finally replied, "I’ll buy the flight club—for 100,000 francs!"

Carter was moved to tears, grasping Charles's hands tightly in gratitude, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you so much!"

Charles continued, "And I’ll take all the pilots along with it. Moreover, I want every pilot you know to come work for me!"

The pilots erupted in cheers. Some were so emotional that they cried, finally relieved to have a stable income.

However, this was just the beginning...

Charles added, "I’ll pay you a minimum salary of 60 francs per month, with additional raises based on performance..."

The cheers abruptly stopped. The pilots couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It took them a moment to process:
"Did I hear that right—60 francs a month?"

"That’s three times what we asked for!"

"And there’s a chance for raises?"

...

Charles nodded, confirming their astonished guesses, before emphasizing, "But there’s one condition: I’ll implement military-style management at the club. Eventually, it might transition to military use, and you might become soldiers—pilots in the army. Is that acceptable?"

He was met with a chorus of enthusiastic affirmations:
"No problem!"

"Of course not!"

"My God, 60 francs a month—this is insane. Who would refuse such an offer?"

...

Charles was surprised by the pilots’ reaction.

He realized it was partly because their lives had been so difficult. After enduring the harshness of society, they couldn’t turn down the promise of a 60-franc salary.

Another reason was that they had no idea how dangerous being a pilot could be. They still thought the job was limited to delivering messages or using binoculars to scout.

Was this deception? Charles glanced at the ecstatic pilots, thinking that perhaps for them, being able to survive and continue flying was the most perfect life.

So, this wasn’t deception—it was helping them fulfill their dreams.

"If there’s no issue!" Charles made up his mind. "Then let’s prepare to sign the contracts. I’ll sign you all—every single one!"

The pilots burst into cheers, each stepping forward to shake Charles’s hand, treating him as though he were their savior.

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