I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 109

Chapter 109: Demand Determines the Market

In the operations office, Gallieni signed supply orders rapidly while asking Charles, “So, have you made up your mind?”

“Made up my mind about what?” Charles asked, puzzled. He didn’t recall Gallieni asking him to make any decisions.

After signing a few more documents, Gallieni tossed them aside and strode toward the lounge with a stern expression. Charles wisely followed.

The moment the door closed, Gallieni began to scold him:

“Lieutenant, do you really think it’s your job to oversee the release of those pilots?”

“Do you really think I detained those pilots because of you?”

“Do you think I don’t know they’re innocent?”

Charles was utterly confused. He still couldn’t grasp what Gallieni was getting at.

...

Downstairs in the officers’ mess hall, Carter, seeing Charles called away, grabbed a plate piled high with food and sat down beside Eric.

“Eric!” Carter whispered. “Is it true that you saved Charles?”

“Of course!” Eric answered smugly. “You can’t imagine how dangerous it was. The enemy guards were right on the tail of my plane. If I’d been even a bit slower, they’d have caught us!”

Others quickly gathered around.

“Did the guards open fire?” someone asked.

“Uh... of course they did!” Eric replied, though his tone faltered slightly. “I even heard the sound of machine guns—‘rat-a-tat-tat.’ Bullets were flying right over my head!”

Eric clenched his fist for emphasis. “But I wasn’t about to let Charles get hurt. He’s the savior of France!”

The others eagerly agreed:

“Yes!”
“You did the right thing!”
“Charles even saved Antwerp! Can you imagine the Belgians handing him over to the Germans?”

...

Most of them viewed this as a Belgian issue—a result of internal strife that made Charles an undeserving victim. It naturally painted Belgium as the ungrateful party, biting the hand that fed it.

“They even fired cannons!” Eric’s embellishments grew more dramatic. “Shells were exploding right in front of the plane, smoke everywhere…”

Carter quickly steered the conversation back: “Wait, Eric. I just want to know... since you saved Charles, does that mean we can use our connection with him to secure more military contracts? Long-term and steady work, I mean.”

This idea immediately sparked excitement among the pilots. Even those still eating nearby crowded closer.

“Great idea! That way, we’ll have plenty of work!”
“Charles can definitely make it happen! He just needs to speak to the general!”
“Maybe we’ll even land some big contracts!”

...

Since their survival depended on it, the pilots gazed at Eric with hopeful eyes.

Eric was now in a bind. Only he knew that his tale of “saving Charles” was pure fabrication. In reality, it was Charles who had saved him—by agreeing to purchase his aircraft factory, which was essentially giving him a second lease on life.

And now they expected him to go to Charles with demands?

“Well...” Eric hesitated. “You know, the military isn’t something Charles can control on his own. He’s just a lieutenant...”

“But his rank is different from others!” Carter argued. “He’s the savior of France!”

The others chimed in agreement.

Eric tried to refuse. “That’s all the more reason for him to remain impartial. Asking for favors could put him in a difficult position...”

“It’s just a word!” Carter persisted. “It’s perfectly legal and follows protocol. We’ll make sure to do a good job!”

The other pilots pledged their commitment:

“Yes, we’ll do our best and won’t put Lieutenant Charles in a tough spot!”
“If we mess up, we’ll leave voluntarily!”
“Anyone who slacks off will get a beating and be thrown out!”

...

Back in Gallieni’s lounge.

Seated in a chair, Gallieni looked at Charles with an exasperated “you-should-know-better” expression.

“Pilots, flying clubs, and the aerial artillery you invented in Antwerp... has none of this sparked any thoughts?”

Charles suddenly understood. “You’re suggesting we incorporate these pilots into the military?”

Gallieni gave a slight nod and said thoughtfully:
“Until now, our demands on pilots have been minimal. They were merely used for reconnaissance and transporting urgent messages. An entire army group needed only a handful of them.”

“But now, with rockets mounted on airplanes, we can destroy enemy airships and balloons. We can even bomb their artillery!”

“Do you understand what this means?”

Charles nodded. “The military’s demand for pilots will skyrocket!”

“Exactly!” Gallieni replied. “Additionally, we must anticipate that the enemy will adopt similar tactics to destroy our balloons.”

The Germans weren’t fools. They also had Congreve rockets. It wouldn’t be long before they realized the “cannons” mounted on planes were actually rockets, and they’d copy the idea immediately.

Charles continued, “This will render balloons obsolete on both sides, and reconnaissance will shift entirely to airplanes, further increasing the demand for pilots!”

Gallieni smiled faintly. This young man was finally catching on.

“We currently have 44 divisions, Lieutenant,” Gallieni said. “Each division has its own artillery regiment. Every regiment needs to replace its balloons with airplanes. Do the math—how many pilots do we need?”

At three planes per artillery regiment, that alone required 132 pilots.

Add in specialized units for attacking balloons and bombing enemy artillery, and the number rose to over 300.

This was a conservative estimate. Considering wartime attrition and operational urgency, even 500 pilots might not suffice. And if future developments led to aerial dogfights, thousands would be needed...

“This won’t be easy, General,” Charles said uneasily. “You know as well as I do—these pilots are used to a freewheeling lifestyle. And with the dangers of war, they may not be willing to join the military.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant,” Gallieni said, meeting Charles’ gaze. “That’s why I’m putting you in charge. We can offer certain incentives to the pilots—for example, commissioning them as second lieutenants upon enlistment. After all, they are technical specialists, not ordinary infantry.”

Charles still shook his head. Military rank alone might not entice the pilots.

Gallieni upped the ante. “How about a monthly stipend of 60 francs?”

Charles’ frown eased slightly. That was more appealing.

“And,” Gallieni added, “we also need an airfield. Plus, we’re planning to place an order for one hundred airplanes from your aircraft factory...”

Charles froze in surprise. He hadn’t even acquired the factory yet, and orders were already pouring in?

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