I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 96

Chapter 96: Knowing When to Quit

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

...

Rockets exploded one after another near "Big Bertha."

From the outside, it was impossible to tell whether they had hit their mark. All that could be seen was "Big Bertha" engulfed in flames and smoke. Several artillerymen were either killed or injured by the blasts, while others caught fire, flailing and screaming in agony as they burned.

Through Charles' binoculars, he couldn't see what was happening. "Big Bertha" was just out of his line of sight.

After a long pause with no follow-up, Charles sighed inwardly. It seemed the attempt had failed after all. Perhaps the rockets couldn't penetrate the thick armor of this monster or, at best, caused some minor damage that could be easily repaired and brought back into action.

Eric, who had carried out the mission, thought the same. Looking back at "Big Bertha," he smacked the cockpit hard and cursed, "Damn it! We need more rockets. Just one more round!"

But he knew there wouldn't be another chance. The Germans were now prepared. Another attack would face not only interception by German pilots but also concentrated fire from Maxim machine guns mounted by German infantry at high points. The dense bullets would prevent him from getting close; otherwise, he'd be shredded to pieces.

"Boom!"

A sudden, thunderous explosion roared from behind. Eric turned again to see that the area where "Big Bertha" had been was now a massive plume of smoke.

Eric immediately understood what had happened and burst into laughter:

"It's their shells! 'Big Bertha's' own ammunition! I set off its shells!"

"Haha, little guy! Luck is really on our side!"

"I actually took it down—and lived to tell the tale!"

...

Everyone knew what had happened. They were all too familiar with that kind of explosion—massive, muffled, and followed by a thunderous echo.

Antwerp had trembled under that sound for more than ten days. No one had expected "Big Bertha" to meet its end by its own ammunition.

General von Beseler's face turned pale. Moments ago, he had been relieved that there might still be a chance to salvage the situation. But in the blink of an eye, "Big Bertha" was reduced to rubble.

The dust and smoke hadn't cleared yet, but the once-proud barrel of "Big Bertha," which had towered high, now drooped lifelessly toward the ground.

A cheer erupted across Antwerp. Thrilled, people waved to the planes in the sky, their faces brimming with joy and reverence.

Eric deliberately lowered his aircraft as it skimmed over the heads of the crowd, eliciting excited screams and cheers. Some even ran after the plane.

King Albert I glanced at General Gillis and said, "General, it seems we no longer need to execute your ambush plan. What do you think?"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" General Gillis bowed his head in response.

This should have relieved General Gillis—after all, the target had been destroyed, and Antwerp was now safe. Yet he still felt immense pressure as he answered.

Gillis suspected that what King Albert I truly wanted to say was: Are you really fit to command this fortress? Should we replace you?

Albert I said nothing more. He put away his binoculars and descended from the observation tower. He wished to maintain an air of elegance and composure befitting a king.

However, after taking one step down, Albert I couldn't resist breaking into a run. Before long, he was sprinting. He couldn't wait to shake Charles' hand and tell him that victory was theirs—he had saved the Belgian people once again!

Behind Albert I, General Winter whispered to General Gillis, "General, it seems we no longer need to hand Charles over to the Germans."

"Indeed," General Gillis replied awkwardly. "Of course not!"

...

Eric's plane landed smoothly on the runway. As soon as he stepped out of the aircraft, he was hoisted up by the cheering crowd and tossed into the air repeatedly.

Another biplane and a "Dove" aircraft landed shortly after. Fischer and another pilot disembarked and were met with the same hero's welcome.

However, the entire squadron was now down to just a few men. Of the eight planes that had set out, only three had returned.

The fallen pilots had perished in tragic yet heroic ways. But the crowd preferred to ignore that.

Seeing Charles approach, escorted by guards, Eric raised his head and asked, "How did I do, sir?"

"Not bad," Charles replied. "How about a bottle of wine as a reward?"

The surrounding crowd erupted into laughter.

The sound of galloping hooves approached rapidly. The king's carriage sped through the gates of the airfield before slowing and coming to a stop in front of the crowd.

The soldiers quickly formed ranks. Albert I leapt excitedly from the carriage. He froze momentarily upon seeing the formation, then swiftly composed himself, straightened his posture, and adopted a dignified demeanor. He shook hands with the soldiers as he walked, offering praise:

"You are the heroes of Belgium!"

"Well done. I am proud of you!"

"On behalf of Belgium, I thank you!"

...

When Albert I reached Charles, his expression softened. "May I have a word with you, Lieutenant?"

"Of course," Charles replied.

Instead of returning to the office, the two walked to the side of the airfield. The area was vast and open; with guards keeping others at a distance, no one could overhear their conversation.

"I know this is impossible, but..." Albert I hesitated before finally speaking, "Can you help me command Belgium's army? I believe Parliament would agree, and so would the Belgian people."

"Your Majesty..." Charles was stunned.

"I know, Charles!" Albert I smiled faintly. "You're French. This would be difficult for you. But I will do everything I can to give you whatever you want."

Albert I believed that even the slimmest possibility was worth trying.

"Perhaps you can think of it this way," Albert I continued. "France is winning the war, but Belgium remains in danger. France can do without you, but Belgium cannot. The Belgian people cannot. Belgium with you would be safe!"

"No, Your Majesty, I cannot do this," Charles firmly refused.

If Belgium were a country where Albert I could make all the decisions, Charles might have agreed. After all, "I will do everything I can to give you whatever you want" was a tempting offer.

But that wasn't the case. The true power over national affairs lay with a Parliament controlled by capitalists.

That meant Belgium was not safe for Charles. There was always a danger: if handing Charles over to Germany could prevent an attack on Belgium, it would be done.

This wasn't a matter of morality or justice but a matter of national interest—a conflict that could not be resolved.

Capitalists were the same everywhere. If Charles stayed in Belgium, this conflict would eventually come to a head.

A wise man knows when to quit. Charles had no desire to live in constant fear—it was meaningless!

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