I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 95

Chapter 95: Once Again, Charles Has Fooled Me

Within the city of Antwerp, hundreds of thousands of citizens witnessed the entire battle unfold.

They had thought that this time, Antwerp was doomed. Many even clutched their children, weeping softly, or trembling as they pondered where to hide their children—or whether surrendering might be the only way to save their lives.

However...

Before they could come to a decision, the monstrous object that had been advancing toward them in the sky turned into a fireball and disintegrated in a series of explosions.

The shift was so sudden that many people hadn’t fully comprehended what had happened. They simply stood in stunned silence, staring at the terrifying beast that had fallen before their eyes. Apart from the gasps of shock from the crowd, no one uttered a word.

It was quite a while before someone asked:
“Was it our people who did that?”

Someone quickly responded:

“Of course! Didn’t you see what our planes were firing?”

“Yes, it was trailing smoke—I saw it explode! Even though I don’t know what kind of weapon it was!”

“When did we get such powerful weapons?”

...

The crowd fell silent, glancing at one another in confusion, as no one could identify the weapon used.

Suddenly, someone proposed a possibility:
“Charles is in the city. He invented the tank and the sidecar. Could this weapon also be one of his creations?”

This sparked a realization among the crowd, and they began an enthusiastic discussion:

“You’re right, it must be!”

“Who else but him could invent such a weapon?”

“Good heavens, he’s saved us once again!”

...

The people erupted in applause, many shedding tears of joy. They hugged their children tightly, repeating over and over:

“We’re saved! We’re saved!”

“It was Charles who saved us!”

“When you grow up, you must become someone like Charles. He’s a hero, a role model for everyone!”

...

It was unclear who started it, but the crowd began rhythmically chanting with clenched fists:

“Charles!”

“Charles!”

“Charles!”

...

King Albert I stood atop the observation tower, gazing down at the city. He listened to the cheers rising from below and nodded in satisfaction. Turning to General Gillis, his eyes sparkled with the joy of a victor: “It seems the people of Belgium trust Charles as much as I do, General!”

General Gillis gave an awkward grunt, unsure how to respond. He knew that any rebuttal would sound feeble and unjustifiable—at least for now.

In stark contrast to the high morale of the Belgian military and civilians, the German soldiers were left utterly shaken by this sudden “disaster.”

The airship had flown in from the east, passing over the German positions. When it was shot down, it was directly overhead, allowing the soldiers to witness every detail, including the few “shells” fired by the planes.

Flames rained down like a fiery storm. Some burned out before even reaching the ground, vanishing into thin air. Others crashed down with metallic clanging, some even landing in the soldiers’ trenches, forcing them to scatter in panic.

The German soldiers didn’t even entertain the thought of attempting a rescue.

They knew it was futile. The upper half of the airship had been blasted to smithereens, while the lower half still had remnants intact.

But all that could be seen was fire. Even the aluminum frame was ablaze, sparking and smoking like a raging volcano, turning the battlefield into a scene from hell.

It took some time before a few German soldiers, still shaken, began discussing:

“Did I see that right? Were those shells? Did shells destroy it?”

“Yes, what else could it have been if not artillery?”

“How could they mount cannons on an airplane?”

“Well… you’d have to ask Charles!”

...

Thus, everyone came to know that this was the work of Charles. The name “Charles” burned itself into their minds like molten iron, leaving an indelible mark—etched deep as a nightmare they could not escape.

General von Beseler silently observed the scene. Gradually, his strength gave way, and he slumped against a nearby rock, as though his body could no longer support itself.

Suddenly, another thought struck him: there was still “Big Bertha”! As long as they had “Big Bertha,” there was still hope for victory!

Von Beseler leapt to his feet, staring toward the location of “Big Bertha.” In the next moment, he shouted at the top of his lungs: “Protect ‘Big Bertha’! Planes—the enemy’s planes—”

Von Beseler was quick to react. He managed to maintain his composure and consider a possibility: if the enemy’s planes had mounted cannons capable of destroying airships, could they also destroy “Big Bertha”?

And so, when he saw two biplanes approaching “Big Bertha,” he instantly realized that the battle was far from over.

In fact, “Big Bertha” might have been Charles’ real target all along!

Damn it, Charles had fooled him again!

Von Beseler was filled with regret. Destroying the airship had only been a diversion to draw everyone’s attention away—including his own!

However, not everyone had reacted as swiftly. Most of the others simply stared blankly at the sky, or at von Beseler, unable to make sense of what he was shouting.

Protect it? How?

Why would airplanes attack “Big Bertha”? Weren’t they meant to attack the airship?

...

A few German pilots, however, managed to grasp the situation in time.

As the two biplanes split into different directions, diving toward “Big Bertha” and lining up their sights, a German “Taube” suddenly crossed paths with one of the biplanes, ramming into it.

The more fragile “Taube” was instantly shattered on impact. While the biplane was sturdier, one of its wings was still sheared off. Losing balance, it spiraled downward, crashing with a loud crack before bursting into flames.

Von Beseler shouted in delight, “There’s still one more! One more!”

But in truth, he wasn’t the one commanding the air battle. By now, the battlefield relied entirely on the initiative and instincts of the German pilots. At this stage of the war, no ground unit could possibly direct airborne operations—especially in such critical, fleeting moments.

Another German “Taube” gave chase to the remaining biplane.

The pilot of the biplane, Eric, knew he was in danger but could not evade.

It was a calculated risk. With Eric’s piloting skills, he could easily shake off the pursuer, but doing so would mean losing the one chance to destroy the target.

With this in mind, Eric gritted his teeth, ignoring the “Taube” as he maintained his trajectory.

This approach wouldn’t work for long.

The “Avro” biplane was indeed faster than the “Taube,” but only without the added burden of rockets. With the rockets attached, the increased weight and disrupted aerodynamics made it easy for the “Taube” to close in and ram it.

Eric might not even get the chance to launch his rockets!

He muttered under his breath, “So this is why that kid wanted me to trust the Belgians. He’s thought of everything! But can I trust them…”

Before he could finish his thought, a shadow swept over him, followed by a sharp cracking noise behind him—a Belgian pilot had sacrificed himself, ramming into the enemy to give Eric a clear shot.

Eric didn’t look back. His gaze remained locked on the target as the distance narrowed. With a swift motion, he slammed the trigger for the rockets.

“Whoosh! Whoosh!”

“Whoosh!”

...

The rockets streaked toward the target one after another.

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