I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 91

Chapter 91: Consolidating the Pilots

Major Fischer was the first to notice the issue. He cautiously looked at Charles, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. “Sir, if the rockets are mounted on the vertical struts of a biplane, does that mean... only biplanes can carry them?”

“Yes!” Charles nodded.

Only biplanes had vertical struts. Monoplanes, on the other hand, lacked the space and relied heavily on linen for skinning, which made them prone to being scorched or even ignited by rocket exhaust. For this reason, they were unsuitable for carrying rockets.

This was why Charles felt disappointed upon seeing the "Dove" monoplane in the hangar.

The pilots and Major Fischer’s faces turned grim immediately. They only had two biplanes, and if they counted the one flown by the drunkard Eric, the "Avro," that made just three.

Fischer gradually understood why Charles had insisted on Eric joining the mission.

However, with only three planes equipped with rockets, was it really feasible to both destroy the balloons and eliminate "Big Bertha"?

It wasn’t long before someone voiced doubt.

“Maybe destroying the balloons is a better choice. Without the guidance of the balloons, ‘Big Bertha’ won’t be able to hit its targets!”

“Yes, there’s no real need to destroy ‘Big Bertha.’ We only need to eliminate its ‘eyes’!”

“Besides, the Congreve rockets are highly inaccurate. They might work fine against a large target like a balloon, but hitting ‘Big Bertha’ would be far more difficult!”

...

These words were obviously self-deceiving. The balloons were not "Big Bertha’s" eyes; they were merely an auxiliary tool. Even without the balloons, the artillery could still aim using telescopes and range estimation.

Charles listened quietly without speaking.

Eric, however, could not hold back. He sneered coldly, “Cowards. A bunch of spineless cowards!”

This seemed to sting the Belgian pilots. They glared at Eric in anger and humiliation. One of them even spoke in a warning tone: “Watch your words, Frenchman. Don’t forget that the people you’re calling cowards are the ones resisting the powerful German forces alone!”

“Oh, really?” Eric shot back unceremoniously. “That may apply to others, monsieur, but certainly not to you! All you want is an easy way to destroy a balloon so the king can hand you medals, right?”

He then mimicked an exaggerated, feminine manner, raising his voice shrilly. “Oh wow, we destroyed a balloon and stopped the German bombardment. We’re so amazing! You should reward us…”

Before Eric could finish, one of the pilots lunged at him, but the others quickly held him back.

Eric, undeterred, raised his chin and continued mocking, “What’s the matter? Did I hit a nerve? Admit it, clowns!”

Charles still didn’t intervene.

Eric’s attitude was hardly pleasant, but he was right. These Belgian pilots indeed wanted to earn glory through a relatively simple task and then retreat once the job was done.

From their perspective, it wasn’t wrong. Destroying the German balloons was already a notable accomplishment. Why risk their lives for more?

If they died trying to destroy "Big Bertha," wouldn’t they end up with nothing?

Thus, the true warrior was Eric. He was one of the few willing to attack, piloting a biplane loaded with rockets—a prime target for enemy forces.

Eric could have sided with the other pilots. That way, he wouldn’t need to take such a huge risk, and he’d still have a chance to survive and gain honor.

But Eric chose to fight to the end.

Watching the escalating quarrel, Charles finally spoke in an unhurried tone: “If we don’t destroy ‘Big Bertha’ before nightfall, Fort Wavre may not last until tomorrow.”

“What?”

“That’s impossible!”

“Why?”

...

The crowd stopped arguing and turned their puzzled gazes toward Charles.

Major Fischer questioned him skeptically: “Sir, ‘Big Bertha’ has never launched a night attack before…”

“That was in the past,” Charles replied. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “In the past, daytime visibility was far better than at night. But now?”

Major Fischer suddenly understood. “We’ve used smoke. The Germans can’t see clearly even during the day!”

“Exactly!” Charles concluded. “Since they can’t see clearly during the day, why not attack at night? After all, there’s no difference anymore. Besides, the Germans originally had three ‘Big Bertha’ guns, but now there’s only one left. That means they have surplus shells.”

Major Fischer nodded thoughtfully.

With the ammunition from three guns concentrated on a single cannon, the supply would indeed be ample. Under such circumstances, it was highly likely the Germans would continue their bombardment at night.

Twelve hours could yield 24 shells. If just one hit Fort Wavre, Antwerp would be finished.

Eric chuckled, “I don’t fancy being woken up in the middle of the night by their racket!”

Then, looking around, he added, “So, uh… anyone got any booze?”

No one responded. Some even stared at him in disbelief—how could he still think about drinking at a time like this?

“In other words,” Major Fischer said grimly, glancing at his wristwatch with worry, “we only have just over three hours left!”

Charles coldly added, “And you’re still arguing over whether to destroy ‘Big Bertha.’”

His remark left everyone speechless. The Belgian pilots, in particular, were overwhelmed with shame.

“The fate of Antwerp is in your hands, gentlemen,” Charles said lightly, though his words carried significant weight. “It’s up to you—whether to save the lives of hundreds of thousands, the fate of Belgium, and even your own loved ones.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Only Eric continued rummaging around as if the matter didn’t concern him.

After a while, someone stepped forward and said, “We’ll follow your orders, sir!”

“What are your instructions?”

“We’ll do as you say!”

...

Charles turned his gaze to Eric, who was still fidgeting.

Sensing Charles’s look, Eric sat up and spread his hands. “What are you staring at me for? I’ve been on your side all along!”

Charles smiled. “Uncle Eric, I want to know if you can work with them.”

Eric glanced at the others, his lips curling with disdain. “Work with these cowards? Forget it. I’ll do it myself…”

“Apologies, monsieur!” A Belgian pilot stepped forward to apologize:

“You’re right. We must destroy ‘Big Bertha.’”

“Sir, you’re fighting for Belgium. We should be grateful!”

“You’re very brave. We hope to fight alongside you!”

...

“I’m not buying it!” Eric interrupted their “heartfelt confession.” “You’ll just get me killed!”

The pilots were stunned. This man was impervious to both hard and soft tactics.

Then, one of them had an idea. He stealthily pulled out a flask of liquor and handed it over.

Eric took it, gave it a shake, opened the lid, and sniffed. His expression softened into one of pure contentment as he raised his hand in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. It’s just blowing stuff up… Let’s do it together!”

The pilots exchanged knowing smiles.

Charles watched the scene with satisfaction.

Integrating the pilots into a cohesive unit was a critical first step for the plan to succeed.

His plan required all the pilots to work in close coordination, even at the cost of their lives to protect one another. Without an understanding of the gravity of the situation, or a spirit of unity and self-sacrifice, success would be impossible!

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