I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 75

Chapter 75: The Antwerp Fortress

In the lounge beside the airfield, Grevy and Armand sat across from each other at a table.

They sipped coffee leisurely while watching the airfield, where an Avro two-seater aircraft was taxiing along the runway before taking off into the sky.

“Brilliant idea!” Armand raised his coffee and slightly tilted it toward Grevy across the table. “We finally sent him somewhere dangerous!”

Grevy’s eyes still carried a hint of reluctance. Watching the plane disappear further and further into the horizon until it vanished from sight, he sighed softly. If only Charles had agreed to join the right wing. With him, the right wing would have completely overpowered the left wing and achieved ultimate victory!

Charles had many ideas that could drive anyone to madness with jealousy—innovations so groundbreaking that even the capitalists of the left wing couldn’t match them.

But if they couldn’t have him, they had to destroy him.

Because the ideas in his mind had the potential to spell the end of the entire right wing.

“One question!” Armand asked. “Why didn’t we just orchestrate an accident or traffic mishap, like sabotaging the plane? Why go through so much trouble to actually send him to the Antwerp Fortress?”

“That would draw suspicion to us, Armand!” Grevy replied coldly. “Everyone knows we have conflicts of interest with him. The left wing is watching us, and so is the military. They’re just waiting for us to make a mistake so they can use it as an excuse to expel us from the Chamber of Deputies!”

Armand showed a trace of confusion and gestured toward where the plane had disappeared. “What difference does it make now?”

“There’s a huge difference!” Grevy gently stirred his coffee with a spoon, a flicker of pain in his eyes. “Now, it’s Gallieni who sent him to save the Antwerp Fortress from peril. He’ll be a hero who died bravely in Antwerp. Do you think they’ll report it that way—or will they imply Charles’s death might have been connected to the right wing?”

Armand understood. This was about the war.

It was like everyone knew of Joffre’s incompetence, yet no one was willing to remove him from his position as Commander-in-Chief.

The only notable thing Joffre had done during the entire war was eat and sleep on time. Even this was exaggerated in the media as “Joffre’s composure is France’s tranquilizer.”

He had been crafted into a hero, a symbol, a myth. A significant portion of the French people and military relied on him as a spiritual anchor in their fight against the Germans.

If Joffre’s myth were shattered, that anchor would collapse. It could spark a disaster, potentially leading to a chain reaction that would result in internal unrest.

Similarly, Charles had become the hope and spiritual pillar for many.

If Charles were to fall in Antwerp, the story could be spun into a narrative of heroic bravery—something that would at least inspire the French people and military to take to the battlefield and channel their anger at the Germans. Revealing the truth, however, might provoke chaos instead.

Armand nodded slightly. Usually irreverent, he unconsciously shed his grin at this moment. He realized the gap between himself and Grevy—and recognized just how terrifying Grevy could be.

Taking a sip of coffee, Armand stole a glance at Grevy. The latter was staring at the table, lost in thought.

If there ever came a day when internal conflicts between them had to be resolved, Armand knew he wouldn’t be a match for Grevy. He might very well meet his end at Grevy’s hands.

But fortunately, the right wing had no hope of victory. So, for now, he didn’t have to worry about that.

With this thought, Armand’s smile returned.

...

On the biplane, Charles, wearing a flight cap and goggles, was surrounded by the roaring of the engine and the whistling of the wind.

This type of plane had an open cockpit, with everything above the shoulders exposed to the elements, enduring the brunt of the oncoming wind. If the plane’s speed weren’t barely over 100 kilometers per hour, Charles believed his nose might have been blown off.

Before long, Charles saw a tall, round-tipped balloon emerge from the clouds in the distance. It was massive, like an alien spacecraft, lazily floating in the air like a sleepy giant struggling to turn over.

At first, Charles thought it was a French balloon. But when he spotted the German insignia on its side, he couldn’t help but cry out, “A German balloon! That’s an enemy balloon!”

“What?” The pilot didn’t catch his words.

“Enemy! That’s the enemy!” Charles frantically pointed in the balloon’s direction, thinking the pilot might have been drunk and couldn’t distinguish friend from foe, as they were clearly heading toward it.

But the pilot replied calmly, “Yes, so what? Want to take a closer look?”

Suddenly, Charles remembered something: in the early stages of the war, aerial forces on both sides were almost incapable of offensive actions. Planes and balloons were mostly used for reconnaissance. Encounters between aircraft often ended with pilots waving to each other in greeting.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, a German plane passed overhead. Though the two pilots didn’t exchange waves as in the stories, nothing happened either, much like two cars passing each other on a highway.

“Relax, Lieutenant!” The pilot shouted back. “If there’s one place that’s safe, it’s up here. No one can touch you—not even the enemy below!”

Following the pilot’s gaze, Charles looked down and was shocked to see they were flying over a battlefield.

Below, explosions sent mushroom-shaped plumes of smoke rising into the air. The sound of artillery fire was muffled by the engine and wind, barely audible. Soldiers charged forward like swarms of ants, forming absurd-looking lines as they fought over mounds of dirt. The entire battlefield was shrouded in gray, though it was unclear whether it was from the air or the ground.

Charles sensed something was off. He asked the pilot, “Where are we headed? To the Antwerp Fortress?”

“Of course!” The pilot shot back. “Where else?”

“Is Antwerp in enemy territory?” Charles pressed.

“It’s not in enemy territory!” The pilot replied. “It’s in northern Belgium, near the coast!”

If not for the fierce wind, Charles would have pulled out a map to check. Instead, he could only picture it in his mind:

Northern Belgium. The Germans had broken through Belgium, which meant Antwerp was likely surrounded by German forces. That fortress must be encircled!

And he was supposed to infiltrate the enemy’s encirclement to conduct his investigation?

The only fortunate detail was what the pilot had mentioned earlier: Antwerp was “near the coast.” This suggested the fortress wasn’t completely cut off by the Germans.

Because Charles knew the sea belonged to the British, with the German navy effectively blockaded.

Maybe it was because of the plane, Charles thought. People of this era seemed to consider planes inherently safe—Gallieni included, which was likely why he’d assigned him this mission.

What Charles didn’t realize was that this mission had nothing to do with Gallieni at all.

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