In the operations office, Gallieni was rapidly signing off supply requests when he glanced up at Charles. "Well, have you made your decision?"
"Decision on what?" Charles was puzzled. As far as he knew, Gallieni hadn't asked him to make any decisions.
After a few more signatures, Gallieni abruptly tossed his papers aside, his face turning stern as he walked towards the lounge. Charles followed, sensing this was no place to ask questions.
Once the door closed behind them, Gallieni let loose:
"Lieutenant, do you think you actually needed to go to the police station to release those pilots?"
"Do you really think I arrested those men purely because of you?"
"Did you actually believe I didn't know they were innocent?"
Charles blinked, still unclear on Gallieni's intent.
Back downstairs, at the officers' mess hall, Carter spotted his chance. Grabbing his refilled plate, he slid in next to Eric.
"Eric!" Carter began quietly, "Did you really save Charles?"
"Of course!" Eric responded, proudly. "You'd never believe how close it was. German guards were right behind my plane—if I'd been even a second slower, they'd have jumped on board…"
Other aviators leaned in eagerly. "Did they shoot at you?" someone asked.
"Uh…of course they did!" Eric stammered slightly. "I even heard machine gun fire—'rat-a-tat-tat'—bullets were whizzing past my head!"
He clenched his fist. "But I wasn't about to let Charles get hurt. He's France's savior!"
The other aviators cheered:
"You did the right thing!"
"Imagine the Belgians almost handing him over to the Germans after he saved Antwerp!"
Most agreed that the Belgians' internal conflicts had made Charles a victim, painting Belgium as an "ungrateful," "treacherous" ally.
Emboldened, Eric's tale grew more dramatic: "And then, they fired a cannon! A shell exploded right in front of us, smoke everywhere…"
Carter quickly steered the conversation. "Wait, Eric. Since you saved Charles, don't you think maybe he could pull some strings…help us get steady contracts with the army?"
The idea was met with a chorus of eager voices:
"Great idea! That'd keep us all busy!"
"Charles could definitely help, just a word to the general!"
"We might even land some big jobs!"
After all, their livelihoods were at stake. Every pilot stared expectantly at Eric.
Eric looked uncomfortable. He knew that he hadn't "saved" Charles in any dramatic sense—flying him back was just part of his job, and there had been no danger. In fact, it was Charles who had thrown him a lifeline by offering to buy his struggling aircraft factory, essentially giving him a second chance. Now they expected him to make demands of Charles?
"Well…you know, it's not really up to Charles alone," Eric muttered, deflecting. "He's just a lieutenant…"
"But he's not like any other lieutenant!" Carter argued. "He's the savior of France!"
The others voiced agreement, and Eric could barely fend off their enthusiasm. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novᴇl(ꜰ)ire.ɴet
In Gallieni's lounge, the general was gazing at Charles with thinly veiled disappointment. "A group of pilots, a flying club, and your new 'airborne artillery' tactic in Antwerp…and you haven't thought of any possibilities?"
Understanding dawned on Charles. "You're suggesting we recruit these pilots into the military?"
Gallieni nodded thoughtfully. "Until recently, we didn't have much need for aviators. They just scouted or carried dispatches, so an entire army group only needed a handful."
"But now, with rockets mounted on planes, they can destroy enemy airships, balloons, even target artillery from above."
"Do you realize what this means?"
Charles quickly caught on. "An immediate surge in demand for pilots!"
"Exactly," Gallieni said. "And we also have to consider the enemy might use similar methods against us."
After all, the Germans could easily obtain Congreve rockets and figure out how to mount them on planes. Soon enough, they'd target French balloons, forcing both sides to rely on airplanes for reconnaissance and thereby increasing the need for pilots even further.
"Our army currently has forty-four divisions, Lieutenant," Gallieni said. "Each division has its own artillery regiment, and each regiment will need to replace their balloons with planes. You do the math—how many pilots do we need?"
Assuming each artillery regiment required three planes, supporting artillery alone would require 132 pilots. And to add squadrons specifically to counter balloons and attack enemy artillery would likely require over 300. Accounting for losses and the urgency of war, even 500 pilots might not be enough. If aerial combat expanded, eventually, thousands of pilots would be necessary.
"This won't be easy, General," Charles said, frowning. "You know these pilots are used to a freewheeling lifestyle. And they all know the dangers of war—many may refuse military enlistment."
"I'm aware, Lieutenant," Gallieni replied, looking squarely at Charles. "That's why I'm assigning this task to you. We could offer certain incentives—say, enlisting as a second lieutenant. They're skilled technicians, after all, not infantry."
Charles shook his head; he doubted the rank alone would tempt most pilots.
Gallieni pressed on. "A 60-franc monthly stipend, then?"
Charles relaxed slightly. "That's a good start."
Gallieni sweetened the deal further: "And there's more. We'll also need an airfield, and I intend to place an order for one hundred planes with your soon-to-be-acquired factory."
Charles was taken aback. He hadn't even finalized the purchase, yet the order was already there.
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