As Carter had described, the pilots spent their days patrolling the skies or shooting down enemy observation balloons—an act that felt more like setting off fireworks. They'd press the firing button and watch as bright bursts exploded in the air. Patrolling was almost leisurely since they held complete air supremacy; enemy planes would flee at the sight of them, like chickens scattering from an eagle.
Charles, however, calmly reminded him, "One day, Lieutenant, you'll face enemy planes armed with machine guns."
Carter looked startled. "Have you heard something? Do the Germans know the secret of the 'machine gun synchronizer'?"
"No, Carter," Charles replied, shaking his head. Then he asked, "Have there been any accidents with our aircraft lately?"
"Of course," Carter answered. "Seventeen major incidents during operations, with eleven pilots injured or killed. It's unavoidable in this line of work…"
He trailed off, realizing what Charles was getting at.
He looked at Charles, then glanced uneasily at the neatly lined-up machine gun planes in the hangar. "You're right, Lieutenant. These planes often operate over enemy territory, and if they crash or make a forced landing due to a malfunction, it's only a matter of time before the Germans discover the secret of the synchronizer."
"Exactly," Charles replied, his gaze fixed on the planes. "All the security measures we've implemented will only delay that day, not prevent it—unless we keep them grounded."
They had already taken extensive precautions, ordered by Gallieni himself. Guards patrolled the airfield, and the planes were closely guarded. No one, not even the pilots, could access them without clearance—violators would be shot on sight.
This was to prevent the possibility of pilots being bribed by German spies to defect with one of the planes. Thus, every pilot flying with machine gun-equipped planes, including Carter, had undergone rigorous background checks. Those who didn't pass the screening were reassigned to fly rocket-equipped planes or reconnaissance models, which posed no risk of revealing secrets. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ ɴoᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt
Finally, Charles asked, "Now do you know what you should prepare for?"
Carter stood up straight and replied, "Understood, Lieutenant. I'll start organizing aerial combat training for our pilots!"
Charles nodded. That was exactly what he wanted. When the Germans inevitably caught up and managed to equip their planes with machine guns, they would still face a French air force trained in combat tactics.
Leaving the club, Charles had Laurent drive him to Eric's aircraft factory.
Charles typically avoided the factory during his breaks—no sense missing out on extra hours off. But in this case, there was more to it.
Technically, this wasn't even a break. Although Charles owned the factory, he was also a staff officer at the city defense headquarters and the squadron leader of the First Aviation Battalion. The factory was the main supplier of planes for the battalion, so as both an officer and a squadron leader, he was responsible for keeping a close watch.
Thus, this was absolutely official business: it was for the battalion's development, for the safety of France's skies, and ultimately for victory in the war…
When the car stopped at the factory's entrance, Charles was surprised to find Eric in front, angrily scolding a group of workers.
The moment Eric noticed Charles, his demeanor shifted entirely. A big smile replaced his scowl, and he quickly waved the workers away before hurrying over.
"Hey, Lieutenant! Good to see you!" Eric greeted him warmly, shaking his hand.
Charles looked Eric over in surprise. "Uncle Eric, it seems you're not drinking?"
It was a first—Charles didn't detect the usual smell of alcohol.
Eric shot a resentful glare at the workers he had just been scolding, saying, "Because of those idiots, I had to quit drinking!"
"Quit… drinking?" Charles turned to Laurent and gave him a subtle signal.
Laurent had been about to pull out the two bottles of brandy Charles had arranged for Eric, procured at a discount from the officers' club through Lieutenant Colonel Fernand. Sensing the change, Laurent discreetly put the bottles back, pretending to take a rag to polish the car.
Eric didn't notice and sighed, speaking with a note of resignation. "I make planes, Lieutenant, and not just any planes—these are for fighting the enemy. One small mistake could send it crashing, putting the pilot's life at risk. I have to take responsibility."
Charles nodded in agreement, more convinced by Eric's words than ever.
Eric glanced over at the workers in the factory, then continued his complaints. "I thought I could rely on them, but they kept cutting corners while I was too drunk to notice. One time, they even left out two vertical struts!"
"All because of that?" Charles still seemed skeptical.
Eric was the type who'd sooner buy liquor than fuel; it seemed unlikely he'd quit drinking over a couple of missing parts.
Eric's face flushed with embarrassment, and he mumbled, "Well… there's also Celia. I told you about her, right? She came back with the child."
"Oh, so that's the real reason, huh, Uncle Eric?" Charles replied knowingly.
Eric's shy smile was enough of an answer, and he looked happy enough to confirm it.
Perhaps feeling awkward, Eric quickly changed the subject. Leading Charles through the factory, he suggested, "I've been thinking, Lieutenant. Shouldn't we increase our production capacity? Making fifty Avros a month barely meets the military's demand."
Charles nodded slightly. Eric had a point. Although the initial order was for only a hundred planes, everyone knew that was just the beginning. If the entire air fleet switched to Avros, a backlog of at least 500 planes was waiting to be filled. Now would indeed be the time to expand.
However, Charles disagreed. "These planes will soon be outdated, Uncle Eric," he said calmly. "The Avro may be good for reconnaissance, and it suits the current battlefield, but it won't be long before they're obsolete. I think what we need are specialized fighter planes."
"Specialized fighters?" Eric looked at Charles in astonishment. "You mean… developing our own?"
Charles nodded. He knew one thing for certain: without technology, there was no competitive edge. Acquired designs would always fall behind; it was the same reason Schneider could so easily buy a "Holt 120" that outmatched his "Holt 75."
"But… we don't have a research team, Lieutenant," Eric said, looking troubled. "All our equipment was bought; we only know how to produce, not design."
"Then buy a team!" Charles answered with a casual, almost carefree tone.
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