Captain Carter was visibly the most tense. As Gallieni continued coordinating the search for the missing aircraft, Carter turned to Charles, his face pale, and asked, "Major, if the plane has fallen into enemy hands, could they quickly learn to replicate this technology?"
Charles nodded slightly. The machine gun synchronization device wasn't especially advanced technology; once the Germans understood its mechanics, reproducing it wouldn't be difficult.
Carter sighed, guilt heavy on his expression. "This could be a disaster. If the enemy's planes are equipped with machine guns, the entire sky—and the lives of our pilots—will be at risk…"
He blamed himself for the situation.
"This isn't your fault, Captain," Charles assured him. "This day was inevitable. As long as we're flying missions, situations will always be possible."
"I know, Major," Carter replied, clearly uneasy. "The problem is that we're not ready for it. When you told us to start training for air combat, many didn't take it seriously. Even those who did had no real idea of how to train. And with all the missions piling up, we…"
Charles nodded in understanding.
The pilots hadn't taken the training seriously, mostly because they hadn't needed to; a sense of "complacency" had set in. With their machine guns, the First Flight Squadron held absolute control of the skies. The enemy was unarmed, which gave them a strong sense of security. In such a comfortable position, a simple command wasn't enough to create urgency.
Some pilots were willing to train, but even then, they couldn't grasp the true intensity of aerial combat—the fight-or-flight state where it's kill or be killed.
After a moment of thought, Charles began, "First rule: always be aware of the sun's position and try to keep it at your back."
Carter, who had been sitting with his head down in frustration, looked up in surprise. He had several years of flight experience, and recently he had been studying air combat. He understood immediately.
The sun's position was critical. If you're flying into it, it can blind you, while your opponent has the advantage of being able to see you clearly against the light.
This was…an air combat rule?
"One moment, Major!" Carter exclaimed. He shot up, grabbed a notebook and pencil from his desk, and quickly returned, jotting down the word "Sun."
Charles continued calmly, "Second rule: once engaged, commit fully to the attack. Never retreat or hesitate." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ Novᴇ(l)Fɪre .ɴᴇt
Carter nodded in agreement. Air combat was unique in that retreating or hesitating usually meant allowing the enemy to get on your tail—placing yourself in grave danger. In the sky, there was no room for second thoughts.
"Third rule!" Charles continued. "Only fire when you're close enough to ensure a hit."
Carter quickly wrote down "Distance."
This rule was undeniable: close range meant higher accuracy. Ammunition was precious in the air—each plane carried only 500 rounds. In theory, it would take less than thirty seconds of continuous fire to exhaust their supply. Firing indiscriminately could easily mean giving up both the chance of success and, possibly, one's life.
"Fourth rule: always keep a close eye on the enemy's movements and anticipate any feints."
Carter paused briefly, not because he disagreed but because he recognized the difficulty of this rule. But he quickly realized that this would be the focus of their training, requiring a combination of experience and countless hours of practice.
Charles continued through the fifth, sixth, and seventh rules until he reached the eighth. By the end, Carter was astonished. He looked at Charles, disbelief in his eyes. It was hard to imagine that these invaluable insights were coming from someone with no firsthand flight or combat experience.
Each rule felt like a gem of hard-won wisdom—a violation of any of them could easily mean there wouldn't be a next time.
When Charles finished, he concluded, "Have the pilots incorporate these eight rules into their training."
"Yes, Major!" Carter replied emphatically. "I'll ensure they memorize these principles…"
"Not memorize," Charles corrected. "Make them a habit."
Carter immediately understood. "Yes, sir! Not just memorized—ingrained."
Like swimming, merely knowing the correct moves wasn't enough; when in the water, mistakes would still happen. Only repeated practice and gradually building muscle memory would make these moves instinctual.
The same held true for aerial combat. When an enemy fighter dives at you, spraying bullets, fear might make you forget everything you'd learned. By the time you realized your mistake, it could already be too late. Only by practicing until these actions became reflexes could they react correctly in the heat of battle.
Carter held the notebook like a treasure, then looked at Charles with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "Major, you came up with these…entirely from imagination?"
"For the most part," Charles replied, careful with his words. "Some are from observing air combat; others came to me while in a plane."
He was referring to his time in Antwerp, where he'd witnessed air combat firsthand, directed planes in battle, and finally escaped by air. These experiences provided him with the perfect cover for his insights.
Carter didn't doubt him. "Clearly, you have a talent for this, Major!"
In reality, it wasn't talent. These rules were based on the "Dicta Boelcke," a set of air combat principles developed by the legendary German ace, Oswald Boelcke. Boelcke scored 40 kills and formulated tactics that would remain relevant in air combat for generations.
Charles couldn't help but wonder: Isn't it ironic, using German tactics against the Germans?
He imagined Boelcke's reaction when he eventually saw "Charles's Eight Rules of Air Combat." Boelcke would likely be stunned: This is uncanny; they're exactly my thoughts! And Charles thought of them a full year before me!
Gallieni, overhearing some of Charles's explanations, smiled and interjected, "I recall someone once saying they had no experience with air combat and using that as an excuse to refuse the role of squadron commander."
"I didn't know any of this back then, General," Charles replied honestly.
Back then, he hadn't imagined he'd ever be capable of leading a squadron, given that he couldn't even pilot a plane himself. Yet now, it seemed not only could he handle the role, but perhaps no one could do it better.
Gallieni nodded with a smirk, "So, you're suggesting this is your innate talent? I might believe that!"
Charles had no response to that. If not talent, what else could he say it was?
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