I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 124: Nothing but Flies

Before long, the Germans' worst fears became reality. Carter angled his plane downward, diving towards the front of the British trench line, where columns of tightly packed German soldiers were relentlessly pursuing the retreating British forces. Squeezing the trigger, Carter unleashed a hail of bullets onto the advancing German troops, mowing down two entire rows in mere seconds. Blood splattered, screams erupted, and bodies fell in all directions.

The previously unstoppable wave of German soldiers suddenly halted, with many throwing themselves to the ground, too terrified to stand. The attack from above—a barrage of bullets raining down from unseen angles—created an all-encompassing fear. Now, even this elite force of over ten thousand, moments away from breaking through enemy lines, felt as if they were surrounded, their morale severely shaken.

Seizing this unexpected advantage, British officers rallied their men to reestablish a defensive line. One officer, a young skeptic who had previously dismissed "the legend of Charles," now shouted in relief, "God bless, Charles has saved us!"

However, General Kroos, the seasoned German commander, was not easily rattled. Though astonished that French planes were now equipped with machine guns, he maintained that these aircraft posed little threat to the outcome of the battle.

"They only have six planes!" he barked at his staff. "They can't carry enough ammunition to do real damage. Order the troops to ignore them and advance!"

Kroos's orders quickly rippled through the front lines: "Keep advancing—they don't have enough bullets to stop us!" "Those planes won't hold us back!"

But the soldiers didn't believe it. Experience had taught them to be wary of such reassurances, often no more than motivational lies meant to drive them forward despite the grim realities ahead. Many seasoned soldiers had heard similar promises on the battlefield before: "The enemy will collapse soon!" "This is our chance to collect military honors!" "The enemy is running low on ammunition; victory is close!"

But time and again, these hopeful claims proved false, and those who lived through it rarely had the chance to return and question their commanders. Now, many of these battle-hardened veterans assumed this was yet another comforting lie.

When two more planes swooped down, spitting fire from their machine guns, the German troops began to retreat—at first in a controlled manner, then rapidly devolving into a chaotic scramble. Soldiers tumbled over one another in the mud, desperate to escape the relentless strafing from above.

Above, the air battle continued as a new formation of Avros appeared, flying toward the German reconnaissance balloons under the protection of the fighter planes. If any German aircraft attempted to intercept the rocket-equipped bombers, the French fighters immediately engaged and brought them down.

One by one, three observation balloons burst into flames, disappearing within moments in fiery explosions. One balloon had been in the process of descending for a rapid retreat, but it was still high enough that the blast caused a secondary explosion on the ground, sending German soldiers scrambling in a frenzy.

General Kroos stormed out of his command post, looking up at the French planes strafing his men. In fury, he shouted to his staff, "They're just flies! We may not be able to swat them away, but if we ignore them, they can't do much damage. Relay this to everyone!"

"Yes, General!" replied the aide, hastily moving to reassure the troops and restore some order.

But as Kroos turned to head back to his post, a loud explosion echoed from the direction of the artillery lines. Kroos spun around, immediately recognizing the sound as coming from his artillery position.

A messenger rushed up, breathlessly reporting, "General, the enemy's planes have attacked our artillery positions—one of our ammunition carts exploded!"

Kroos froze, feeling a chill spread through his core. Suddenly, he realized these planes were not as insignificant as he had thought. Back inside his command post, Kroos drafted a telegram to the German High Command, directed to General Staff Chief Falkenhayn:

"It is confirmed that the French have mounted Maxim machine guns on their planes—likely another innovation by Charles. Though only a handful of planes with limited ammunition, they can target our weakest points at will—artillery positions, ammunition transports, field hospitals, warehouses, and even my own headquarters. None of our positions are secure. This weakness must be addressed immediately, or these planes will become our nightmare."

When Falkenhayn received the telegram, he dismissed it with a brief response: "Then have the infantry set up Maxim guns and shoot them down—they're hardly invincible."

Kroos's face fell as he read the reply. The general staff might excel at strategy, but tactically, they seemed oblivious to the reality on the ground. Setting up Maxims at every point vulnerable to air attack would mean pulling the guns from the front lines, where they were desperately needed. This approach was a guaranteed path to failure. But Kroos held his tongue; he could tell from the terse "hardly invincible" remark that the High Command shared the same dismissive attitude toward aircraft.

Sighing deeply, Kroos muttered to himself, "This war is changing, but only soldiers' blood will make them see it."

He was perhaps the only officer other than Charles to fully grasp the significance of air superiority—or at least the first to realize it with such clarity.

King Albert of Belgium and General Charles, however, took the victory as mere good fortune.

"Charles knows how to scare off the enemy!" King Albert said as dusk settled, looking pleased. "He's bought us valuable time!"

"Indeed," General Charles agreed. "One can hardly imagine the result if the Germans had pressed forward at all costs. Those few planes wouldn't have held them back."

Back at Rodenisse airfield, the planes touched down one after another as ground crew gathered to congratulate the pilots on their victory.

But instead of celebrating, the pilots staggered out of their cockpits, barely able to stand. Pale and visibly shaken, some collapsed to the ground, while others doubled over, retching violently.

Carter, in particular, was a mess. As he vomited, he struggled to stifle his coughing, his eyes bloodshot and haunted. The image of soldiers' bodies bursting apart under his gunfire, like discarded refuse, was seared into his memory. Though the gruesome sight had lasted mere seconds, it left a mark he'd never forget.

He couldn't believe that he was responsible for such devastation, that he was the one pulling the trigger. Despite knowing those were enemy soldiers and that he had done nothing wrong, Carter couldn't shake the feeling that he was a monster—a murderer.

(End of Chapter)

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