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I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 99
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 02:54:51 +0000 UTCChapter 99: The Flying Club
Paris, Carter Flying Club.
In the cluttered office, smoke swirled amidst the gentle, soulful notes of jazz music. Carter, a man with a full beard, sat with half a cigarette between his fingers. The pungent smoke from the Gipsy cigarette rose in spirals, the dark tobacco burning steadily. A long trail of ash clung precariously to the tip.
But Carter’s focus was entirely on the paper and pen in his right hand as he performed calculations.
Finally, the ash broke off and fell, but Carter simultaneously slammed his pen onto the table and cursed:
“Damn it! I can never get these accounts to balance!”
This was his third attempt at the calculations, but he ended up with four different results, none of which matched the actual amounts.
“I need an accountant!” Carter muttered, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a deep drag. The tobacco crackled as it burned, releasing thick clouds of smoke.
Carter exhaled heavily, slumping into his chair like a bundle of straw, wondering if he was really cut out to run this club.
Looking back, it seemed like opening the flying club might have been an impulsive decision.
He had fantasized about piloting planes through the sky and raking in francs by the fistful. But the reality was a workshop full of broken parts and a floor strewn with trash. Even the club’s signboard creaked ominously in the cold wind.
“People these days, they don’t understand what flying is all about!” Carter’s expression was one of weariness and frustration.
His words reflected the harsh reality: in this era, most people thought those who dared to fly planes were reckless fools.
“They’ll just fall out of the sky eventually!” was the most common comment about pilots.
As a result, Carter had to adapt the club for dual civilian and military purposes. It took on assignments from the military, allowing the equally destitute pilots to earn a meager income and helping the club stay afloat.
...
As Carter sat brooding over his life’s direction, the roar of an automobile engine and hurried footsteps broke the silence outside.
Soon, there was a loud knock on the door, followed by a shout:
“Open up! Open up! This is the French Army!”
Carter rose lazily, frowning as he cursed under his breath:
“Impolite bastards…”
“Bang!” The door burst open as several figures rushed in, armed with guns.
Carter froze in panic. “Hey, hey, what are you doing?”
At first, he thought he was being robbed. But when he looked closer, he realized they were all in uniform—soldiers.
Fear quickly turned to anger as Carter snapped:
“Officer, this is private property! If you need planes, you should at least give me some notice… And…”
He trailed off as he looked outside and saw a thousand soldiers gathered on the airstrip, all armed to the teeth as if preparing for battle. He was stunned.
“And what?” A lieutenant strode in, standing directly before Carter.
“And…” Carter hesitated, then stammered, “Apologies, officer! I… I don’t have that many planes. If you’re going somewhere, I can’t transport that many people!”
The lieutenant snorted, took a document handed to him by a soldier, and illuminated it with a flashlight. Without looking up, he asked:
“Two mornings ago, a plane from here flew to Antwerp. Do you remember?”
Carter thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Eric took that job. Why? What happened?”
Damn it, Eric must have gotten into trouble again, Carter thought. He had repeatedly told him not to drink on assignments!
“Who ordered you to do it?” the lieutenant asked, glancing at the soldiers rummaging through the office. He gestured toward the cigarettes, saying:
“Search them carefully. They might contain intelligence.”
The soldiers carefully placed the cigarettes into an evidence bag.
Carter, still confused, stood frozen. “What do you mean? Ordered me? Intelligence?”
The lieutenant raised his flashlight, shining it directly into Carter’s face like a gun pointed at his head. He repeated his question with a sharper tone:
“Who ordered you to do it? Be honest—it’s in your best interest, Mr. Carter!”
“Wasn’t it just a mission?” Carter, bewildered, tried to explain. “I just… followed your instructions…”
“Don’t you know the passenger was Charles?” the lieutenant pressed.
Carter froze, his expression stiffening as the name sank in.
“What? Charles? You mean Charles, the inventor of the tank? He was the passenger that day?”
The lieutenant let out a humorless chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk.
“You’ve finally figured it out!”
“No, no, officer!” Carter’s voice trembled with fear. “I didn’t know it was Charles. If I’d known, I’d never have sent him to Antwerp. Only a madman would do that… unless I’d lost my mind…”
But the lieutenant had no patience for Carter’s excuses. He raised his hand with a sharp gesture and commanded:
“Take him away!”
The soldiers seized Carter without hesitation, ignoring his protests as he cried out his innocence.
...
Under the beam of a flashlight, the lieutenant reviewed a long list, confirming its contents before jogging across the field to a waiting open-top car. Standing at attention, he saluted and reported:
“All suspects are in custody, General!”
Gallieni responded with a curt nod.
The general had waited until now to act, not wanting to create too much commotion and tip off the Germans. After all, the Germans merely suspected Charles was in Antwerp.
If they learned that Gallieni had arrested the airport manager, their suspicions would immediately turn into certainty. This would be disastrous for Charles.
But now, with Charles en route to Paris, Gallieni could act without reservation and eliminate any loose ends.
Under the flashlight’s glare, Gallieni studied a map and asked a series of questions:
“Are the surrounding roads secured?”
“Are all the torches in place?”
“Have the high points been inspected?”
Major Maunoury stepped forward to answer:
“All arrangements are complete, General!”
To ensure Charles’s safety, Gallieni had deployed an entire infantry brigade of over 7,000 soldiers around the flying club. He even worried that someone might set up a machine gun on a vantage point to shoot down Charles’s plane.
Gallieni nodded, stepping out of the car and pulling his coat tighter against the cold. Without turning, he called out:
“Laurent!”
Major Laurent immediately appeared at his side.
“Yes, General!”
Gallieni’s expression remained stern as he asked,
“Do you know what to do now?”
“Yes, General!” Laurent responded promptly, standing tall.
“I am to stay with Charles at all times, not leaving his side for even a moment!”
Laurent couldn’t forget the two days he had spent in confinement—or the look in Gallieni’s eyes and his words at the time.
“I trusted you to ensure Charles’s safety!” Gallieni’s gaze had been fierce, as if directed at an enemy, brimming with the urge to have Laurent executed on the spot.
“And yet, under my very nose, they managed to take Charles away. Do you understand what that means? Do you understand what it means for France? For the military?”
Laurent had been drenched in cold sweat, fully convinced that if anything happened to Charles, he would spend the rest of his life in confinement, with no room for negotiation.
Fortunately, none of that had come to pass! Thank God, Charles was about to return!
Laurent was so overwhelmed with relief he was nearly moved to tears.
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