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

Chapter 99 - The Flying Club

(Image above: A pack of "Gypsy" cigarettes, one of two popular French brands in 1910, known for its intense, pungent smoke. The other common brand was Gauloises.)

In Paris, at the Carter Flying Club, the office was filled with smoke, swirling through the soft strains of jazz. Carter, his face framed by a thick beard, had a half-smoked Gypsy cigarette wedged between his fingers, trailing a long, unbroken line of ash, ready to fall at any moment.

His focus, however, was entirely on the sheet of numbers under his hand. Finally, when the ash snapped off, Carter let out a groan, throwing down his pen.

"Damn it all!" he cursed. "No matter how many times I calculate, I can never balance these books!"

This was his third attempt, and he'd somehow ended up with four different totals—none of which matched the club's account balance.

"I need an accountant!" he grumbled, taking a long drag as the cigarette sparked up in a triumphant dance of flames, releasing a thick plume of smoke. He exhaled heavily, slumping in his chair like a pile of straw, questioning whether he was truly fit to manage this club.

Looking back, Carter suspected opening a flight club had been a rash decision. He'd pictured himself pulling in fistfuls of francs with every flight, but the reality was a workshop strewn with broken parts and junk, and even the club's sign creaked in the cold wind.

"People these days don't understand flying," he muttered bitterly.

Indeed, most people still thought that those who took to the skies in these new machines were "reckless fools."

"They're bound to come crashing down!" was the common opinion of pilots. As a result, Carter had pivoted his club to serve both civilians and the military, accepting contracts to keep the club's struggling pilots afloat with meager pay, barely enough to keep the doors open.

Just as Carter was contemplating his life choices, the sound of car engines and hurried footsteps outside broke his train of thought.

There was a loud pounding on the door, followed by a shout, "Open up! French Army!"

Carter reluctantly dragged himself up, muttering, "What's with these rude…"

But before he could open the door, it flew open with a crash, and several figures burst in, weapons drawn. Carter's heart nearly stopped.

"Heh…hey, what do you want?" he stammered, half-expecting to be robbed. A closer look showed these were indeed soldiers.

His fear quickly turned to indignation. "This is my private property! If you want a plane, you should have asked. And anyway—"

He glanced out the door and froze. A thousand soldiers stood lined up along the runway, weapons at the ready, as if facing down an enemy invasion.

"A-and anyway?" a lieutenant barked, striding into the room.

Carter's defiance faltered. "And anyway…my apologies, sir! I… I don't have enough planes to transport so many of you!"

The lieutenant snorted, flipping through a file, and without looking up, he asked, "Two mornings ago, a plane from here flew to Antwerp. Remember that?"

Carter nodded slowly, "Yes, Eric took that job. What happened?"

Damn it, Eric must've gotten into trouble, thought Carter. He'd told Eric countless times not to drink on assignments!

"Who ordered you to do it?" the lieutenant pressed, gesturing for the soldiers to search the room. "Check the cigarettes," he said. "There might be hidden information in them."

A soldier carefully placed Carter's cigarette into an evidence bag.

"Ordered me?" Carter was baffled. "What do you mean, ordered?"

The lieutenant flashed his flashlight directly at Carter's face, the beam blinding him. "Who ordered you, Carter? You're only making this harder on yourself."

"Wasn't it just a job?" Carter asked, confused. "I was just…following instructions."

"You didn't know you were transporting Charles?" the lieutenant asked.

"Who? Charles?" Carter asked, dumbfounded. "Wait, you mean the Charles, the tank inventor? He was the passenger that day?"

The lieutenant sneered. "Finally catching on, are you?"

"No, no, sir!" Carter's eyes widened with fear. "If I had known it was Charles, I never would've flown him to Antwerp. I'd have to be insane to do that willingly…"

But the lieutenant wasn't interested in excuses. He raised his arm in a brisk motion. "Take him away."

Soldiers dragged Carter out as he continued protesting his innocence, his voice fading as they hauled him off.

The lieutenant glanced at the long list in his hand under the flashlight's beam, confirmed everything, and jogged back to an open car, where he snapped to attention and reported, "All suspects have been detained, General!"

General Gallieni nodded. He had waited to take action, knowing that making a move too early would alert the Germans. After all, they were only suspecting that Charles was in Antwerp.

If the Germans learned Gallieni had just arrested the flight club's staff, that suspicion would quickly become certainty, jeopardizing Charles's safety. But now, with Charles already on his way back to Paris, he could freely sweep up anyone even remotely suspicious.

Gallieni leaned over a map with his flashlight, issuing orders one by one:

"Are all roads sealed off?"

"Yes, General."

"Are the torches in position?"

"Yes, General."

"Have all the vantage points been cleared?"

Major Monoury stepped forward. "All secure, sir!"

In preparation for Charles's return, Gallieni had deployed an entire infantry brigade—over 7,000 soldiers—to guard the area around the flight club. He wasn't about to risk someone setting up a machine gun on the high ground to shoot down Charles's plane.

With everything in place, Gallieni tightened his coat and called, "Laurent!"

Captain Laurent hurried over. "Yes, General!"

Gallieni's face was stern. "Do you understand what you need to do?"

"Yes, General!" Laurent replied, standing rigidly at attention. "Stay with Charles, not letting him out of my sight!"

Laurent would never forget the two days he'd spent under house arrest. Nor would he forget Gallieni's scathing words, the fury in his eyes.

"I trusted you with Charles's safety," Gallieni had said, looking ready to pull Laurent before a firing squad. "And you let them take him under my nose. Do you realize what that means for France? For the army?"

Sweating cold bullets, Laurent was certain that if anything happened to Charles, he would be left to rot in that cell with no hope of redemption.

But thankfully, none of that had come to pass. Charles was coming home safely, and for that, Laurent was nearly moved to tears.

(End of Chapter)

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