To Charles, the "Camel" fighter was indeed already outdated. His own aircraft engine designs had now reached 180 horsepower, whereas the "Camel" only carried a 150-horsepower engine. In this respect, the Germans had actually led the way; their engines had reached 180 horsepower even before Charles's designs.
The Germans, however, chose to install their most advanced engines on Zeppelins to increase their speed and bring them back into battle.
(Note: The Germans stubbornly believed that airships could help win the war. Despite the advent of rockets and incendiary bullets capable of downing them, the Germans continued to deploy Zeppelins until 1918, when the last one—equipped with a 200-horsepower engine—was finally shot down.)
Nightfall settled over London, casting dim lights across the Thames, where they shimmered on the river's surface. A faint, cool breeze stirred the treetops, carrying an almost imperceptible touch of moisture.
In his nightgown, the First Lord of the Admiralty entered his study, immediately poured a glass of whiskey and drank it in one gulp. He refilled the glass and, in a familiar motion, lit a cigar before turning on the lamp and settling into his armchair by the window to gaze out over the city.
The cigar smoke curled slowly around him, like a tangible representation of his worries, gathering and filling the study as he contemplated the "Camel" fighter negotiation.
It wasn't that the deal was unreasonable; exchanging five artillery production lines for British airspace security was necessary. But the First Lord was not a man to give without getting. His mind buzzed with the realization that this would render the British Army unable to equip new artillery for six months or more.
More importantly…
This 6-inch, 26-cwt howitzer was designed not only to counter Germany's 105 mm artillery but also with the French in mind. The French Army had 105 mm howitzers, various tanks, and Charles's infantry brigades—all vulnerable to the new artillery.
Now, the Admiralty was being asked to hand over its production lines to France, giving up any artillery advantage or secrecy. Furious, the First Lord had responded to General Winter's telegraph with exasperation:
"This is extortion! Just for an aircraft, he demands five artillery production lines?""Does he realize what five production lines mean? We could win the war with them alone!""Besides, we're allies. Isn't technical cooperation between allies expected?"
After a while, the First Lord chose not to reply to Charles but instead telegraphed Georges Clemenceau, a member of the French War Committee. In the telegram, he outlined Charles's supposed offenses:
"Five production lines—this isn't a negotiation; it's an attempt to undermine Britain's artillery entirely. This goes against our mutual wartime interests.""It's not as though we lack aircraft technology ourselves. We only hoped for a reasonable exchange to mutually improve our air forces against the enemy.""This benefits both sides, yet Charles is acting as a disruptive factor in this alliance."
The First Lord hoped the French government would pressure Charles to lower or eliminate the price.
However, Clemenceau wasn't easily persuaded. His response was brief and to the point:
"With all due respect, sir, this is Charles's private property, and he holds full industrial ownership. We have no authority to intervene.""Furthermore, we see nothing improper in Charles's request.""His requirement regarding your production lines is also in the spirit of technical exchange, which benefits both our countries."
The First Lord was left speechless, realizing too late that he had been quick to demand while neglecting his own responsibilities. Only when met with Clemenceau's unyielding reply did he see his own bias.
The First Lord rocked slowly in his chair, listening to its creaking and sinking further into thought. Was Britain really to trade five production lines for this plane?
Or could they modify the production lines to create an "export version" of the artillery?
But that seemed unwise too—Charles wasn't a fool. If Britain sent over an "export version," Charles might reciprocate with an "export version" of the fighter.
In the end, it would still be Britain at a disadvantage, with control of the skies firmly in French hands.
Just as the First Lord struggled with his decision, a distant explosion broke the silence, followed by a plume of fire and smoke faintly visible in the night sky.
Startled, he sat up, wondering if a flour mill or a munitions depot had exploded. But soon, a second blast followed, then a third, each coming from the same direction.
"What on earth?" He opened the window and scanned the horizon in the direction of the fire.
It looked like enemy artillery, but London was far from the front lines; no cannon could reach this far.
The First Lord's confusion grew as a long, piercing air raid siren echoed over the city. One by one, the windows in the previously dark neighborhoods lit up. People leaned out or climbed to their rooftops, trying to glimpse the source of the blasts.
The dark sky revealed nothing. Only the steady blasts echoed through the city.
Searchlights soon lit up, their beams slicing through the darkness like swords, yet they revealed nothing.
(Note: In 1915, the British believed Germany lacked the capability to bomb London, so there were virtually no anti-aircraft defenses. Most searchlights were infantry devices with a range of about 1,000 meters, while the Zeppelin floated at over 3,000 meters.)
The First Lord hastily returned to his desk, rummaging through drawers until he found his binoculars, and rushed back to the window, his fingers trembling as he focused on the sky. Just then, the clouds parted, and the moonlight revealed a colossal shadow in the distance.
A chill ran down his spine as he stared at the ghostly figure above—a monstrous shape straight out of a Wells or Verne novel. Its silver hull was faintly visible in the moonlight, and it seemed to be dropping something from above.
Then, another explosion echoed below.
"Sir!" The door burst open as the guards arrived, finally reaching his side.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice tinged with fear.
"It's a Zeppelin, sir," a guard replied. "A German Zeppelin."
The First Lord nodded, glaring at the guards.
"How did it get here?"
"Don't we have planes, rockets?"
"Why wasn't it destroyed en route, instead of being allowed to bomb us right over London?"
The guards stayed silent; these were not questions they could answer. It was clear the First Lord's frustration was misplaced.
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