To Charles, the "Camel" fighter was indeed outdated equipment. By now, his aircraft engines had reached 180 horsepower, whereas the "Camel" was still equipped with a 150-horsepower engine. In this respect, the Germans had led the way—their engines also achieved 180 horsepower and had done so even before Charles.
The difference, however, was that the Germans had installed their most advanced engines on Zeppelins to increase their speed and bring them back to the battlefield.
(Note: The Germans stubbornly believed that airships could bring them victory, even though rocket-propelled and incendiary bullets could now destroy them. Nonetheless, the Germans continued using airships until 1918, with the last one equipped with a 200-horsepower engine.)
Night settled over London, casting a dim light across the Thames, where reflections danced on the river's surface. A faint, cool breeze brushed through the treetops, carrying a subtle touch of moisture.
The First Lord of the Admiralty, dressed in his night robe, walked into his study. Without even turning on the light, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. Pouring another, he lit a cigar, finally turning on the lamp before sitting in the armchair by the window, gazing at the cityscape outside.
Cigar smoke curled through the room, filling the air with his growing frustration—a tangible cloud thickening around him. His indecision regarding the purchase of the "Camel" fighter hung heavy in his mind.
It wasn't that the deal was unfavorable; exchanging five artillery production lines for the security of British airspace was imperative. But his ambition demanded more: he wanted to protect British airspace without compromising future land operations.
Because, as he knew all too well…
The 6-inch, 26-cwt howitzer Britain had developed wasn't only intended to counter the German 105 mm howitzers; it was also designed with the French in mind. After all, the French had 105 mm howitzers, various tanks, and Charles's infantry brigades—all of which could be wiped out by the new artillery.
Now, however, these production lines were to be given to France, which would strip Britain's army of any artillery advantage or secrecy. Outraged, the First Lord had reacted sharply when he first read General Winter's telegraph.
"This is blackmail! Over one airplane, they demand five artillery production lines?" he fumed. "Does he understand what those five lines mean? They alone could win us this war!"
"What's more, we're allies. Isn't technology sharing expected among allies?"
Instead of responding to Charles directly, the First Lord sent a telegraph to Georges Clemenceau, a member of the French War Committee, complaining bitterly about Charles's actions:
"This isn't a trade; this is a threat to dismantle British artillery production. This is clearly against our mutual interests.""It's not as if we lack aircraft technology. We only hoped to exchange resources to allow faster development for both our air forces against the enemy.""This arrangement benefits us both, but Charles has become an unpredictable factor between our nations."
The First Lord's hope was that the French government would pressure Charles to lower or eliminate the price.
However, Clemenceau wasn't easily fooled. His response was brief and to the point:
"Apologies, sir, but this is Charles's private property, and he retains full industrial ownership. We have no authority to interfere.""Moreover, we don't see anything inappropriate in Charles's actions.""His request for your production lines is also a matter of technological exchange, which benefits us both."
The First Lord was left speechless, realizing that he'd been focusing solely on the demands made of Britain without considering Britain's responsibility in the deal. Only after Clemenceau's reply did he realize that they had, indeed, met similar terms.
The First Lord leaned back in his chair, rocking slowly and listening to the creaking sounds as he sank deep into thought. Was Britain really to trade five artillery production lines for the fighter?
Or could they quickly modify these lines to produce an "export version" of the howitzer?
But this seemed equally unwise; Charles wasn't naive. If Britain sent an "export version," Charles might reciprocate with an "export version" of the aircraft.
In the end, Britain would lose anyway; control over the skies would still remain firmly in French hands.
Just as the First Lord wrestled with his dilemma, he heard a sudden explosion in the distance. A fiery glow appeared in the darkness, gradually fading into an indistinct haze.
Startled, he sat up, wondering if some accident—a flour mill or munitions factory—had exploded. But the noises continued, each blast following the last in a steady cadence.
"What on earth is happening?" he muttered, pushing open the window and scanning in the direction of the fire.
It looked like enemy artillery, but London was far from the front lines; there was no way artillery could reach this far.
While the First Lord tried to make sense of the situation, a piercing, continuous air raid siren blared, breaking the silence of the residential neighborhoods. Lights flickered on as people leaned out of windows or climbed onto rooftops to see what was happening.
But the dark sky held no clues. All anyone could hear was the ongoing thunder of explosions echoing through the city.
Spotlights soon swept across the sky, their beams like blades slicing through the darkness, but they revealed nothing.
(Note: In 1915, the British didn't believe Germany possessed anything capable of bombing London, so there were no substantial anti-aircraft defenses. Most of the searchlights were handheld infantry units with a range of about 1,000 meters, while the airship was cruising above 3,000 meters.)
The First Lord rushed back to his desk, fumbling in a drawer until he found his binoculars. He raced back to the window, his hands trembling as he focused on the sky. Just then, the clouds parted, allowing the moonlight to reveal a colossal shadow drifting between them.
A chill ran down the First Lord's spine as he looked upon the specter looming overhead—a monstrous figure like something from a Wells or Verne novel. Its silver hull glinted faintly in the moonlight, and something seemed to drop from it intermittently.
Then, more explosions followed.
"Sir!" The study door burst open as his guards belatedly arrived, standing protectively beside him.
"What is that?" he demanded, his voice trembling.
"It's a Zeppelin, sir. A German Zeppelin."
The First Lord stared at the guard, anger contorting his face.
"How did it get here?"
"Don't we have planes? Rockets?"
"Why wasn't it destroyed en route, instead of allowing it to fly over London and bomb us?"
The guards said nothing; it wasn't their place to answer questions about British military failures.
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