The flying squadron, led by Carter, consisted of six machine gun-equipped fighters and twelve rocket-equipped bombers, all Avro models. The decision to use a single model was to make it easier to distinguish friend from foe in the heat of combat. In the chaos of aerial battles, pilots might instinctively open fire on a target, only to realize too late that they'd hit one of their own. Uniform aircraft models prevented such fatal mistakes.
Carter's orders from Charles were simple: "Secure air superiority, look for opportunities to suppress enemy artillery and infantry, and avoid enemy ground fire!"
Carter grasped the latter half of the order—kill them before they kill you. The part about "securing air superiority," however, puzzled him. Over the phone, he'd asked Charles, "What exactly does securing air superiority an, Lieutenant?"
"It ans taking down anything of theirs that's in the air," Charles had clarified. "The fighters go in first to deal with enemy planes, and the bombers follow to target the balloons."
"Got it, Lieutenant," Carter had replied, muttering as he hung up, "He could have just said that."
Waving his hand to rally the pilots, he called out, "Alright, let's show the Germans what we're made of!" Excitedly, the pilots climbed into their planes, one by one taking off and rising into the sky. So even let out cheers as they ascended, as if they were embarking on an adventure rather than heading into battle. They had yet to grasp the brutal reality of war; to them, this mission felt like a holiday or a thrilling journey with friends. Many were already envisioning becoming heroes like Charles, admired by all. Few understood the true horror awaiting them.
Twenty minutes later, as they reached the battlefield, the sight below drained the color from every pilot's face.
Shells were exploding across the front lines, and from above, the battlefield looked like a boiling cauldron, constantly bubbling over. Only, in this cauldron, the "bubbles" were soldiers thrown into the air, their bodies disintegrating mid-flight, leaving streaks of red amid the smoke. Even as explosions tore through the ranks, more soldiers pressed forward, a chaotic mass locked in a deadly struggle as comrades fell and others marched over their bodies.
The pilots couldn't help but feel the harsh reality of human fragility. Each of those soldiers had struggled to survive for decades, and here, they were worth little more than a single bullet or a piece of shrapnel. One mont they existed; the next, they vanished, leaving no trace behind.
Carter, observing the scene, shook his head slightly, then looked up—and suddenly noticed several German "Doves" and "Albatrosses" flying nearby. The sight startled him; they were so close he could see the faces of the German pilots.
These enemy pilots seed to be examining the Avros, craning their necks with puzzled expressions. It dawned on Carter that they'd assud his planes were only equipped with rockets, possibly planning to ram them to protect their observation balloons. But upon closer inspection, they realized these Avros didn't carry rockets.
This thought sent a chill down Carter's spine. He could scarcely believe how close they'd co to death rely because of a fleeting misjudgnt. If they didn't take down these enemy pilots, they might end up joining the pile of corpses on the ground below.
On his left, the thin pilot Cornelius signaled to Carter with hand gestures, asking what to do.
Carter didn't reply. Instead, he chose action as his answer. He raised his nose to pursue one of the German Albatrosses in front, steadily closing the distance and aligning his gun sights with the enemy's tail.
The German pilot remained oblivious to the danger, perhaps finding Carter's maneuver curious. The next mont, Carter squeezed the trigger, and the twin machine guns on his plane burst into life, spitting rounds that cut through the mist toward the target.
The Albatross's wooden tail splintered under the barrage, fragnts flying in all directions as one of its rear stabilizers was shredded. The German pilot was likely killed instantly; the Vickers machine gun's bullets easily pierced the fuselage, turning the cockpit into a death trap. Though Carter couldn't see the pilot, he knew the shot had been fatal.
The damaged Albatross lost control, tumbling erratically like a ragdoll before plumting to the ground, the engine trailing black smoke. With a loud explosion, it erupted in flas upon impact.
The scene stunned everyone watching, both in the air and on the ground.
German pilots, thinking they must have misseen it, hesitated briefly. But when they realized the Avros had machine guns mounted on their noses, disbelief turned into horror. One shouted in German, "They have machine guns! On the nose of the plane! How is this possible?"
He was referring to the near-impossibility of firing bullets without hitting the propeller blades—a technical feat he hadn't imagined.
In that brief mont of shock, the Germans seed to forget their surroundings, oblivious to the fact that five more Avros, each ard with twin machine guns, were right on their tails. By the ti they realized, it was too late; the Avros had locked onto them, giving no quarter.
The Avros' speed outpaced the German "Doves" and "Albatrosses," and no amount of evasive maneuvering could shake the French fighters. One by one, the German planes went down, their pilots' terrified screams fading into silence as they fell.
Initially, the infantry on the ground barely noticed the aerial skirmish, dismissing the falling planes as a malfunction or accidental collision. But as plane after plane crashed in bursts of fire, the truth began to dawn on them. Every plane falling from the sky was German.
A German soldier hiding in a shell hole cried out, "The French planes—they have machine guns!"
Quickly, others joined in, shouting, "It's Charles! It must be Charles!"
The soldiers agreed almost instinctively. After all, if Charles could put cannons on a plane, why not machine guns too? Soon, fear spread among the Germans as they worried that these ard planes might start targeting them on the ground. Nowhere felt safe.
In stark contrast, the Belgian troops erupted in cheers, many shouting Charles's na toward the sky in celebration.
(End of Chapter)
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