Inside Antwerp, tens of thousands of citizens watched the entire battle unfold. Many had resigned themselves to an inevitable disaster, so hugging their children as they wept quietly, others trembling as they debated where they might hide them, or wondering if surrender would spare their lives.
But before they could co to any conclusions, the monstrous figure looming in the sky transford into a massive fireball, disintegrating in a series of explosive booms.
The change was so sudden that few understood what had happened, and they simply stared in stunned silence as the terrifying machine fell before their eyes. Among the crowd, there were gasps and whispers, but no one spoke at first.
After a few monts, soone broke the silence, asking, "Did our people do that?"
Imdiately, another voice answered, "Of course! Didn't you see one of our planes shoot sothing at it?"
"Yes, there was smoke! I saw it explode, even if I have no idea what it was!"
"When did we get such powerful weapons?"
People exchanged glances, none of them quite knowing what type of weapon could do such a thing. Then soone offered a possible answer:
"Charles is in the city. He invented the tank and the sidecar. Couldn't this be his doing too?"
This suggestion sparked excitent among the crowd as they began to discuss it animatedly:
"Of course! Who else could've created such a weapon?"
"Praise be! He saved us again!"
Cheers and tears of relief spread through the crowd as people embraced their children tightly, whispering over and over:
"We're saved! We're saved!"
"Charles saved us!"
"When you grow up, be like Charles! He's a hero, an example to us all!"
Soon, soone began chanting, and the crowd raised their fists in rhythm, calling out:
"Charles!"
"Charles!"
"Charles!"
From the observation tower, Albert I looked down at the city, listening to the chants rising from below. With pride in his eyes, he turned to General Ghys, who looked less than comfortable. Albert said with the satisfaction of a victor, "It seems the people of Belgium believe in Charles, just as I do, General!"
General Ghys stamred awkwardly, unable to respond. He knew that any objection now would sound like nothing but shaless slander—at least for the ti being.
In stark contrast to the soaring morale within Antwerp, the German soldiers were thrown into disarray. The Zeppelin had flown over the German front lines from the east, and as it fell, the soldiers watched every detail, even the projectiles fired from the planes that brought it down.
Flaming debris fell from the sky, so burning out in mid-air, while others crashed to the ground with sharp clatters. So pieces even tumbled into the soldiers' trenches, sending them scrambling for cover. None of them dared attempt a rescue.
They knew it was pointless. The top half of the Zeppelin had been obliterated, while the lower half burned fiercely. Even the aluminum frawork was on fire, with molten tal dripping like lava. The battlefield had transford into a scene straight out of hell.
After a long silence, the German soldiers began to murmur in awe and disbelief:
"Did I see that right? Were those shells? Did shells bring it down?"
"Yes, what else but artillery?"
"But how could they load a cannon onto a plane?"
"Ask Charles for that answer."
Soon, every soldier knew who was responsible: Charles. His na now burned in their mories, branded like red-hot iron, a living nightmare.
General Besler watched the scene, finally collapsing against a nearby rock as though his legs could no longer support him. But then he rembered Big Bertha. As long as it remained intact, there was still hope for victory.
He stood abruptly, turning toward the direction of Big Bertha, and shouted, "Protect Big Bertha! The planes, the enemy planes..."
General Besler had a quick mind, enough to realize that if the enemy planes had been equipped to destroy the Zeppelin, they could also destroy Big Bertha. Seeing two twin-wing planes heading toward Big Bertha, he understood at once that the battle wasn't over yet. In fact, Big Bertha had likely been Charles's real target all along.
"Damn it! I've been tricked by Charles again!"
Besler cursed himself bitterly. Bringing down the Zeppelin had only been a distraction, ant to divert everyone's attention—including his own.
However, not everyone reacted as swiftly. Most soldiers rely stared, confused by Besler's words. How were they supposed to protect Big Bertha? Why would planes target it? Weren't they ant to attack Zeppelins?
Thankfully, a few German pilots understood quickly. As the two twin-wing planes approached Big Bertha from different directions, a German Taube plane suddenly swerved in, ramming into one of the twin-wing planes. The weaker Taube shattered instantly, while the twin-wing, though sturdier, lost half of one wing and spiraled downward, breaking apart upon impact and erupting in flas.
Besler cheered with joy, "There's still one left! One more!"
But by this point, the situation had beco too chaotic for him to direct; everything now depended on the German pilots' own initiative. In these crucial monts, no ground unit could possibly coordinate the aircraft in the sky.
Another German Taube began to pursue the last remaining twin-wing, which was piloted by Eric. Eric was aware of the danger behind him, but he couldn't afford to evade.
The temptation to escape was strong. With his flying skills, Eric could easily shake off the enemy, but he held his course. Any attempt to dodge would an missing his only chance to destroy the target.
With a determined sigh, he ignored the Taube's approach and stayed on course. As things stood, his mission seed nearly impossible. The Avro's speed was slightly faster than the Taube's, but only when it wasn't weighed down by rockets, which made it heavier and reduced its maneuverability. In this state, the Taube could easily catch up and crash into it.
Eric was running out of options, muttering under his breath, "This is why the kid wanted to trust the Belgians... he knew everything. But can I trust them?"
Suddenly, a shadow flashed overhead, followed by a loud impact from behind—a Belgian pilot had sacrificed himself to ram the German plane, giving Eric his chance to fire.
Eric didn't look back. His focus remained on the target as he inched closer. Finally, he pressed the firing switch.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
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