Outskirts of Paris
April 25th, 1836
The field had not existed a month ago.
Now it stretched wide and level beyond the edge of the city, a long strip of compacted earth cut clean through open ground. The surface had been rolled and reinforced, cleared of stone, graded to allow smooth acceleration. At one end stood a row of newly built hangars, steel fras with reinforced doors large enough to admit machines that had never existed before.
Workers moved along the edges, adjusting markers, checking the wind flags, clearing loose debris that might interfere with movent. Guards stood at a distance, not to control entry, but to keep the space secure.
The automobile slowed as it approached.
Napoleon II sat in the rear this ti.
Napoleon I sat beside him.
Murat had insisted on coming, but this was not for him. Today was for one man.
Napoleon I watched the field through the window.
"This is not a parade ground," he said.
"No," Napoleon II replied. "It’s sothing else."
The automobile ca to a stop near the hangars.
Napoleon II stepped out first, then turned slightly as his father followed. Murat exited last, looking across the field with open curiosity.
Nicéphore was already waiting.
He stood near the open hangar doors, a stack of docunts tucked under one arm. His coat was stained slightly at the cuffs, not from neglect, but from work. Claude stood beside him, arms folded, watching the approach.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Nicéphore said, stepping forward.
Napoleon II gave a small nod.
"You’re ready."
"Yes," Nicéphore replied. "We’ve been ready for three days. I only waited for your instruction."
Napoleon II glanced briefly toward his father.
"This is for him."
Nicéphore followed his gaze, then inclined his head slightly.
"Then we will not delay."
Napoleon I stepped forward, his attention already shifting past the n toward the open hangar.
"What exactly am I about to see?" he asked.
Napoleon II answered simply.
"Flight."
Napoleon I did not respond imdiately.
He walked forward.
Inside the hangar, the machine stood at the center.
It did not resemble a balloon.
It did not resemble anything that had co before.
A single engine sat at the front, enclosed in a rounded tal housing. The nose was compact, built to reduce resistance. Behind it stretched a reinforced fuselage, smooth and narrow, tapering toward the rear.
The wings extended outward from the middle, slightly angled, thick at the root, narrowing toward the tips. The structure was tal, not wood. Riveted panels ford a continuous surface designed to guide air across it.
At the rear, a vertical stabilizer rose cleanly, with horizontal surfaces extending to either side.
Three wheels supported the aircraft.
Two at the front.
One at the rear.
Napoleon I stopped a few steps away.
He did not speak.
He walked around it slowly.
His hand reached out once, brushing lightly against the surface of the wing.
"This is not a balloon," he said quietly.
"No," Napoleon II replied.
"It does not float."
"No."
Napoleon I looked back at him.
"Then how does it stay in the air?"
Nicéphore stepped forward.
"It does not stay in the air by floating," he said. "It stays in the air by moving."
Napoleon I looked at him.
"Explain."
Nicéphore nodded once.
"The wings are shaped to generate lift," he said. "As the aircraft moves forward, air flows over and under the surface. The difference in pressure creates an upward force."
Napoleon I’s gaze shifted back to the wing.
"And the movent?"
Nicéphore gestured toward the front.
"The engine."
Napoleon II watched his father closely.
Napoleon I stepped toward the nose of the aircraft.
Nicéphore continued.
"It is a radial engine," he said. "Fourteen cylinders arranged in two rows. Air cooled. Total displacent is approximately forty liters."
Murat let out a quiet breath.
"That’s larger than the automobile."
"Yes," Nicéphore said. "It produces more power."
"How much?" Napoleon I asked.
"Between one thousand four hundred and one thousand six hundred horsepower," Nicéphore replied.
Napoleon I looked at him sharply.
"That much?"
"Yes."
Napoleon II spoke.
"It needs it."
Napoleon I studied the machine again.
"And this power is enough to lift it."
"With speed," Nicéphore said. "Maximum speed is estimated at around six hundred kiloters per hour under ideal conditions. Operational range approximately eight hundred kiloters."
Napoleon I absorbed that without comnt.
"Control?" he asked.
Nicéphore pointed toward the cockpit.
"The pilot controls pitch, roll, and yaw through chanical linkages. Cables connected to control surfaces on the wings and tail. No delay. Direct response."
Napoleon I walked toward the cockpit.
He looked inside.
A seat. Instrunts. Levers.
"You’ve flown this," he said.
Nicéphore shook his head.
"No."
He gestured toward a man standing near the far side of the hangar.
"That is our pilot."
The man stepped forward.
He was not dressed like a soldier.
"Your Imperial Majesty," he said.
Napoleon I looked at him.
"You’ve flown it."
"Yes."
"How many tis?"
"Seventeen successful flights," the pilot replied. "Three aborted due to chanical adjustnts."
Napoleon I nodded once.
"And you trust it."
"Yes."
Napoleon I looked back at Napoleon II.
"You’ve already done it."
Napoleon II gave a small nod.
"Yes."
Napoleon I let out a slow breath.
He looked at the machine again.
Longer this ti.
"This is beyond anything we used," he said.
"Yes."
"And it works."
"Yes."
Napoleon I stepped back slightly.
"Then I want to see it fly."
Napoleon II turned to Nicéphore.
"Prepare it."
Nicéphore nodded.
"At once."
The aircraft was rolled out onto the field.
The engine was prid.
The pilot climbed into the cockpit, securing himself in place. Nicéphore stood near the side, watching every detail as the final checks were completed.
Napoleon II stood beside his father.
"This is what will revolutionize warfare and transport."
"It better be," Napoleon I said. "I want to see how it truly works before I perish in this world."
"Father," Napoleon II said sharply, as if not wanting him to say those words.
"What? I’m heading there anyway. I don’t have much ti. For a man of science like you, you shouldn’t concern yourself with it."
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