Chapter 110 - The Clash Upstairs and Downstairs

Chapter 110 - The Clash Upstairs and Downstairs

The upstairs room, Gallieni's private lounge, was right above the officers' mess hall, but while only separated by a single wall, the discussions taking place couldn't have been more different.

Upstairs: We're facing a dire shortage of pilots, and our current numbers won't meet our demands. The need for more will only increase in the foreseeable future.

Downstairs: Would the military even want us? Finding a steady, secure job these days is nearly impossible!

Upstairs: If they're reluctant to join, we can consider increasing their pay. If 60 francs isn't enough, we'll offer 80!

Downstairs: We'd be happy with just 20 francs a month—that's what most factory workers make, and even that's beyond what we've ever earned!

Upstairs: This is a matter of risking lives; this isn't something you can just throw money at.

Downstairs: Risking our lives? A pilot's job is just flying around, spotting the enemy's location. The most dangerous thing we'd face is launching a rocket to take out a balloon! Compared to starving on the streets, that's hardly risky.

Downstairs, Carter finally had a bright idea. He put a hand on Eric's shoulder, speaking with as much persuasion as he could muster, "Brother, if Charles buys my flying club, then all our worries are over!"

This suggestion immediately sparked a round of enthusiastic responses from the other pilots:

"Yes, yes! We wouldn't need to worry about finding work from the military if Charles himself was the one assigning our tasks!"

"He'd naturally want to keep his business afloat!"

"That way, we'd skip having to rely on favors to secure jobs—if he buys the club, we'd all have stable work!"

Eric was stunned. Were they really expecting Charles to buy an entire flying club just to keep them all employed? That was no small matter!

Charles descended the stairs with a pensive frown, considering how to approach his task of issuing recruitment orders to the pilots without risking a mutiny. He even glanced toward the guardroom, wondering if he should enlist Laurent for backup. But he quickly abandoned the idea—the army shouldn't point its guns at civilians. This required a different approach.

As soon as he entered the mess hall, he found himself surrounded by the eager pilots. Charles's instincts told him something was off. Could they have already heard rumors?

Eric reluctantly stepped forward, hesitating before he asked, "Lieutenant… they were hoping you'd consider buying the flying club."

"What?" Charles blinked in shock.

That was indeed part of his assignment. As Gallieni had said, the army needed a dedicated airfield.

Carter stepped up immediately, his voice laced with hope. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, I won't inflate the price. I've invested 200,000 francs into the club, but I'd be willing to sell it to you for 100,000 francs. What do you say?"

"100,000 francs?" Charles echoed, astonished.

He'd just spent time reviewing reports with Lieutenant Colonel Fernand, and they'd estimated the club would likely cost 300,000 francs to acquire. The army often expected inflated costs when dealing with private companies.

Seeing Charles's surprised expression, Carter swiftly amended his offer, "No, Lieutenant! Just 80,000 francs, and it's all yours—but only on the condition that you also take on all of us pilots. I'm part of the package deal too!"

"Are you saying… buy the club and get the pilots for free?" Charles could hardly believe his ears.

Pilots were precisely what the military needed—an invaluable resource that they were struggling to acquire.

Carter raised his hand, solemnly pledging, "Rest assured, Lieutenant. We're all experienced pilots, with at least two years in the air."

Since powered flight had only been invented eleven years ago, two years of flight experience, while still alive, was no small feat.

The pilots eagerly chimed in:

"Yes, sir, we're not asking for much! Just 20 francs a month, and we're happy."

"We won't let you down, Lieutenant; we'll do our absolute best!"

"You can keep Carter as our manager—he's a good one!"

Charles looked around at the hopeful faces, swallowed hard, and finally agreed, "Alright, I'll buy the flying club. 100,000 francs it is."

Carter's eyes brimmed with gratitude. He took Charles's hand in a fervent handshake, his voice choked with emotion, "Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you so much!"

Charles continued, "And I'll take on all the pilots, along with any other pilots you know. I want everyone on board."

A cheer erupted, and a few pilots even shed tears, overwhelmed with the prospect of steady work.

But Charles wasn't finished. "You'll also be earning a minimum of 60 francs a month, with potential raises depending on performance…"

The mess hall fell silent. The pilots stared at him, unable to believe their ears. Finally, the murmurs started:

"Did I hear that right? 60 francs a month?"

"That's three times what we asked for!"

"And he's talking about raises too?"

Charles nodded, confirming what they had just heard. "But there's one condition. I intend to enforce a military structure at the club, and it may eventually become part of the army. You might become soldiers—pilots in uniform. Is that acceptable?"

Without hesitation, the pilots voiced their approval:

"No problem!"

"Of course, no problem!"

"Good heavens, 60 francs a month! Who would say no to that?"

Charles was somewhat surprised by their enthusiasm.

But he reasoned that the pilots had likely endured such hardship that they couldn't turn down a high-paying job. They also seemed oblivious to the dangers they might face as military pilots, assuming it would mostly involve carrying messages or scouting with binoculars.

Was this a bit deceptive?

Charles glanced at the exhilarated pilots. Perhaps, for them, a secure income combined with the chance to soar through the skies was the ultimate fulfillment.

No, he decided. This wasn't deception; it was an opportunity to help them realize their dreams.

"Then let's prepare to sign the contracts," he announced. "I'll take all of you."

A loud cheer went up, and one by one, the pilots stepped forward to shake Charles's hand, treating him as if he were their savior.

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