Chapter 642: We Can't Be Faster Than the Germans
Vice Admiral Guépratte, commander of the French Northern Fleet, was a classic representative of the Brest faction—that group within the French Navy who saw the British Royal Navy as their primary rival and refused to accept being forever second-best.
However, Guépratte's ambition was more emotional than strategic. At times, he would confide in his subordinates:
"What we're doing might just be the futile struggle of a fish caught in a net, destined to change nothing."
His officers understood this feeling.
The gap between the French and British navies was too wide—so wide it sometimes felt insurmountable by effort or willpower alone. That was simply reality.
Take the Dardanelles, for example. Though Britain and France were allies, and in theory equals, command of French ships was naturally handed over to the British Royal Navy—and no one even thought to question it.
And now, Guépratte assumed, nothing had changed. At most, they would join the North Sea operations as an auxiliary fleet under British command, tasked with protecting convoys rather than engaging in real combat.
With heavy thoughts weighing on him, Guépratte entered Charles's command center.
"Welcome, Admiral," Charles greeted warmly, stepping forward to shake his hand. "How have you been lately?"
"Quite well," Guépratte nodded. "Perhaps because of the recent storms, the Germans haven't made much of a move. Even their submarines have barely appeared."
"That's good news," Charles replied, motioning for him to enter the meeting room.
An orderly quickly brought them coffee, along with some cake and freshly sliced apples.
Since the French fleet began deploying with sonar detection equipment, their logistics had improved significantly—especially with Antwerp now functioning as a key supply port.
Seated in his chair, Guépratte took a few sips of coffee and then said, "Still, there have been some developments I think you should be aware of."
"Oh?" Charles looked at him. "Are you referring to the appearance of a new German reconnaissance seaplane over the North Sea?"
"You know already?" Guépratte raised his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly understood. "Of course you do—you have bombers scouting the Germans from the sky."
"Yes, Admiral," Charles nodded.
"Then you should shoot them down." Guépratte fixed his gaze on Charles. "Those things are dangerous. With them flying overhead, they can pinpoint the exact positions of our warships, our convoys. Whenever they want, they can send a superior fleet to strike."
"I know," Charles replied, somewhat helplessly. "But we can't."
Before Guépratte could ask why, Charles explained, "Our fighters can't fly that far, and our bombers are about the same speed as theirs."
With a top speed of 137 km/h versus the Germans' 135 km/h, neither side could catch the other. If the enemy flew in a straight line at top speed, not even evasive maneuvers were necessary—they'd simply outrun the threat.
Guépratte gave Charles a skeptical look. "But those are the British Capronis, not ours. I've heard you've already installed new engines on our Capronis. They must be faster, no?"
"That's… just a rumor," Charles replied awkwardly. "I did try, and even put it into practice, but when we installed higher-powered engines, we encountered structural instability, loss of control... a whole list of issues."
Of course, that wasn't true.
The new Caproni variant could reach 160 km/h. If it wasn't carrying a torpedo and was equipped with machine guns instead, it could easily intercept and destroy the German UWD bombers.
Guépratte looked at him, half-believing, half-suspicious. "Really? That's a pity."
Charles gave a faint smile, then said with deeper meaning, "We can't be faster than the Germans, Admiral."
"We can't?" Guépratte looked at Charles, sensing something between the lines.
"No. We must not," Charles nodded. "Otherwise... you know what would happen."
Guépratte blinked, then realization dawned.
If the new Caproni bombers were deployed now, the Germans' limited number of seaplanes would be quickly wiped out. And then, the British would no longer face any real threats in the sky.
"But," Guépratte said uneasily, "we're part of the convoy escorts. Our ships are also patrolling the North Sea. We're targets too."
"Yes, I know," Charles affirmed. "We might even become Germany's priority target—the ideal one, in fact."
"What do you mean?" Guépratte was startled.
"It's simple," Charles explained. "From the German point of view, the British Royal Navy is stronger than the French fleet. But we, the French, pose a greater threat to their submarines."
Guépratte immediately understood.
The French Navy was the weak link in the Allied naval line—less experienced, outdated in tactics, and behind the British in technology.
From a German strategic perspective, the French were the "soft fruit"—ripe for the picking. Naturally, they'd want to eliminate the weaker fleet first.
"But if you already knew the French fleet would become their target," Guépratte asked, troubled, "why let their seaplanes roam free?"
Shouldn't they be eliminated now, before more damage was done?
Charles didn't respond with words. He rose and made a polite gesture. "Let me show you something, Admiral."
…
Inside a closed hangar at Antwerp Airfield, Carter was leading a group of pilots in a discussion about attack strategy using Caproni bombers.
"Just hitting the release conditions isn't enough," Carter told them. "Have you considered that for a torpedo to hit and sink a warship, the best angle is a perpendicular strike?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Then," Carter said, holding a scale model airplane over a wrench on the floor to demonstrate, "we should circle down and lower altitude, approaching at a steep angle. You must also account for the ship's speed and adjust your aim accordingly…"
At that moment, Charles entered the hangar with Vice Admiral Guépratte.
Carter and his men immediately stood at attention and saluted.
"This is Vice Admiral Guépratte," Charles introduced. "I'm sure you all know him."
"Yes, General," Carter and the others saluted again, then stepped forward to shake the admiral's hand warmly.
Guépratte gave Charles a puzzled glance—he didn't quite understand why Charles had brought him here to meet a group of pilots.
Suddenly, his gaze locked onto one of the planes parked in the hangar, and he froze in shock.
He was speechless.
Good God—are those torpedoes?
The aircraft wasn't armed with bombs beneath its fuselage.
It was armed with torpedoes.
(End of Chapter 642)
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