Chapter 10: Icarus (3)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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A single machine taking flight before ten thousand spectators, including a king. It was a signal flare. Humanity’s ascent. A symbol, a beacon, proclaiming the German nation as the vanguard of civilization and exploration. Icarus had met a tragic end, his wax wings melting, but this Germanic pioneer, millennia later, had achieved perfect flight, defying both sun and wind.
And present were countless journalists.
“My God.”
“It can actually fly.”
“It’s not a balloon, and it’s not slow like an airship.”
“It’s nimble like a bird. If that’s not a bird, then what is it?”
The journalists were mostly hyenas, here to report on “Count Zeppelin’s second failure.” Mocking a fallen fool was always profitable. Those who pretended to be sophisticated would tut-tut at the Count’s latest failure. Those who wanted to appear insightful would boast about the Count’s futile struggle to save his bankrupt company. But what they witnessed was Western civilization transcending myth, becoming masters of the Earth. A magnificent spectacle they’d never dreamt of seeing. The “Song of the Germans” echoing from the crowd that filled the hillside. Even these hyenas quickly realized that this moment would forever be etched in human history, their pens becoming the cornerstones of a new era. They scribbled furiously, and those with cameras frantically captured the scene.
As the airplane landed and the pilot climbed onto the wing, raising his arms in triumph, a deafening roar erupted from the crowd.
“Hmm.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The sausage is a bit salty today.”
“Hold on. I’ll make you a new one.”
“You stay put! Son, I’ll go to the market and get a fresh one.”
Oh, really, there’s no need. My shoulders shrugged involuntarily. A cough brought Dad rushing with a cigarette and ashtray. A shrug brought Mom rushing to massage my shoulders. Was this power? Ah, the burden of being talented. Who was I? Armin Rosenbaum, Lord of the Skies. Magnificent title.
I’d been hounded throughout the train journey back to Berlin. Complete strangers wanted to shake my hand, hug me, ask for blessings for their babies… My God.
The commotion attracted the conductor, who promptly escorted me to first class. Where the same thing happened. The madness continued even after we arrived in Berlin. The other passengers, as soon as they disembarked, shouted, “The Conqueror of the Skies has arrived in Berlin!”, attracting the idle masses. The crowd grew, attracting even more onlookers… I finally escaped thanks to the mounted police, who, instead of taking me home, delivered me to the police chief’s house. This was getting ridiculous.
“Son?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“I think I’m getting promoted soon.”
“Wow, really? Congratulations!”
“Ahem. But, son, could you come to my workplace? The bank president wants to meet you.”
“Dear, could you stop by our gathering? The ladies want to see you-”
Being popular was tiring. What a predicament.
Finally, true peace had descended upon the chaotic Rosenbaum household. As expected, one had to succeed in life.
Germany, Germany above all!
From Masuria to Memel, from land to sky!
“Extra! Extra! Count Zeppelin succeeds in airplane development!”
“A university student, not even twenty years old, has flown!”
“Give me a copy! Keep the change!”
All of Germany was in an uproar. Germans craved national pride. Why? Socialists argued that people preferred to bask in the glory of a powerful Germany rather than confront the reality of their stagnant lives despite the nation’s growing strength.
Others believed it was a way to forget the fragmented reality of the German Empire, a patchwork of hundreds of states pretending to be unified, and to feel a sense of national identity.
Regardless of these intellectual musings, it was natural to feel a surge of pride at the extraordinary feat of flight achieved by a fellow countryman.
“Buying Zeppelin Airship Company stock!!” “What are you talking about? It’s mine!” “Count! Take my money! Let’s build another airship!!” “Hahaha! Daimler to the moon! Daimler to the mooooon!!” “Why Daimler all of a sudden?” “Didn’t Maybach build the airplane engine? And he’s the technical director at Daimler!” “Give me all the Daimler stock you have!” The stock market went wild.
Those obsessed with money quickly spread the news across the world, and those with the biggest ears, the financiers, relayed the news to London, Paris, and New York. They saw the potential. Count Zeppelin wasn’t a crazy old man, but a visionary. The sky was no longer empty. It was a new path for people, goods, and information.
“We need to build an airplane, too!” “Professor, the Germans have invented an airplane. Who’s been working on airplanes in our country?” “Wilbur Wright. Can we build one, too?” “Professor Chanute! We need an airplane for France before the Germans become masters of the sky!”
Pandemonium.
Just as business ideas attracted blind investments and drove trends in the 21st century, the airplane became the hottest commodity of the 19th century, luring countless investors. And where the public cheered and capitalists went mad, politicians followed. “Your Majesty, an airplane built by your subject has successfully flown before the King of Württemberg.” “Huh. I haven’t heard that news.”
Wilhelm II, Kaiser of the German Empire. He stroked his famous Kaiser mustache and puffed out his chest. Chancellor Bülow (Bernhard von Bülow), recently appointed, suddenly felt uneasy at the Kaiser’s confidence. “I have even more exciting news. Do you know the name of the airplane that first pierced the sky? It’s the ‘Wilhelm der Große’.” “Is that true, Your Majesty?” “Yes. The young man has impeccable character. It’s the Emperor’s duty to nurture such promising talent. I gladly lent him my name.”
The Kaiser was lying through his teeth.
The letter from the young man named Armin Rosenbaum, unlike countless others, had reached the Kaiser’s desk thanks to the mention of Count Zeppelin. But the Kaiser wasn’t fond of the Count. He saw him as a foolish old man desperately clinging to his dreams.
The Kaiser’s secretaries received endless letters from people seeking patronage or support, and the Kaiser had to maintain a facade of consideration. He loathed it.
So, his initial reaction to Rosenbaum‘s letter was: “This kid dares to name that dangerous machine after me? If it crashes, should I throw him in prison for lèse-majesté?” He grumbled, but that was it. He didn’t reply and moved on to the next letter.
And now, months later, his secretaries had retrieved the letter and were drafting a reply. The date, of course, would be before the public flight on November 10th, probably around the end of October. The public would be presented with a glorious image: “His Majesty the Kaiser, encouraging the dejected inventors after the airship’s failure, inspiring them to pursue the airplane.”
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“I have realized that the German Empire must reach further, higher! We have the bravest and most powerful army in the world, and a grand fleet to rival the British is being built. Only one thing remains! To become masters of the sky!”
“Is, is that so, Your Majesty…” Chancellor Bülow strongly supported the Kaiser’s push for a grand fleet and agreed that some belt-tightening was necessary. But now, airplanes? How much would that cost? Knowing the Kaiser’s capricious nature and impulsive spending habits, the Chancellor silently tried to change the subject. “A young man, you say? Wasn’t the airplane built by Count Zeppelin?”
“No. The Count was merely a sponsor. It was built by a young university student. Look here. Armin Rosenbaum.”
“Rosenbaum. Is he Jewish?”
“Of course not. I checked. A pure German. His father works at Deutsche Bank, and his son is a brilliant inventor. The future of the German people is bright.”
But then, the Kaiser’s unpredictable mind took a strange turn, much to Bülow’s dismay. “I must summon this young man to the palace.”
“To offer your encouragement, Your Majesty?”
“Of course. Such reverence for the imperial family deserves recognition. Someone! Bring this Rosenbaum to me!”
Right. This was within expectations. Judging by the airplane’s name, “Wilhelm der Große”, the young man seemed to enjoy flattery. He’d be able to handle the Kaiser. Even if he couldn’t, what could the Kaiser do? And, as expected:
“I’d die a happy man just to be in Your Majesty’s presence!!” “Hahahaha!!” An exceptional flatterer had arrived.
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