Chapter 9: Icarus (2)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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In November 1900, I was scheduled to make my first public flight.
Yes. The day to etch my name in history was approaching.
Originally, I’d planned for 1902.
But circumstances were becoming increasingly urgent, forcing my hand.
First, the adorable, handsome, talented, and promising Armin Rosenbaum, a figure absent from the original timeline, had entered the aviation scene.
What nonsense? Just hear me out.
I had future knowledge, but that alone wasn’t enough to build the first airplane in 1900.
So, naturally, I studied various contemporary disciplines, but mere studying had its limits. Especially in an era without the internet.
The knowledge I truly needed had to be created through discussion, not just study. I exchanged countless letters with the Prussian Academy of Sciences, engineers, and self-proclaimed researchers interested in aerodynamics and airplane development, gathering the necessary knowledge. In this process, some of my knowledge inevitably leaked. These weren’t idiots; they were leading scholars of the time. Even small hints could help them discern right from wrong.
In short, my communication with these pioneers meant that the historical fact “The Wright brothers invented the first airplane in 1903” was no longer guaranteed. It was nerve-wracking.
And then, the near failure of my sponsor, Count Zeppelin’s masterpiece.
I didn’t know how it played out in the original timeline, but now the Count had another card up his sleeve: my airplane. And he was pushing for a swift demonstration.
Or rather, seeing the dejected old man reading a newspaper with the headline “Zeppelin, the Fool of the Lake” made my blood boil. These spineless journalists who’d be praising him as a national hero in a few years were now twisting the knife.
For myself. To change the future. And, as a bonus, for the despondent old man. I dedicated myself to the final preparations.
– Your Majesty, I am Armin Rosenbaum, a university student enjoying a peaceful life thanks to Your Majesty’s grace. I have built an airplane for the glory of Your Majesty and the German Empire. It would be the honor of my life if Your Majesty would grant permission to name this aircraft, set to be the first in the world to take flight, “Wilhelm der Große”…
And I made a gamble. I wasn’t a Count. Unlike him, who had to be mindful of his social standing, a young commoner like me could bend and scrape like King Injo at Samjeondo.
Of course, I didn’t expect the crippled Kaiser to reply. If the flight failed, it would be a disgrace. It was better to succeed first, then shamelessly claim credit.
And so, the day was approaching.
The wind tunnel in the outskirts of Berlin, which had drained my family’s resources to secure Count Zeppelin’s investment, was no longer in use. We’d established a new base on a windy hill near Württemberg, the Count’s home.
“Are you ready?”
“Perfect. This thing is the real deal.” Maybach grinned. Naturally, a figure like Maybach, a leading figure in the global automobile industry, didn’t visit frequently. He sent his subordinates. But he’d personally overseen the engine design, which gave me peace of mind. The fate of the airplane ultimately depended on the engine. “Tomorrow, the world will change.”
“I hope so.”
“Hahaha! I’ll be a part of history!”
“‘We,’ you mean.”
The pilot, August Euler, simply chuckled and patted my shoulder instead of replying. “I guarantee it. The tests were flawless. Now we just need to soar like Icarus!”
“Don’t say such ominous things.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fly towards the sun. Kid.”
“Mr. Euler? Let’s do one last engine check. Even His Majesty, the King of Württemberg, is coming to watch.”
“The stakes are getting higher. Excellent. The nervous excitement is perfect.” Euler wasn’t exactly sane either. A typical 19th-century romantic, brimming with a spirit of adventure, he’d graduated from RWTH Aachen University and traveled across Europe, studying various technologies, before becoming obsessed with automobiles. He’d worked at a sewing machine factory, a tire factory, and as a race car driver. He’d caught Maybach’s attention, who was looking for a “skilled engineer crazy enough to pilot an experimental aircraft,” and joined our team.
We had our last supper, a modest meal of Southern-style pig’s feet and beer.
And then, we stood before a crowd of ten thousand.
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“Snacks! Get your snacks!”
“Cold beer! Beer here!”
“Come this way! More people are coming, step right up!”
“Make way!! His Majesty the King is arriving!! Stand back!!”
Chaotic mayhem. The remaining employees of the Zeppelin Airship Company, survivors of mass layoffs, expertly managed the massive crowd. Thanks to the intervention of a future-knowledge-addled young man, those who came to witness the historic flight faced a formidable trial on their way to the viewing area.
“What’s that smell?”
“Get your snacks here! You must be hungry!”
“Roasted potatoes! Buttered potatoes!!”
“It’ll be hard to come down once you’re up there. Grab some beer!”
Typical food stalls, like those at a Korean festival. It wasn’t unusual for this era, but lining the path up the viewing hill with these stalls, their aromas wafting enticingly, deserved some points for creativity.
“One, please.”
“Thank you! Here’s your change!” Their wallets were emptied like they’d encountered a pink vacuum cleaner monster. The mad future man, observing this beautiful scene of money-gathering, cackled, while the old Count blinked repeatedly. “Is this… allowed?”
“Count, what’s wrong?”
“It feels like they have to buy food.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve prepared for this.” He pointed to a large sign on a stall: “A portion of the proceeds will be used to support the challenge and passion of the German Empire.” All the stalls displayed this sign, and those tempted by the aromas, after a moment of hesitation, decided to support this “challenge and passion” and opened their wallets. “They’re not buying food. They’re donating, moved by our passion! The German spirit! This fervor that overflows from Masuria to Memel!”
“I see.” Armin handed the Count a basket of sweet potatoes instead of explaining further. The Count popped one into his mouth, getting sugar on his beard, but Armin ignored it. It was… amusing.
Armin glanced at the other side. The Zeppelin sisters were chatting and eating potato chips next to the Countess. “Rosenbaum.”
“Yes, Count.”
“Which one is better?”
“Cough! Cough, cough!! Pardon me?”
“A genius, they say, but your ears are becoming like Beethoven‘s. Which girl catches your eye?”
“How could I dare have such thoughts about the Count’s daughters?”
The Count popped another sweet potato into his mouth. His hand trembled slightly, dusting his beard with even more sugar. “The eldest is five years older than you, and as you said, there’s the issue of marrying beneath her station. But the younger one is only a year apart.”
“If I marry her, she’ll lose her noble status.”
“You’ll earn a title yourself someday. More importantly, I think it would be best to tie you to our family through marriage.”
“This isn’t the time for such talk, Count.”
“No, it has to be now. Your value will skyrocket if this is successful.”
Armin hesitated. Could he, who’d grown up in a dysfunctional family, create a proper one? More importantly, marrying into the Count’s family would put an end to his current carefree life. How could he handle that? But the Count misinterpreted his hesitation. “Are you not satisfied with my daughters? Or do you prefer the elder one?”
“N-no, sir. Not at all. I just don’t want to drag someone into my difficult life-”
“Being my daughter means she can handle such hardships.”
Fortunately for Armin, and unfortunately for the Count, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Württemberg royal family. Even Count Zeppelin couldn’t be casual before the man who’d provided him with hundreds of thousands of marks. “Now!!! Witness!! The moment the German Empire grasps the sky!! With our own eyes!!”
“Waaaaah!!” The sky was clear and cloudless. The terrain, sculpted by nature, channeled the wind in a specific direction, a blessing for aspiring aviators.
The engine roared to life. The two propellers spun furiously. “Three!! Two!! One!!!”
“Waaaaaaaaah!!!” The airplane, piloted by Euler, surged forward. Thousands of eyes were fixed on it. The blood drained from Count Zeppelin’s face as he stood beside the King of Württemberg. Armin Rosenbaum bit his lip, oblivious to the blood trickling down. Erna von Zeppelin moved closer, gently holding his arm. Even the vendors abandoned their stalls, gazing at the sky. “It’s flying!!” “A man is flying!!” “God! Oh, God!!!” “Man has conquered the sky! The sky belongs to Germany!!” “Germany, above all, Germany, above all else!” Someone started singing the national anthem, “Das Lied der Deutschen,” and the crowd joined in. Longing for national pride, they felt an immense elation watching the airplane soar.
“Count, you’ve finally succeeded.”
“No, Your Majesty. It’s the work of that young man.”
“It’s the role of the elders to recognize and polish a rough gem. This is a resounding success.”
“The hopes of Your Majesty and everyone who supported me have come to fruition through that young man. Thank you again.”
The airplane continued its flight, soaring high, then descending, circling, climbing, and diving.
November 10, 1900.
The first airplane, invented by Armin Rosenbaum and piloted by August Euler, flew over Germany and landed successfully.
The age of aviation had begun.
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