I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 641: The “UWD” Seaplane

By mid-February, the weather in Germany had started to warm, and the snow began to melt.

Not long before, the North Sea had been struck by a violent storm. Waves towering over ten meters had battered coastal towns and villages, burying farmland beneath thick layers of sand and silt. Entire homes were swept away, and countless civilians were left homeless, turning into refugees begging for survival.

For Germany—already suffering from a dire shortage of supplies—this was yet another blow. In some areas, unrest was beginning to show signs of becoming full-blown rebellion.

But Admiral Scheer had no time to concern himself with any of that. He stood on the observation platform at Wilhelmshaven, eyes fixed intently on a tugboat pulling an aircraft out from the port.

It was a large seaplane—converted from the Gotha G.1 bomber—and Admiral Scheer had given it a new name: UWD.

(Image: Germany's UWD seaplane, converted from the Gotha G.1 bomber.)

The modification was necessary. Scheer believed the original Gotha bomber, in its current form, still fell short of the navy's requirements.

Its top speed was roughly equal to Charles's Caproni bomber—about 135 km/h—but the issue lay in its range. It had a total range of just 520 kilometers. Even when fitted with auxiliary fuel tanks, it could only reach 800 km.

That was barely enough to get the Gotha bomber to the northern edge of the North Sea—just far enough for a glimpse before it would have to immediately turn back, or else run out of fuel and never return.

Such short surveillance windows would never be enough to detect the British main fleet.

"This is not what we need," Scheer said grimly to his staff. "Our goal is to break the blockade, and for that, we need to know where the British Royal Navy's main force is at all times. Right now, our bombers can't do that."

From Falkenhayn, Scheer had received six Gotha G.1 units. Falkenhayn had promised to speed up production, but it was still nowhere near enough.

Colonel Maximi offered an analysis: "The real issue is that every time these planes fly a reconnaissance mission, they must return to base to refuel. Most of their fuel and flight time is wasted just getting to and from the target area."

"You're suggesting…" Scheer turned to Maximi, and then his eyes lit up. "You mean convert them into seaplanes?"

"Yes," Maximi nodded. "Once they're seaplanes, they won't need to return to base to refuel. We can establish offshore refueling points, perhaps use submarines to carry fuel and supply them directly at sea."

Scheer nodded in agreement. "This could solve the range issue and dramatically extend our reconnaissance coverage."

So during the stormy months of January and February, when the North Sea was too dangerous for normal operations, Scheer rushed through an upgrade of the Gotha bombers—transforming them into operational seaplanes.

A report snapped Scheer out of his thoughts.

"Admiral, the aircraft is ready."

Scheer looked back at the UWD now floating at sea. The tug had moved away, and patrol boats had cleared a several-hundred-meter "runway" ahead.

Scheer gave a slight nod and ordered calmly, "Begin!"

With a flurry of semaphore flags, the aircraft's engines roared to life, growling like a beast as twin propellers beneath the fuselage spun faster and faster until they became a blur. The sea below churned with sprays of water from the thrust.

The seaplane started to move slowly, skimming the surface. Its pontoons slapped against the waves, and resistance grew with every meter. The sea pitched higher.

Faster, faster—the UWD gained speed until it finally broke free from the water's grip and lifted into the sky.

Below, sailors burst into cheers, some applauding spontaneously.

Scheer exhaled softly in relief, nodding with satisfaction. He turned to Maximi.

"Colonel, reconnaissance duties are yours now. We must quickly identify the enemy's weaknesses and prepare our strike."

Germany desperately needed a victory—at least a glimpse of hope.

Otherwise, the starving population might very well overthrow the emperor.

…

Meanwhile, Charles was still stationed in Antwerp.

Following the successful encirclement operation at Hasselt and the capture of 200,000 German soldiers, Antwerp had officially become a rear-area zone. In fact, it was more than just the rear—it was now over 60 kilometers from the front lines.

British forces had pulled out their main contingents, including Lieutenant General Aylves, who had been transferred to the Somme to continue fighting.

The British were stubbornly convinced that the Somme offensive was strategically significant and could deliver a decisive victory—despite the battle beginning to resemble more of a gambler's last bet.

Kitchener didn't want all their losses to amount to nothing. He believed the German lines were about to collapse and that a bit more pressure might break them for good.

Thus, they kept pouring troops, materials, and artillery into the Somme.

But the Germans on the other side were doing the same—stacking manpower, munitions, and firepower in equal measure.

In reality, the frontlines shifted only marginally, with both sides hemorrhaging resources and soldiers.

Charles still maintained his command center at the airport.

This time, however, the airport had been reinforced with 12 Caproni bombers, now upgraded to carry torpedoes.

The head of the aircraft development division, Dorn, personally oversaw the logistics and technical guidance for the bombers.

Holding up a schematic, Dorn explained to Charles:

"Our tests show that the ideal speed before torpedo release is no more than 100 km/h."

"Also, the aircraft must maintain a stable attitude. If it tilts or jerks, the torpedo might tumble in the air due to inertia and won't launch properly."

"Altitude should be about 20 meters."

Charles sighed inwardly. So—it was true. Speed, attitude, altitude—all had to meet strict conditions. The requirements were even tougher than he anticipated.

(Note: During WWII, most torpedo bombers operated between 10–30 meters in altitude.)

Then again, it wasn't surprising. WWI industry and technology were still far behind those of WWII. Every step had to be taken the hard way—thinking ahead didn't automatically mean solving problems instantly, especially with only a month of development.

"This places high demands on the pilots," Dorn added seriously. "This is a heavy bomber attacking enemy warships. After dropping its torpedo, even pulling up will be difficult."

Charles nodded.

But he wasn't worried. After all these months of combat, the Air Corps had produced a large number of experienced pilots.

Besides, while the Caproni was a heavy bomber, maintaining a speed of 100 km/h gave pilots over a minute to respond and pull up after launching a torpedo from 2 kilometers away.

The real risk lay in the pilots' own aggression. Many, seeking a higher hit rate, might fly dangerously close before dropping their payload.

Daredevils, thrill-seekers—pilots who loved pushing their limits. Even Air Corps commander Carter was among them.

As Charles and Dorn were discussing these technical details, a guard stepped forward and reported, "General, Vice Admiral Guépratte is here. He wishes to speak with you."

(End of Chapter 641)

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