Chapter 18: Have Immelmann Fly Us to Wilhelmshaven

Once convinced by Lelouch’s plan, Major General Karl knew that time was of the essence. He did not ask for further details, instead immediately arranging for a reconnaissance plane to transport Lelouch to the army group headquarters. The goal was to meet his elder brother, Duke Rupprecht, to secure a handwritten letter of endorsement—and simultaneously establish an official record of the operation.

From there, Lelouch would fly on to Wilhelmshaven to meet Rear Admiral Hipper and discuss the specific operational plan and intelligence verification procedures. After all, the Britannians would not be idle; the humiliated and disgraced Admiral of the Fleet, Walton, was likely already plotting his retaliation. Given the decision-making efficiency of the Britannians, they could swiftly authorize a strike and redeploy their fleet.

The distance from Dover, the home port of the Britannian Channel Fleet, to the Nieuwpoort and Ostend area was a mere 150 kilometers. In contrast, the Demanian Navy, coming from Wilhelmshaven and taking a slightly longer route through the open sea to avoid detection near the Netherlands, faced a 500-kilometer journey. Converting these to nautical miles, both figures would be divided by 1.8. An old fleet with a maximum speed of 20 knots would take about 5 hours to reach Nieuwpoort from Dover, while a high-speed battlecruiser fleet would require at least 12 hours to arrive at the battlefield from Wilhelmshaven.

Naturally, fleets rarely maintain maximum speed for the entire duration. Even upon reaching the combat zone, they would not merely strike and retreat; there would be a significant period of loitering. The Britannians, in particular, were highly confident in their naval intelligence and their total force strength, generally showing no fear of a surprise attack by the Demanians, and thus were often willing to engage in protracted battles once their fleet reached the theater. Regardless of the calculations, the Demanian Navy’s decision-making had to be as swift as possible to seize the window of opportunity; there was no room for hesitation.

...

In the late hours of the night, after Major General Karl had finished writing and sealing two personal letters, he had his staff car speed Lelouch off to the airfield, having already placed a highly reliable reconnaissance pilot on standby.

"Dress warmly. Try to catch some sleep on the plane if you can; you likely won't have time to rest tonight. It’s a good thing you're young and have the energy," Karl said, handing Lelouch a thick set of lieutenant’s winter gear and a reindeer-hide trench coat.

Lelouch did not stand on ceremony; he climbed into the car and waved goodbye. As he entered, he caught a glimpse of the initials "BFW" engraved on the hood of the division commander’s car in the faint light. Historically, this small, private start-up in the Kingdom of Bavaria would not receive royal investment for expansion and rebranding until over a year into the war, when it would become the "Bavarian Engine Works," changing the "F" to an "M."

"A 1914 BFW—truly a makeshift operation. The engine vibration is brutal. Is the Major General trying to 'support domestic products'?" Lelouch thought with a touch of dark humor as the car rattled along. At this point in time, the quality of BFW engines was still significantly inferior to the Benz engines, which had over thirty years of history behind them.

...

Half an hour later, they arrived at the airfield. It was Lelouch’s first time seeing a field airfield of this era, and the facilities were primitive at best. It was merely a rammed-earth path, lacking even a surface of concrete or asphalt. Dense grass bordered both sides, presumably to minimize dust. A wooden biplane sat on the grass, the initials "BFW" painted on the engine cowling.

Seeing the brand, Lelouch felt a flicker of apprehension. In the early days of the Great War, aircraft engine development was highly unprofessional, with many engines being simple lightweight conversions of automotive ones—replacing steel structural parts with aluminum wherever possible. Fortunately, where hardware was lacking, software could compensate; Major General Karl knew the quality of his planes and had chosen a pilot for the night's mission who was exceptionally capable.

Lelouch jogged over to the plane, where an officer with the rank of captain reached out a hand in greeting. Lelouch returned the gesture.

"Max Immelmann—you must be Lieutenant Lelouch Hunter, right? Don't worry, I will get you to Duke Rupprecht safely," the captain introduced himself.

"Captain Immelmann, I’ve heard much about you," Lelouch said politely, shaking his hand before climbing into the rear seat of the reconnaissance plane.

Captain Immelmann walked to the front, inserted a crank into a small hole on the side of the engine cowling, and gave it a few vigorous turns, much like starting a tractor from the 1980s. The engine sputtered to life. Immelmann jumped into the cockpit, taxied, and took off. Once the nose was leveled and pointed toward Antwerp, he set the rudder and turned his head to chat. "Lieutenant, you said you’d heard much of me—what exactly have you heard?"

"Naturally, I’ve heard of your bold flying style," Lelouch replied. "I hear you perform vertical rolls. Today's mission is just to get me there safely, so please, no flashy or dangerous maneuvers."

The first tactical maneuver in human aerial warfare named after its pilot was the "Immelmann turn." Although it would later be considered a basic maneuver that every pilot could perform—involving pulling the plane into a climb, performing a half-roll at the apex, and executing a 180-degree turn—in late 1914, it was a unique, signature move of Max Immelmann himself.

Immelmann, having expected Lelouch to be merely offering empty flattery, was surprised to find the lieutenant knowledgeable. Pleased, he dropped his playful tone. "I didn't realize you understood flight. Very well, I promise not to frighten you on the way."

As Immelmann flew more steadily, the plane still bucked in the turbulent air. Lelouch remarked, "Pilots really should be equipped with lap belts to strap them into their seats! It would keep them from falling out and might even allow for more aggressive combat maneuvers in the future."

Immelmann initially wanted to retort, knowing that planes didn't need belts—centrifugal force would pin a pilot to the cockpit during high-G maneuvers, and in a crash, a belt would only hinder escape. However, Lelouch’s follow-up silenced him, sparking his curiosity instead.

"You mean... combat with airplanes? Using pistols to shoot at each other? Wouldn't killing the pilot directly lack chivalry? Your idea is thought-provoking, though. If it were for combat, a seatbelt to keep from sliding around during violent maneuvers would indeed be necessary."

"Who said air combat must be done with pistols?" Lelouch countered. "Why not remove the rear seat of a two-seater reconnaissance plane and use that weight to install a fixed machine gun? Let the pilot trigger a barrage against the enemy ahead. If you don't want to aim for the pilot, just spray the area; you’ll likely hit the fuselage or wings. Shooting down an enemy plane while allowing the pilot to glide to safety—that’s chivalrous enough, isn't it?"

Lelouch had no intention of forcibly altering the course of aerial combat doctrine; his rank was too low, and he lacked the standing to be heard. If he brought these things up, the credit wouldn't be his anyway. It was better to influence things gradually. By dropping a few hints to Immelmann today, he was sowing the seeds for the future. When Immelmann made a name for himself, he would naturally remember Lelouch’s foresight and come to him for advice.

Captain Immelmann fell into a brief, thoughtful silence. Lelouch reminded him to focus on flying, and they arrived without incident.

...

After a flight of just over an hour, Immelmann, relying on his expert skills and the runway lights, landed with pinpoint precision. As Lelouch climbed out, he saw several high-ranking officers in ornate uniforms standing by the tarmac.

The leader appeared to be in his forties or fifties, with a crew cut, a thick handlebar mustache, a rugged brow, deep-set eyes, and a square jaw. He wore a general’s uniform topped with a red fox fur robe, embroidered with the double-lion crown crest of the Wittelsbach dynasty. It was clearly the elder brother of Major General Karl—commander of the 6th Army, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Bavaria, Duke Rupprecht.

Lelouch hurried forward and saluted. "Lieutenant Lelouch Hunter, line-laying officer of the Army Group Communications Battalion, reporting to Your Highness."

The Duke nodded slightly, eyeing him up and down. Lelouch’s injured, reddened left eye made a deep impression, instinctively leading the Duke to perceive him as a man of loyalty and conviction.

"Karl told me repeatedly in his telegram that he had discovered a prodigy whose proper use could contribute greatly to the Empire," the Duke said, not wishing to make things difficult for him. "He didn't give specifics, saying only that there would be time to learn later. I trust his judgment. I know of your foresight. Here is my personal letter for Rear Admiral Hipper; it instructs him to assist you as much as possible, provided it does not violate his duties as an officer. Time is short, and I do not wish to squander this opportunity. Answer me one question, and you may take this letter."

The Duke was prepared to focus on the big picture. He trusted that Karl had vetted the details. He only wanted to ask one question of principle; if Lelouch gave a satisfactory answer, he would let him proceed.

Lelouch knew this was inevitable. It was like a final imperial examination: even if the Emperor didn't understand the nuance of the essays, he still had to ask a question to finalize the process.

"Please, Your Highness, ask your question." Lelouch stood at attention, his expression as calm and composed as ever.