By the turn of 1932, the Great Depression began to mellow down, and Coanda's first plane flew, after a fashion.
It flew straight up, ran out of oxygen, the pilot fainted or something, and then the plane flew down again, breaking the sound barrier before it crashed. Filming the event and then going over the last few frames did prove a cone shockwave forming at trans-sonic speed, which probably blew the mind of any aircraft engineer, and certainly the pilot himself.
We did find his ring finger, and sent it to his wife, with the melted ring still on it. The man died for science, after all.
"You're thinking again about planes crashing into your palace, right?" Henri asked me as we drank something in honor of our tragic success.
"Not really. Still, maybe some 50 brave pilots, and I could be rid of the Soviet Navy in the Black Sea. I'll have to ask around." I mused to myself, mostly.
The Archangels of the Legion would be useful for a kamikaze run. They would even be grateful.
Maybe pilot guided torpedoes too? The Japanese did have some good ideas about using death-wishing soldiers.
Henri measured me with a wary look, then chuckled. "I don't think you'll find any volunteer for such a task. Anyways, with extra fuel tanks, even a propeller plane could reach Sevastopol and launch a torpedo."
I nodded wisely. That would work too, just like Taranto. Maybe the second wave should be kamikaze clean up. In case there were any ships not exploded.
"One day, we could send an unmanned plane from here to Russia and have it just crash into Kremlin. Will need better radio direction, and something to recognize the target from a photograph. Winds and pressure changes at this distance will make programmed flights quite random."
Henri coughed and sipped some more champagne. "One day, huh? What, a thousand years from now?" he asked in disbelief.
"It's been 20 years since the first plane flew over here. In 20 more years, we will reach orbit. Then the Moon, 20 years after. Maybe even sooner. It's barely 300 thousands kilometers away." I answered with a wry grin.
"They won't let you drive that plane. You'd be too old." Henri countered with a smile.
"I think a rocket of sorts. There is no air out there. Nothing to combine with the fuel..." I mused with a longing voice towards the sky.
Henri nodded sad. "Of course. For a silly King doing silly things, you do have a bit of knowledge about flight."
"Perhaps some 50 rapid autocannons instead of a rocket engine. The recoil would propel the ship out the gravity well either way, if it could carry enough ammo. Even to the Moon and back." I added for no reason. It would work, as a science project. Probably kill the pilot from the recoil too.
Henri took his notebook and began computing the required forces. Took him like two hours and another bottle, but he marked the last number with a V.
"Newton would turn in his grave and fling 3 million apples at your head for this idea, my silly King. But it would work."
I smiled wolfishly. "Now imagine a plane gun firing just enough ammo that its recoil is exactly the reverse of its engine thrust. They would cancel out, right?" I said with a nod towards his notebook.
The man just threw his notebook away. "Go home, your Majesty. And buy a few more mechanical calculators. I want to build a twin-engine plane next time." he demanded in a tired voice.
"Incremental progress is good, but 8 engines would work better. Twin-nacelle engines, two under each wing?" I yelled as I left his workshop. A bottle flew towards my head, luckily empty.
I left Brasov and headed towards Mangalia, the Royal Navy's military port to the Black Sea. Here, we were building two updated Turbinia class corvettes, to be later equipped with peroxide fuel torpedoes. A single triple torpedo launcher, at the ship's bow.
I wanted the ships to be the fastest in the world, like any proper Accelerationist.
My whole life was about speed, drinks and women, might as well make the best of it. My first jet plane did already break the sound barrier, and the Craiova car factory was trying to mate a race car with an (almost) reliable jet engine. I was certain it would break any land speed record on the first try, and possibly explode soon after.
I was so lucky Codreanu kept finding men willing to die for King, Country and Science.
The IAR factory had 100 such men lined up to be test pilots, and possibly kamikaze heroes once we had a decent plane.
I called their unit Sentinels, for they were the first line of defense for the Great Romania I ruled over.
The Royal Dictatorship came about rather smoothly in this timeline, since I wasn't the same man, wasting the public budget on lavish parties or expensive villas in France and Switzerland. My factories actually made a good profit, even with the royal workers being paid twice the normal salary, plus bonuses for extra hours, extra quality or more products like guns, tractors and tanks.
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Truly, I was blessed by the friendship of the Zion's Mossad, as those guys managed to steal secrets, schematics and even codebooks from nearly all over the globe.
Sure, some of these secrets were actually simply proximity opportunities, like grabbing a rare book from a library or weapon's manual and things like that.
Other things were far more secret, like investments in companies abroad to gain access to restricted patents, trade secrets, bank accounts and rare resources.
The Mossad network kept 70% of the gains and dutifully delivered 30% into my hands, or rather my delegated household people, and also kept an eye on them for me, should they steal what was rightfully mine.
Reading Adolf's erratic speeches about a Zionist conspiracy taking over the world, I could only smile under my dashing mustache. He was wrong, but quite close too, to the new truth.
There was a conspiracy involving jews out to get him now, only I was in charge of it.
The big Jewish bankers in America and Britain had their chance when I offered them my hand, and they refused. Now they would be left out of the pizza shares, when it will be time for the final cut.
Steadily buying land in Venezuela for example, where my game map showed large oil reserves. Aluminum deposits in Suriname, lithium, cobalt and molybdenum in Central Africa. Cheap as grass, although sometimes needing target removal from the New World Order. It would take a decade to match the Rockefeller family, but I had time.
Plus, the King position was not really elective. I could quit, just like my body did before, but only if and when I wanted to.
As for Michael, and my first son Mircea Lambrino, I had other countries they could be kings over. Bulgaria and Hungary, for example.
The Balkan Dominance still remained the best option in my game menu, even if it did require a large standing army and at least one armored division.
However, peasants loved me to death these days, and they would gladly answer the call when it was time for recruitment. I would need half a million shovels just to keep them in trenches though, and just as many to bury them, if they didn't have the rest of needed equipment, like guns, ammo, rations, uniforms, winter coats, tents and such.
My game menu could easily calculate the needed equipment, and how long it would take to produce: 3.6 years, if I started right now. Possibly early 1936 then, after division training.
Just right to match the classic HOI 4 campaign, which was a likely loss on Elite difficulty. It seemed the game was going to play without me if I didn't make a push.
No. In two years I would have two armored divisions, and be able to strike Hungary from north and south at the same time. Perhaps some planes?
I called a General Staff meeting, and simply explained my position to the gathered Generals. "Hungary, your Majesty?"
"Exactly. They have a large minority in our country, which is already causing strife. And they prefer not to call their people home, as to gain a claim on our sacred soil, should any Great Power support such a claim in the future. Most likely Germany." I explained in a calm voice. The dozens of medals, ribbons and chains on my chest made me quite hot, and my arm-sized steel-hard dick was depleting my brain of blood. Not an ideal circumstance, but I forged on.
"And after we 'puppet' them, what next?" General Antonescu asked in a logical voice.
"After that, my son Michael will become their lawful King, under Price Nicolae's Regency. And we get to export the Hungarians from Romania back home. It would be more merciful than allowing the Holy Legion to massacre them all." I added with a tiny shrug. Most of the intellectual Hungarians had already died anyways, as to prevent an organized resistance, but Codreanu was a fanatic and would kill everyone else just to make a point.
"Perhaps you shouldn't tolerate the Archangel's Legion anymore, your Majesty. The army can take care of them for you..." Antonescu proposed in a blood-thirsty voice. Exactly like he did in the first timeline, when he ordered the army to kill every Legion member.
"Why would I allow loyal Romanians to kill each other, especially over disloyal Hungarians? Can you find a thousand men willing to climb into a torpedo and drive towards a Soviet battleship, General?" I countered with a harsher voice.
The man halted in surprise, then smiled. "You are right, your Majesty. I was too hasty. Loyal men willing to die for their King and Country should not be wasted."
The other Generals got the hint and nodded as well. We could use the death-worshipers far better, against a true enemy.