Chapter 745: Bugs
If there was something that could not be conquered by military might alone, it was perhaps the development of technology.
Yet this wasn't a contradiction—technological advancement often led to both a stronger economy and more powerful armed forces.
The British had invented the steam engine and ushered in the First Industrial Revolution, which kept them dominant for centuries as the "empire on which the sun never sets."
The Second Industrial Revolution, with the spread of electricity and internal combustion engines, made Europe and America the center of the world.
And the Third Industrial Revolution would be defined by the rise of computing—which catapulted the United States to global supremacy.
Charles knew this clearly.
No matter how many victories he won on the battlefield, if he didn't control computer technology, America's rise was inevitable.
Because whether in civilian infrastructure or military tech, none of his inventions could compete with a U.S. equipped with computational capabilities.
The timeline was approaching.
The first truly functional American computer would be completed in 1946—just thirty years from now.
Charles would barely be in his mid-forties by then—still in his prime—only to watch the Bernard Group he built collapse under a technological wave.
To prevent that future, he had to seize computing power for himself, placing it in French hands—or more precisely, under the Bernard Group—to lead the Third Industrial Revolution.
He set aside an entire building and an adjacent playground-sized lot as a dedicated research facility for the project.
Inside, it had everything: living quarters, a cafeteria, leisure areas—complete self-sufficiency for the researchers.
The outer wall was five meters high and surrounded the entire compound like a prison.
An infantry battalion was stationed outside in three rotating squads—armed and on duty 24/7.
Unauthorized personnel were strictly prohibited from approaching.
Even Deyoka had no idea what was being researched in that building.
At this moment, the vast laboratory contained only three people: Charles, Professor Fessenden, and Lieutenant Painvin.
The lab was on the second floor—chosen specifically to avoid the dampness of the ground level, which could damage the sensitive vacuum tubes.
Turing's earliest computers had used devices called "bombes" as components.
Later, these were replaced by vacuum tubes.
Charles skipped the "bombe" phase entirely.
With his modern knowledge, he went straight to vacuum tube logic.
(Image: Turing's original "bombe" machine. Lacking paper tape input/output or storage, it relied on mechanical parts to brute-force decrypt German ciphers during WWII.)
Charles' experiment started with the simplest goal: one-digit binary addition.
It was essentially a primitive form of programming, but in this era, "programming" meant physical wiring to simulate binary carry rules.
The first attempt didn't go well.
After completing the circuit, Fessenden applied power to the input side while Painvin recorded the output.
"Something's off," Painvin said.
"We should have gotten a result of 9—but the output says 3."
Ironically, this failure gave Fessenden more confidence.
"There's a mistake somewhere," he murmured, eyes scanning the circuit.
"This is just logic translated into physical wiring—it should work."
He suspected a hardware issue.
"Probably a faulty vacuum tube."
They retested the circuit and, sure enough, found a burnt-out tube.
"It must've blown the moment it was powered on—that's why we didn't notice," Fessenden said.
Charles simply watched as they worked.
In the modern era, this would be solved by a few lines of code.
But here, each carry operation had to be wired manually.
One wrong wire, or one dead vacuum tube, and the result would be completely wrong.
Charles admitted that he was outmatched by the two experts.
He knew the theory—but the maze of glass tubes and wires quickly overwhelmed him.
What he didn't realize was that Fessenden and Painvin had developed deep respect for him.
Painvin was thinking in terms of his own field.
If this method worked, what once required hundreds or thousands of people working for days could be solved in seconds.
In war, this was revolutionary.
Because in codebreaking, speed is everything.
A message decrypted too late is worse than useless.
Fessenden, on the other hand, thought even bigger.
While checking the tubes, he kept reflecting:
If this worked, then any problem solvable by logic could now be solved mechanically.
And many problems could be translated into logical models.
In other words, this machine could solve far more problems than anyone imagined.
It was a brand-new field—a blank canvas.
And they were the pioneers.
They were creating history.
How had Charles even thought of this?
After repairs, Fessenden carefully powered up the tubes one by one, based on binary input.
Painvin watched the output tubes, transcribed the signals, and converted them instantly to decimal.
He blinked, looked again—and then gasped in excitement:
"It's the correct result! We did it—it worked!"
"Unbelievable—it calculated automatically!"
"It really works!"
Fessenden, though a veteran of many experiments, managed to stay composed.
At least on the outside.
Internally, he was nearly overwhelmed.
This experiment was more important than any he'd ever done.
None of his past accomplishments could compare.
But he still restrained himself.
"Let's test a few more cases," he said.
"It could've been a fluke."
"Yes, Professor!" Painvin nodded.
"But I know it works. I know it does. Our theory is sound!"
And he was right.
Over a dozen tests returned correct results every time.
When the answer was wrong, it was due to loose wiring or faulty tubes.
After the fifteenth successful test, Fessenden finally relaxed.
He turned to Charles, stared at him for a moment, then stepped forward and shook his hand tightly.
"I was wrong, General. This is possible."
"You've opened the door to a new world for us.
Thank you. This… this is the idea of a genius!"
"Yes!" Painvin gasped.
"No one has ever thought of this—only you, General!"
Charles nodded, then glanced around the lab.
"Perhaps it's time we improved this environment."
"We can't afford to let anything in here…
not even a single bug."
Fessenden and Painvin were stunned.
Of all things to worry about right now—bugs?
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