The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943-Chapter 61 - 68 – Cheap New Technology

Money might not solve everything, but in this world, it could solve most things.

Good news arrived quickly. Just two days later, Alan John Cobham agreed to sell his company, Flight Refueling Ltd. (FRL)—along with over a decade of research in aerial refueling—to Zhenhua Corporation for the modest price of £25,000.

After the contract was signed, Cobham came to meet Pierre in his office. Gilly entered first, carrying a porcelain tray with matching cups, a coffee pot, a milk jug, a sugar bowl, and an assortment of biscuits. Once she poured the coffee and left, Pierre gestured toward the cup.

"Alan, as agreed, the company will pay you the full amount at a suitable time after the war. In the meantime, as FRL’s managing director, you’ll receive a monthly salary of £150."

The reason for delaying the payment until after the war was simple: to avoid taxes.

No British citizen in his right mind wanted to pay 99.6% income tax.

That wasn’t taxation—it was highway robbery.

Like a thief stealing everything, then leaving you just enough for bus fare.

Of course, this absurd rate only applied during wartime, which is why Cobham insisted the purchase price be deferred.

"Thank you, sir."

Cobham took a sip of coffee, then added several spoons of sugar before sipping again and nodding in approval.

This was the taste.

God as his witness—it had been ages since he’d had coffee this sweet.

He reached for a biscuit next.

Seeing Cobham savoring the drink and sweets, Pierre couldn’t help but reflect on how much war had changed people’s lives.

A bag of sugar could buy a night in a lady’s bedroom. A pair of silk stockings could turn a noblewoman into a streetwalker. Even a man as prominent as Cobham no longer cared about appearances when drinking coffee.

Material scarcity had reshaped the world—and people’s dignity with it.

"Alan, I want you to go to the U.S. to further develop aerial refueling technology."

Compared to Britain, the U.S. was far more suitable for conducting flight tests. In the U.K., you never knew when a German plane might show up mid-air.

"The U.S., huh?"

Cobham’s eyes lit up. Then he hesitated.

"But it won’t be easy getting there right now, will it?"

"Leave that to me."

Pierre smiled.

Things were different now. As a Pentagon contractor, he could take military transport flights between London and New York. And if needed, he could use special visa arrangements to bring personnel to the U.S.

"Can I bring my family too?"

Cobham had had enough of wartime Britain. Being able to take his family to America would be ideal.

"Not yet. After the war, maybe..."

Pierre’s voice trailed off.

At the time of purchasing Cobham’s company, he had no idea this seemingly routine deal would result in the world’s leading hose-based aerial refueling company becoming part of a North Borneo firm.

Nor could he imagine how advancing this technology would eventually reshape global warfare. But one thing was certain: it would change the course of history.

Wartime made it possible to acquire technology at absurdly low prices.

Many companies—especially those whose products weren’t directly applicable to the war—had little value during wartime. But often, those overlooked innovations were hidden gold mines.

"Sir, this new loom uses compressed air to propel the weft thread through the shed. It greatly improves weaving efficiency..."

In Zhenhua Corporation’s London office, an engineer named Swaty stood before Pierre, explaining his invention. Though trained in textile machinery, his life in wartime Britain had become one of extreme poverty and constant hunger.

To survive, he had even published his invention—a jet loom—in a magazine, hoping someone would buy into the concept. But wartime interest in textile machines was near zero. Worse, the design hadn’t even been completed—only the core idea existed.

So when he received a letter from Zhenhua inviting him to London, he came immediately, hoping to sell his idea.

"Of course, Mr. Swaty. I believe your invention could revolutionize the textile industry—that’s why I want to buy it. But I’m not just buying the machine. I want you too. After all, the design isn’t finished yet, is it?"

Pierre looked at the man with a smile.

Swaty, the inventor of the jet loom, had been rejected by British manufacturers again and again—before, during, and even after the war. Europe simply had no interest in updating its textile equipment. Only after returning to Czechoslovakia was his invention finally adopted—mainly for political reasons, as a symbol of the new regime’s "success."

For the next several decades, Czech-made jet looms would dominate the Eastern Bloc. Even German and Japanese firms later imported the technology from Czechoslovakia.

This invention might not have looked glamorous, but for the textile industry, it was revolutionary. From the 1960s onward, jet looms would replace traditional shuttle looms and become the industry standard.

For both textile production and textile machinery, this was the future.

And if it was the future, then it was worth paying for—not just the tech, but Swaty himself. After all, his personal contribution was the reason Czech looms had outpaced the rest.

"£50."

Pierre looked at Swaty and said:

"The company will pay you £50 a month as salary so you can focus on your research. Additionally, we’ll pay £1,000 for your patent rights to the jet loom."

Sometimes, things really were that cheap.

Whether others were scooping up deals like this, Pierre didn’t know.

But right now... he’d traded just £1,000—the cost of a few hundred pounds of coffee—for a technology worth hundreds of millions.

And even then, the man in front of him was deeply, sincerely grateful.

----

Chapter 69 – The First Step Toward Becoming an Infrastructure Maniac

War creates all kinds of opportunities—some of them entirely unexpected.

While Pierre was in Britain, flipping through technical magazines in search of technologies with long-term potential, he wasn’t just reading—he was fishing.

Many revolutionary technologies go unrecognized in their infancy. Few can see their potential; fewer still realize they are the future. All it takes is targeted salvage work.

To that end, Pierre had even established a company in London dedicated solely to scouting and acquiring such tech. He hired professionals to evaluate and systematically identify high-potential innovations—especially those ignored or underestimated by the mainstream.

Some technologies were simply born ahead of their time—like the 250,000 kW steam turbine generator developed by CEC (Central Electricity Generating Board) in the UK.

It was a world-leading innovation.

Even the U.S.—which had introduced a 200,000 kW turbine unit as early as the 1930s—had nothing like it.

But timing was everything. In 1940, at the height of the Battle of Britain, CEC completed their first 250,000 kW turbine. And then... nothing. With constant bombing threats, the British government pivoted to distributed generation using smaller, scattered stations to reduce risk.

"The bigger the generator, the greater the risk. Sure, it’s more efficient—but one well-placed bomb, and it’s all gone. So that massive turbine’s been collecting dust in CEC’s warehouse ever since. If you’re interested, you could probably get it for a bargain."

Hearing this from Jason, an electrical engineer, Pierre wasn’t just interested in the unit itself—he wanted the technology too.

250,000 kilowatts!

That was cutting-edge, even by global standards.

The U.S. wouldn’t build a 300,000 kW generator until the mid-1950s.

China wouldn’t develop a 200,000 kW generator until the 1970s.

Acquiring this tech now would position his company to own the most advanced generator technology in the world.

And what is electricity?

Electricity is the future.

North Borneo’s development would depend on it.

So would the reconstruction of Europe and the rise of global industry.

That’s exactly why Pierre was already seeking out generation equipment—because postwar power systems would be in high demand. Countries rebuilding from the ashes would need massive quantities of generators.

A nation’s reconstruction wouldn’t be determined by manpower or raw materials, but by electricity supply. East Germany’s rebuilding lagged behind the West largely because the Soviets dismantled its power infrastructure.

That’s why Pierre was positioning early—to ensure future power availability during the global postwar boom. After all, infrastructure was key to national strength.

Why did China rise so quickly in another timeline?

Because it became an infrastructure maniac.

And the foundation of infrastructure?

Transportation and electricity.

To rise, one must first learn to be a builder.

And a power plant is the beating heart of that ambition.

Jason’s comment only made Pierre hungrier for the tech.

"Would CEC be willing to license the technology?"

"What?"

Jason was momentarily confused.

"I’m asking whether they’d be willing to transfer the tech behind the 250,000 kW unit."

Jason blinked.

"Sir, do you know how much electricity that thing can generate in a year? Theoretically, nearly a billion kilowatt-hours. With only a few dozen of those units, you could power all of Britain. But honestly, the market for such giant generators is tiny..."

As an engineer, Jason couldn’t help but caution him.

"Even in the U.S., there are only two 200,000 kW generators in operation. And after this war, no one will want giant power stations—everyone will be thinking about safety. Distributed generation is going to be the norm."

He stopped just short of saying, "It’s unsellable."

But to Pierre, that was a good thing.

"The less popular it is, the cheaper I can buy it."

The less confidence the market had, the lower the price.

If everyone believed in it, the tech would be expensive—if it was even for sale.

In truth, after the war, larger generators would initially fall out of favor due to cost and security concerns. But the reconstruction boom in Europe would later drive demand for massive power systems, pushing large-scale turbines to become the industry standard.

That’s why Pierre was determined to buy it—not just because the generator could produce over 700 million kWh per year, but because this tech was the future.

With it, North Borneo could enter the electrical age, and ride the postwar economic surge.

Because no industry can rise without power.

"Go negotiate with CEC. Buy the generator and the licensing rights. What’s your estimate?"

"Alright, boss."

Jason shrugged.

"The pre-war price for that unit was £970,000. Considering it’s been sitting unused for years and taking the war into account... I’d say we can get it for around £600,000."

"Does that include tech licensing?"

"Yes. For CEC, that unit’s just deadweight. If we buy it, it even helps clear up their balance sheet."

As a veteran of the power industry, Jason understood how the financial world worked. Even a large enterprise like CEC could be dragged down by negative assets affecting their stock valuation.

Still, he felt obliged to warn:

"But boss, I have to be honest: the market for this tech is almost nonexistent. This could easily turn out to be a loss-making investment."

"Loss?" Pierre laughed. "I don’t do loss-making deals."

Buying a million-pound machine—and its IP—for £600,000? That was no loss.

The only reason it was cheap was that people didn’t yet realize where the future was headed. War had distorted everyone’s perception. But markets? Markets would eventually correct course.

"What a shame..."

As Jason and the company’s patent lawyers began talks with CEC, Pierre sat down with another report—a technical dossier on British car engine designs.

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