Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

In the House of Commons hall, more than 650 members of parliament were crammed into the century-old building.

Those few dark green benches could only seat a little over four hundred people, and the rest of the people had to squeeze into the stepped aisles like sardines in a can.

The semi-transparent glass ceiling above the hall cast a dim light, and the air was filled with the smells of slowly burning gas and the expensive perfumes and aftershaves of the gentlemen, making one drowsy.

This was the first new meeting in 1869.

Viscount Edward Cavill and First Lord of the Navy Hugh Childers stood on either side of the central long table, each with a budget estimate as thick as a dictionary on it.

The contents beneath the dark blue hardcover document had already been read by Conservative hawks several days earlier.

Just glancing at the numbers on the table made them grit their teeth and exchange glances on the bench.

As the Speaker of the House of Commons stood up and announced loudly, "Now, let's move on to the Supply Committee."

He left that high throne because, legally, the Speaker sitting there represents formal legislation, and the upcoming committee session means that all members will sit together and haggle fiercely, turning Parliament into a Sunday morning market.

The messenger solemnly stepped forward, took down the pure gold scepter from the central long table, and hung it on the shelf below the table.

The debate officially began.

Viscount Cavill was the first to stand up, place his top hat beside his seat, and straighten his collar.

"Mr. Chairman," he said, "with the deepest sense of responsibility to the finances and taxpayers of the Empire, and after full consultation with His Excellency the Prime Minister and the Cabinet, I hereby announce that in 1869, the regular army budget of Britain will be reduced by £1.2 million, while the infantry in the overseas colonies will be streamlined."

The moment the words left his mouth, the Conservative Party bench opposite him exploded like a powder keg, and MPs sprang to their feet, waving pamphlets and shouting, "Absurd!" "This is treason!"

Sir Sir John Parkington, the former Secretary of State for the Army, who was sitting in the front row of the Conservative Party, stood up to speak.

He is seventy years old this year, with gray hair, and wearing a well-fitting suit.

Sir Parkinton's slight bow caused the noise behind him to recede layer by layer.

He looked serious and angry, but his tone remained as gentle as that of an English gentleman.

“Mr. Chairman, I cannot remain silent.” He looked at Gladstone. “While our Prime Minister is engrossed in settling accounts in Downing Street, France and Prussia across the Channel are forging cannons and rifles day and night. Such a plan is tantamount to selling out the lives of Imperial soldiers!”

The hawkish lawmakers behind him roared, "Listen! Listen!"

Parkinton continued, his voice a little louder than before: "Cutting military spending and reducing troop numbers is disarming Britain! If we can't even afford the army's gunpowder, how can we possibly fight against the Prussian Krupp cannons?"

The councilors behind him echoed loudly again, "Listen! Listen!"

Amid the commotion, Gladstone slowly rose to his feet, walked past the front row of members of parliament, and proceeded to the document box in the center of the hall.

Those were two heavy red boxes, which had witnessed the appointment or resignation of countless prime ministers.

He leaned forward slightly, placed his hands on the edge of the box, and calmly began to speak:

"Sir Parkington's speech just now mentioned Krupp and the guns of the European continent, and I must acknowledge his patriotism." He paused, "but I regret to see that this venerable old minister's mind seems to still be stuck on the battlefields of Crimea."

As soon as he finished speaking, a chorus of boos erupted from the Conservative Party.

Gladstone slammed his fist on the document box.

boom.

"Quiet, listen to me."

The hall fell silent.

“Over the past five years,” Gladstone said, frowning, “the Conservative cabinet has approved millions of pounds for the purchase of those black powder guns that produce so much smoke when they're fired. They even forced the Empire to abandon breech-loading cannons in favor of cumbersome muzzle-loading ones.”

He then turned to former Prime Minister Disraeli standing beside Parkington and asked, "Is this what you call the Imperial Army?"

Parkinton rose to his feet amidst a commotion behind him, speaking more quickly: "Your Excellency, all the armies in the world are using gunpowder, even Krupp cannons superior to Mr. Armstrong's. Without spending this money, we wouldn't even have these imperfect weapons we have now."

Gladstone turned and glanced at Minister Cavill, then smiled and pulled a document from the inside pocket of his coat.

The document was tied with a dark red ribbon, and the cover had only a handwritten number.

He untied the ribbon and threw it onto the document box.

"No, Sir Parkinton," Gladstone explained, "not all the armies in the world."

He opened the document and pointed to it, saying, "This document in my hand contains a technology patent that was recently donated to the Empire free of charge by an unknown commoner of British descent—Mr. Richard Bryan."

Donation without compensation.

These four words sounded particularly unfamiliar in an empire where interests reign supreme, leaving the councilors looking at each other in bewilderment.

The last time this word appeared in the House of Commons was when Sir Neil Armstrong donated his patent for a breech-loading cannon.

"The Martini-Henry MkII rifle invented by Mr. Brian, with its accuracy and stability..." Gladstone looked at the high-ranking officers in uniform from the War Department, "...all of you War Department colleagues here have witnessed it firsthand."

No one refuted.

"Now, his improved Armstrong cannon has doubled its range, passed the rapid-fire test with double the propellant charge, and even penetrated the Hercules armor at the Subrines artillery range!"

The hall fell into a deathly silence.

Gladstone consistently used Richard's invention as a rhetorical device in his counterattacks, and most members of Congress, except for cabinet members, were unaware of it.

Therefore, this sudden intelligence left them dumbfounded.

Gladstone gave them no chance to catch their breath.

"At the same time, the smokeless gunpowder he developed with Mr. Frederick Abel, the chief chemist of the Royal Arsenal, will soon be applied to artillery shells and bullets," he said. "And the cost of all these innovations is only two-thirds of what it used to be."

He then questioned the Conservative MP opposite him: "When I have a powerful force that can be used to double or even triple the fighting capacity of the military with two-thirds of the military budget, why should I waste taxpayers' money on outdated and bloated bills?"

There was complete silence on the other side. Sir Parkinton took a white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, as if he were hot.