Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Fraunfeld lies nestled among the gentle hills of the Tours canton.

On a clear day, you can see the distant Alps by climbing to a high point in the suburbs. They look like the towering Atlas, with snowflakes covering the top of the giant's head.

Who would have thought that this quiet little town was once the seat of the Swiss Federal Parliament?

Richard and Louise's carriage traveled along the cobblestone road until they saw the brick factory with its chimneys puffing out white smoke.

The factory yard wasn't large, but it was kept very tidy. On the left, stacks of sawn planks were covered with tarpaulins, and against the wall on the right, there was a row of freshly painted embroidery machines with cast iron bodies and gears that meshed perfectly.

"He does this too?" Louise asked, adjusting her hat brim as she stepped down from the carriage.

"I've heard he has a wide range of interests, typical of a Swiss engineer." Richard straightened his collar. "Let's go."

The two arrived at the gate, and Louise stopped in her tracks.

"Are you coming?" Richard asked Louise, who was still standing at the door.

"I'm not really interested in your boys' affairs," she said, taking a deep breath of fresh air she couldn't get in London. "I'd rather stay outside and admire the Alps."

Richard smiled. "Okay, I'll be right out."

The door hinge made a soft click, and the factory was bustling with activity. The pulleys spun overhead, and the sound of the gears was like a lively march.

Several workers were adjusting an embroidery machine. On the worktable by the window were several semi-finished rifles, and next to them was a pile of spare parts.

"Mr. Martini?" Richard raised his voice.

A man's voice came from behind the lathe, thick with German accent, each consonant pronounced clearly: "The machine tool will take another two months to complete its debugging. Please leave!"

Richard walked around the lathe, where Frédéric von Martini was adjusting the rotary wheel with his head down. He was thin with narrow shoulders, but had a pair of large, engineer-like hands with distinct knuckles. His beard was neatly trimmed, with each hair lying flat against his chin.

"Mr. Martini, I've come for your new gun." Richard took off his hat.

He didn't look up; his gaze shifted to a blueprint.

"You want to buy my gun?" Martini's voice held a hint of doubt.

"Of course, the Swiss government rejected your design, not because your gun was bad," Richard said, picking up the blueprints from the workbench.

"And what do you know?" Martini looked up, staring intently at Richard.

"When the war broke out, the Swiss government wanted every able-bodied man to be able to pick up a gun," Richard said, picking up the drop-bolt breechblock from the table. "So what they needed was a short burst of fire, not a steady stream of shots."

Martini's lips twitched slightly: "You've studied the Vitry rifle?"

Richard certainly knew about the Vitry rifle, the very rifle that had eliminated Martini's single-shot hammer rifle during the bidding process.

He looked at Martini with an approving gaze: "Your gun is suitable for a professional soldier. Every shot is accurate, every shot can kill."

"You're going to sell my gun to Britain?" Martini immediately understood what he meant.

"Switzerland has no colonies, so there's no need to ship guns to Africa, India, or Egypt," Richard said sincerely. "Your guns are simple and reliable; an uneducated Indian soldier could learn to assemble and disassemble them in a morning."

Martini smiled, a smile of finally finding a kindred spirit: "Switzerland only needs one gun that can hold off its neighbors in its own mountains."

“That’s right,” Richard nodded. “The British want soldiers to be able to rely on their rifles for their lives, whether under the scorching sun of Cape Town or in the dust storms of Kabul.”

"What are the chances that my rifle will stand out from the other competitors?" Martini squinted.

"Seventy percent. If you add my bullets," Richard took a soft copper fixed bullet from his briefcase, "that's ten percent."

The moment Martini saw the pointed bullet, his eyes lit up, for he saw hope.

Martini immediately went back to his workbench, picked up a pencil, and wrote a set of numbers in the corner of the drawing.

"What caliber does the British Army use?" he asked.

"45 inches," Richard said. "About... 11.43 millimeters."

"How heavy is the bullet in your hand?"

"Four hundred and eighty grains," Richard added. "The initial velocity was approximately thirteen hundred feet per second."

Martini was calculating rapidly on the paper when finally he stopped writing:

"Test firing tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Richard paused for a moment.

"It'll be finished tonight, test-firing tomorrow," Martini repeated. "Aren't you going to take it back to England? Without test-firing data, how can you participate in the bidding?"

Richard smiled and looked at him: "You've decided to go?"

"My gun, with your bullets, can be sold to the British Army..." He picked up the bolt and examined it carefully. "Sounds promising."

Martini sat down, picked up a screwdriver, and skillfully began to disassemble the prototype gun.

Richard stood to the side and watched for a while, his gaze settling on the steel-milled bolt.

"This hammer," he pointed, "can be directly applied to the trigger."

Martini stopped handing: "Direct effect?"

"Let it engage with the trigger extension arm, directly driving the hammer to rotate," Richard gestured, "that way the pull is more consistent."

Martini stared at the bolt for a few seconds, then picked up a pencil and marked several locations on the diagram.

"You can try," he nodded, "but the hammer will get stuck on the falling block."

"Make a slot at the bottom, specifically for the hammer, and also maintain the overall strength of the bolt," Richard said.

Martini glanced at him. "You know about guns too?"

"I know a little."

Martini didn't ask any further questions. Instead, he lowered his head and continued disassembling the machine. When he reached the trigger, his finger paused for a moment.

"Are you busy tonight? I need a pair of eyes that can spot problems like that," Martini asked.

"I'd be delighted." Richard, who was thinking the same thing, readily agreed, "but I need to go out and talk to my girlfriend."

Martini looked at him incredulously: "Bringing a female companion to the factory?"

"This is no ordinary female companion; we cannot afford to neglect her." With that, Richard walked toward the factory gate.

Upon exiting the door, I saw Louise examining an embroidery machine under the shade of a tree.

Seeing Richard come out, she asked, "Did you know that these machines might eventually be used to sew military flags?"

"I know," Richard nodded, "but it will also be used to sew the bride's wedding dress."

"I like the way you think about things," Louise turned to him. "Is the business settled?"

"It's half done. His gun still has some problems, so you might have to stay alone tonight." Richard scratched his head.

Louise wasn't angry. She reached out and straightened his tie, which had been blown askew by the wind. "Go on, don't keep Mr. Martini waiting too long. I'll go back to the hotel first and enjoy the Swiss Apple Bar."

"Are you alright on your own?" Richard asked with concern.

"Don't worry," Louise turned and walked towards the carriage, "My mother is the Queen, remember?"

Richard watched the carriage disappear around the corner of the gentle hill, took a deep breath, and turned back to the factory.

Martini pushed a drawing towards him; that very night, he was going to draw the gun for ten years to come.