Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The bidding process has reached its final stage: ease of operation and disassembly testing.

Several soldiers were disassembling and cleaning rifles on a wooden table at the firing range using special tools. This round was called a test, but it was more of a formality, because rifles that the authorities did not intend to use would not even make it to this stage.

But a process is a process, and it still needs to be followed.

The Martini-Henry rifle had a simple design, with nearly half the number of parts as the Schneider. Richard stood by the table, disassembled it in front of several young soldiers, and then put it back together, leaving the soldiers dumbfounded in less than two minutes.

"Did you see it clearly?" Richard asked.

A red-haired soldier nodded, then shook his head.

"Let's look at it again." Richard disassembled the gun again, this time slowly.

The bolt slid out, the spring bounced up, and the extractor was removed. He paused for a second in his hands for each part so that the soldiers could see its shape and position.

Then he quickly put it back together, and with a few crisp clicks, the gun was whole again.

"Now you can try," Richard said, handing the gun to the soldier.

The soldier stepped forward, picked up the bolt, examined it twice, and tried to put it into the receiver, but couldn't.

Richard smiled and reached out to turn the bolt carrier in a different direction.

The soldier blushed, but his hands didn't stop. He pushed the bolt forward, then the spring, the extractor, and the locking block, one by one, slowly but without making a mistake.

"Done." The soldier lowered his gun and took a step back.

"Two and a half minutes." The general glanced at his pocket watch.

A low murmur arose in the observation shed. Greenwood stood in front of his table, while the soldiers beside him were still disassembling the Schneider rifle. Hinges, firing pins, safety, trigger links... the parts were scattered all over the table, like a broken clock.

The soldier was covered in sweat, clutching a spring in his hand, unsure of where to put it.

"Mr. Greenwood," the general walked over, glanced at the table, and asked, "how long will it take to disassemble and reassemble your gun?"

"Uh, if it's a veteran, two minutes is enough." Greenwood's face was grim, but he tried his best to maintain his gentlemanly demeanor.

"Oh, an old soldier?" The general shook his head, walked back to Richard with his hands behind his back, picked up the Martini rifle, and pulled the guard.

click!

The gun made a crisp, clean sound, just as smooth as the first round.

"Mr. Brian," he put down his gun and walked to all the bidders, "the result is clear. Martini-Henry MKII, with soft-shell cartridges, is the winner."

The observation shed was quiet for a while, then sporadic applause broke out. The judges looked at each other, and no one spoke.

Greenwood's eyebrows furrowed, and his soldiers were still crouching on the ground, trying to put the pile of parts back together.

"Well, Mr. Greenwood," Richard said, walking toward him and extending his right hand, "this has really been a one-sided affair."

"Heh, you don't expect me to shake your hand, do you?" Greenwood forced a smile, which looked more like a grimace.

"I insist." Richard nodded.

"Oh, you insist?" Greenwood gritted his teeth and grabbed Richard's hand. "Well won, Mr. Brian."

"Uh, thank you." Richard hadn't expected his grip to be so strong, it hurt him.

Greenwood released his grip, straightened his collar, and left angrily with his men.

"I didn't expect him to be such a sore loser." Louise pressed down her round hat.

"He just didn't expect to be defeated by me twice." Richard shook his throbbing hand, turned around, and found the general standing behind him.

"Mr. Brian," the general said, putting on white gloves, "it is now officially my notification that, after verification by the Army Ordnance Committee, your Martini-Henry rifle has won the bid."

"Thank you." Richard nodded his thanks to the general.

"Don't be too happy, young man," the general pulled a piece of paper from his folder and handed it over. "This is the formal trial contract. Eight hundred guns will be supplied to front-line troops for a trial period of six to twelve months. If there are no problems after the trial period, the British Army will officially put them into service."

Richard accepted the contract for 800 Martini-Henry MKII rounds, fitted with soft copper cartridges. Delivery time: within three months.

"Your gun will be tested in the various colonies of the British Empire," the general said, putting his hands behind his back. "The infantry battalions in North Wales, the mountain troops in India, the garrison in Egypt—whether your gun is up to the soldiers to decide."

“This isn’t my gun,” Richard said, taking a step to the side. Martini leaned closer. “This is Mr. Martini’s handiwork.”

The general glanced at Martini, the thin Swiss man standing behind Richard, nervously wringing his hands.

"Your gun is very good," the general praised.

"General," Martini said softly, "my prototype lost the Swiss competition. Without Richard's bullets and his improvements, this gun wouldn't have made it this far."

The general smiled and turned to Richard: "Eight hundred rifles, delivered in three months, any problem?"

"No," Richard replied immediately.

"Oh, and your bullets," the general picked up a sample bullet from the table. "Soft copper fixed rounds. The military also needs to test them. Five thousand rounds. Woolwich Arsenal will contact you within two weeks."

"no problem."

"No problem?" The general looked at Richard curiously. "I heard your factory closed down. When do you plan to reopen it?"

"Tomorrow," Richard said, "the personnel and equipment are all here, and we'll start production tomorrow without fail."

"Very good," he said, extending his hand. "In three months, I want to see eight hundred guns, not a single bullet can be jammed."

Richard grasped his hand; it was a powerful hand that had held a gun all his life.

"Don't worry, not a single one."

The general turned and left, and the officers in the observation booth also left one after another until only Richard, Louise, and Martine remained on the firing range.

"Fantastic!" Martini suddenly slammed his hand on the table. This was the first time Richard had seen him so excited. The reserved and serious Austrian was now like a citizen who had won the lottery.

"We won," Richard said, smiling and spreading his hands.

"Yes, we won." Martini's voice was a little hoarse. "When the Swiss government rejected me, I sat in the workshop all night. I thought about abandoning the military industry and burning all these blueprints."

He looked down at the gun on the table and reached out to touch the extended length on the stock.

"Then I thought, let's try one more time, just this one last time, and then you came."

"If you'd like, you're welcome to open a factory in London," Richard invited. "We can be partners."

"London? No, no, forget it," Martini said half-jokingly. "I've only been here for two days and I already feel like I'm going to get tuberculosis. I still prefer the Swiss wind."

"We also have green spaces like Wimbledon, so we can go play croquet together sometime." Richard made a swinging motion.

"Of course, goodbye, Richard."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the two said their goodbyes.

"Alright, everything's done." Richard dusted himself off. "Let's go home. Aunt Susan's pie should be ready soon."

"Shall we go home together?" Louise accompanied him to the waiting carriage. "Now that your factory has reopened and you have government orders, are you still willing to take me in?"

"Don't say that," Richard said, raising his hand in feigned panic. "You can come and go as you please. Besides, I thought you liked this kind of life?"

"What kind of life?"

"Away from the trivialities of the court, and with a commoner like me," Richard said, standing beside the carriage and extending his hand respectfully like a guard. "Besides, that house is too big and empty for me to live alone."

Louise placed her hand in his palm and gently squeezed it: "What, am I some kind of horseshoe hanging in front of your door?"

"How could that be? You are an honored guest of our household," Richard said with a slight bow. "Please get in the carriage, Your Highness."

"Thanks."

Louise smiled as she boarded the carriage, her skirt brushing against the shaft. The carriage rolled over the gravel road and headed towards Kensington.