On the private train returning to New York, the night had already enveloped the Virginia wilderness outside the window.
Inside the carriage, the Prussian military attaché, Major Albrecht von Alvensleben, did not discuss philosophy with Felix as he had on the way there.
He sat in silence, holding an untouched glass of brandy, his gaze fixed through the spotless window, staring at the pitch-black foreign land outside.
But the roar from the firing range, like a chainsaw cutting through steel, still echoed repeatedly in his mind.
Hermann Gruson, the chief engineer of Krupp Factory, like a child with a new toy, was discussing something in a low voice with Miller, the president of Militech, at a small table under the light.
Spread out before him was a non-confidential structural sketch of the core components of the "Militech 1863" rifle, specially prepared for him by Frank Cole.
"Incredible…" Gruson said in English with a heavy German accent, pointing to the lever mechanism on the blueprint, "You have solved the linkage problem of extraction and loading with such a simple structure. This… this is practically a poem in mechanical principles."
"Our chief metallurgist, Mr. Griffith, is the true poet," Miller replied calmly. "He forged an unbreakable rhyme for this poem."
Colonel Dale, the observer from the Federal War Department, sat like a dutiful shadow in the furthest corner, quietly reading a newspaper, but his ears caught every word in the carriage.
"What is Major Armin-Boitzenburg thinking?" Felix finally spoke, breaking Armin's contemplation.
Upon hearing this, Armin slowly turned his head, his blue eyes filled with complex emotions, "I am thinking, if one day, Prussian soldiers on the battlefield have to face the kind of weapon you demonstrated today, what kind of scene that would be."
"Oh, that's a terrible thought, Major," Felix replied candidly. "However, although I am a businessman, I am not a warmonger. I hope my weapons can be used to defend peace, rather than to create massacres."
"A very… American-style answer." A barely perceptible hint of sarcasm appeared at the corner of Armin's mouth.
"Perhaps."
Felix smiled. He did not continue the topic but turned to Frost, "Edward, are tomorrow's arrangements all set?"
"Yes, Boss," Frost immediately replied.
"Tomorrow at nine in the morning, we will first visit the central kitchen and packaging factory of Argyle & Co. Foods. At two in the afternoon, it will be Umbrella Corporation's research and development center and production workshop in Brooklyn."
Armin and Gruson exchanged glances. They had originally thought that this trip to New York would be a purely arms negotiation. They didn't expect that the other party had also arranged visits to food and medicine facilities… The next morning, when the carriage flying the double-headed eagle flag of the Kingdom of Prussia drove into the huge factory area along the East River in New York, which resembled an industrial city.
The towering chimneys, the factory buildings stretching for miles, and the railway spur line within the factory area connected to the main line.
Everything here exuded a sense of power far greater and more fundamental than the Whitneyville armory.
They were greeted by Jones, the president of Food Company.
"Welcome to the soldiers' kitchen, gentlemen."
Jones's voice was loud, and without unnecessary pleasantries, he led everyone directly into the huge main workshop.
Gruson, the Krupp engineer, was immediately drawn to the continuous flow heating and sterilization system in the center of the workshop, which Karl had helped design.
He watched the cans, moving on a conveyor belt at a constant speed, passing through a sealed pipe filled with high-temperature steam, his eyes full of disbelief.
"My God… you… you have actually applied the concept of 'continuous flow' to the food industry?" He asked Jones beside him, "This… how much does this increase production efficiency?"
"At least threefold," Jones replied with pride. "Moreover, it ensures that the sterilization time and temperature for every can of product are completely consistent. We have virtually eliminated defects."
Major Armin-Boitzenburg was more concerned with another production line. There, dozens of female workers were skillfully packing dark brown compressed biscuits, bags of beef jerky, and small white tablets into waxed waterproof paper bags.
"Is this your 'field ration pack' for the Federal army?" He picked up a finished product and weighed it.
"That's right."
"Each pack provides all the energy and water purification needed for a soldier to sustain twenty-four hours of high-intensity combat. Most importantly," he pointed to the finished products being loaded into wooden crates at the end of the production line, "their shelf life is six months."
"Six months…"
Armin murmured. He thought of the Prussian soldiers who, due to delayed logistical supplies, had to subsist on rye bread and moldy sausages… In the afternoon, Umbrella Corporation in Brooklyn.
When everyone walked from the bustling environment of the food factory into this bright and clean building, filled with the scent of alcohol and science, the strong contrast made Gruson and Armin a little unaccustomed.
Catherine, the president of Umbrella, also received everyone.
"Welcome to Umbrella, gentlemen," her voice was soft and confident. "Here, this is where our company fights for life."
She did not take them to see ordinary production workshops but led them directly to the "Hermes One" continuous flow reaction device, which had been operating stably for several months.
"This is…" Gruson looked at the complex machine composed of glass pipes, brass valves, and precision instruments, his engineer's heart almost leaping out of his chest.
"This is Dr. Thorne's 'continuous flow reaction' theory… you… you actually built it?"
"Yes, sir," Catherine smiled. "Dr. Thorne is our company's head of R&D, and it was built with the help of Mr. Baker."
When Dr. Thorne personally demonstrated to them how this machine transformed several simple chemical raw materials into high-purity "Iodoglycerol," Gruson could no longer maintain his Krupp engineer's composure.
He rushed to the machine, like a student, asking Dr. Thorne and the engineers present for general details about pressure control and catalyst application.
Meanwhile, Major Armin-Boitzenburg was taken by Catherine to another room.
There, a large chart hung. On it, a red curve clearly indicated the cliff-like decline in the field amputation rate and postoperative infection mortality rate at the Federal Seventh Field Hospital over the past three months, after being equipped with "Iodoglycerol."
"We cannot stop bullets, Major Armin-Boitzenburg," Catherine's voice was calm. "But we can at least stop those unseen 'bugs' from taking more lives that could have been saved."
Armin looked at the red curve, remaining silent for a long time… That evening, on the ferry returning to Manhattan.
Armin and Gruson stood at the stern, looking at the distant city skyline, illuminated by countless gas lamps and factory lights, sparkling like a sea of stars.
"Hermann," Armin finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "What exactly did we see today?"
Gruson did not answer immediately. He looked at the lights, and after a long while, he slowly said, "I don't know, Major Armin-Boitzenburg. I only know that what we saw today was not just a few factories."
"That is a complete system that can provide an army with everything from weapons to food, and even medicine. An… an industrial life form that can self-circulate and even self-evolve."
He turned his head and looked at his companion, a hint of awe appearing in his always rational eyes.
"And that young man named Argyle is the brain of this life form."
Armin was silent.
Perhaps, the report he would need to send back to Berlin tomorrow would no longer be a simple report on arms procurement.
Kingdom of Prussia, Berlin, Wilhelmstrasse.
In the office of the Chancellor's Residence, the flames in the fireplace flickered in vain, unable to dispel the aura emanating from the room's owner—a mix of iron will and political chill.
Otto von Bismarck stood alone before a massive map of the German Confederation, a half-smoked cigar clamped between his fingers, its smoke swirling and obscuring his eyes, as deep as ancient wells.
Spread open on the desk was the report sent back by Major Albrecht von Alvensleben from distant America, via the most confidential military postal system.
The report was much thicker than Bismarck had anticipated, containing not only astonishing descriptions of weapons but also detailed analyses of Felix Argyle's business empire, factory operating models, and even his subtle relationship with the Federal Government.
Bismarck had already read it for the third time.
He waved his hand, signaling for General Moltke, the Chief of the General Staff, who had been waiting outside the door, to enter.
The brain of the Prussian military system, he walked with steady steps, his face devoid of any superfluous expression.
"Moltke," Bismarck said without turning, merely pointing his cigar at the report on the desk, "What do you make of Major Armin-Boitzenburg's findings?"
General Moltke picked up the report, reading quickly, his gaze lingering for a moment on the several crudely drawn but fatally detailed weapon sketches, but spending more time on the paragraphs concerning factory organization, logistics efficiency, and the "leasing service" model.
"A… disturbing genius."
After a long while, General Moltke put down the report and offered his assessment.
"The weapons themselves are formidable. But even more formidable is the system that created these weapons and can deliver them to the battlefield with such astonishing efficiency. Major Armin-Boitzenburg's observations are keen; Mr. Argyle has built more than just an armory."
"He has built a war machine."
Bismarck took over the conversation, finally turning around, a complex glint in his eyes hidden behind the smoke.
"A war machine more flexible and efficient than anything we in Prussia, or even the British, possess. Food, medicine, transport, weapons… he seems to want to turn everything related to war into cogs in his private treasury."
"What about his cooperation proposal?" General Moltke asked.
"Arrogant, and full of traps," Bismarck walked to his desk, picked up the addendum on the cooperation terms, a sneer on his face.
"One hundred samples, five thousand dollars each? Ha, that price is enough for us to build a brand new artillery factory in Essen."
"And that so-called technical cooperation," he continued, his voice full of disdain, "exclusive supply of core components and special steel for the next ten years? This isn't cooperation, Moltke. This is extortion. He wants to hold Prussia's military-industrial lifeline, like a rope, forever in his hands. He wants to make us an… overseas subcontractor for his American factory."
General Moltke nodded in understanding. "So, Mr. Chancellor, you mean to… refuse?"
"No."
Bismarck shook his head, his mind, full of pragmatic calculations, had already weighed all the pros and cons. "We cannot refuse, at least not now."
He walked to the map, his finger heavily tapping on the areas representing the future direction of war—Denmark, Austria, France.
"The path to German unification requires iron and blood. And that American happens to possess the sharpest and hottest 'iron' of this era. We need it, Moltke. We need it to arm our soldiers, shorten our time to victory, and reduce the unnecessary sacrifices of our Prussian sons."
"However," his tone shifted, a hint of a politician's ruthlessness flashing in his eyes, "we must never beg for this 'iron' at the cost of losing our independence. Prussia's sword must be held in the hands of Prussians themselves."
He began to pace back and forth in the office, the cigar smoke trailing long behind him, a plan more aligned with Prussian interests rapidly forming in his mind.
"First," he stopped and looked at General Moltke, "the price must come down. One hundred units are too many and too expensive right now. We only need twenty units for the General Staff to conduct a comprehensive technical evaluation and tactical study. The price must not exceed two thousand dollars per unit. Let's call it a 'technical evaluation and sincerity of cooperation fee'."
"Secondly, regarding technical cooperation. We can agree. But absolutely not the kind of ten-year exclusive supply he proposed. What we want is a phased technical transfer plan, with the ultimate goal of complete domestic production."
Bismarck's thinking became increasingly clear.
"Phase one, we can agree that his Militech will provide core components, and we will establish assembly lines in Berlin or Essen. This phase will last a maximum of two years."
"Phase two," his voice became resolute, "they must send engineers to assist us in establishing our own special steel smelting and precision machining capabilities. We can pay an additional technology transfer fee for this. But after three years, Prussia must be able to independently produce every single part of the 'Vanguard Rifle'."
"As for that 'Organ'," a hint of greed flashed in his eyes, "its technology transfer must proceed simultaneously with the rifle! These two weapons will form the core of our future infantry firepower. Neither can be missing."
General Moltke listened quietly, knowing that this was the plan that truly served Prussia's interests.
"There's another point that the American cleverly overlooked."
Bismarck's gaze fell on the description of brass-cased ammunition in the report.
"No matter how good the weapons are, without sufficient and reliable ammunition, they are just a pile of scrap metal. Major Armin-Boitzenburg's report mentioned that Argyle and the Federal War Department jointly established an ammunition factory."
"So," he looked at General Moltke, "our cooperation proposal must also include this. Mr. Argyle must agree to transfer his advanced metal-cased ammunition production technology and equipment blueprints to us. We can pay a separate fee for this. Prussia needs its own 'Brass Storm,' and it must be made by us."
A reverse plan, with the ultimate goal of acquiring core technology and achieving complete domestic production, was clearly outlined by Bismarck.
"Of course," a smile that only he understood appeared on Bismarck's face, "to show our sincerity, we can also give him some things he wants."
"Such as?"
"For example, the Krupp Factory could engage in some 'limited' exchanges with his Militech on steel technology."
A hint of cunning flashed in Bismarck's eyes, "And for example, Prussian banks could also consider providing some conveniences for his non-military investments in Europe."
"We want him to feel that this is a fair deal. A deal that allows him to make money and allows us to gain the future."
He walked to his desk and told his secretary, "Now, draft an encrypted telegram for me to send to Major Armin-Boitzenburg."
"Tell him that the Kingdom of Prussia highly values Mr. Argyle's friendship."
Bismarck looked out the window and continued softly, "But the price of friendship needs to be renegotiated."
Autumn deepened in New York, and the sycamore leaves along Fifth Avenue began to turn golden.
On the top floor of the Astor Mansion Hotel, in the luxurious suite Felix had reserved for the Prussian delegation, the atmosphere was far from as relaxed as the view outside the window.
Major Armin-Boitzenburg sat upright.
On the coffee table in front of him lay an untouched cup of coffee and a multi-page directive that had just arrived from Berlin via encrypted military telegraph lines. It had taken him an entire night to fully digest Chancellor Bismarck's every word.
Engineer Hermann Gruson, on the other hand, appeared somewhat restless.
He was more accustomed to the workshops of the Krupp Factory, filled with flames and roar, rather than engaging in a diplomatic game he was completely unsuited for in a room with thick carpets and French paintings.
At precisely ten o'clock in the morning, Felix arrived on time with his assistant, Edward Frost. Accompanying them was Colonel Dale, the War Department observer, who remained silent throughout.
"Good morning, Major, Mr. Gruson."
Felix's face held a perfectly appropriate smile, as if he were merely visiting friends.
"It seems Berlin is very efficient. I wonder what Chancellor Bismarck thinks of my small cooperation proposal?"
Armin did not answer immediately. He gestured for the waiter to pour coffee for Felix and Frost, then slowly began to speak, his voice steady, with the directness characteristic of a Prussian soldier.
"Mr. Argyle, first, please allow me, on behalf of His Majesty the King and the Chancellor, to once again express my highest respect for your astonishing achievements in weapon technology."
He paused, then changed his tone, "However, regarding the cooperation plan you proposed, Berlin believes… there are still some details that require deeper discussion from us."
"Please elaborate."
Felix picked up his coffee cup, his demeanor composed.
"First, regarding the procurement of samples," Armin said, "we believe that one hundred units for initial technical evaluation is somewhat… excessive. The Prussian General Staff only requires twenty vanguard 1863 gatling guns, along with twenty thousand rounds of ammunition, for comprehensive performance testing and tactical research."
"As for the price," he looked at Felix and made his first counter-offer, "we believe that, considering this is an initial contact aimed at establishing long-term strategic cooperation, two thousand dollars per system might better reflect the sincerity of both parties."
Dropping from five thousand to two thousand was a price cut of almost half. Frost, standing nearby, instinctively frowned.
Felix, however, smiled, as if he had anticipated this.
"Major, sincerity is never measured by price. However, if it is for technical evaluation, I can accept twenty units. But the price," his tone became serious, "four thousand five hundred dollars per system, including five thousand rounds of ammunition and three months of technical support. This is my bottom line."
He looked at Armin, "You should understand that you are not just buying steel, but also the painstaking effort of our Militech's top engineers, and… an opportunity for the Prussian Army to understand the future form of warfare in the shortest possible time."
Armin's eyes flickered slightly; it seemed the other party had seen through the true intention behind his price cut.
But he did not give way immediately, instead turning to the second, and more central, issue.
"Secondly, regarding technical cooperation. We agree in principle with your 'phased' plan. However, we cannot accept a ten-year exclusive supply of core components. Prussia needs to have an independent national defense industrial system."
He pushed a counter-proposal, personally reviewed by Bismarck, across to Felix.
"Our plan is a two-year first phase. Your company will provide core components, and we will establish an assembly line in Berlin. At the same time, your company must dispatch a team of technical consultants to help us master the production processes for all common components."
"The second phase will also be two years. Your company must fully transfer the complete formula for Prometheus Alloy, its heat treatment process, and all precision machining techniques for core components to us at a reasonable price. We can pay a substantial technology transfer fee for this. After four years, Prussia must be able to independently produce every single part of the 'Vanguard Rifle' and 'Gatling Gun'."
"That's very Prussian."
Felix looked at the document, filled with iron-blooded determination, a playful smile on his lips.
"I see your resolve, Major. But you seem to have overlooked one small detail."
"What detail?"
"Ammunition."
Felix reminded him, "Even the best gun is just a fire poker without reliable bullets. Your plan seems to completely omit any mention of the technical issues regarding .44 caliber brass cased ammunition."
For the first time, a subtle hint of embarrassment appeared on Armin's face.
Bismarck had, of course, thought of ammunition, but the technical barrier in that area was also extremely high. He had originally intended to bring it up as a separate bargaining chip in later negotiations. He hadn't expected it to be exposed so directly by the other party.
"Mr. Argyle," he tried to regain the initiative, "we can discuss ammunition technology separately…"
"No, Major." Felix interrupted him, his tone hardening, "The gun and the bullet are an inseparable whole. You cannot want my sword but refuse to pay the price for forging the scabbard."
He looked at Armin, and also at the silent Colonel Dale.
"My conditions are simple."
Felix laid out his cards, "Technology transfer can be discussed, and the goal of localization can also be achieved. However, the timetable must be set by me. The exclusive supply period for core components must be at least five years. After five years, we can begin to gradually transfer non-critical technologies. As for the most critical alloy formula and bolt patent, that will depend on the 'depth' and 'breadth' of our cooperation."
"And ammunition," he added the most crucial point, "the technology of the Federal United Ammunition Company is an asset I share with the War Department. Its transfer requires the approval of Secretary Stanton. But before that, I can agree that the United Ammunition Company will provide Prussia with a five-year supply of sufficient and favorably priced finished ammunition."
Just as Armin was about to retort again, Engineer Gruson suddenly spoke.
"Major," he looked at Armin, then at Felix, "with all due respect, Mr. Argyle' concerns are not unfounded. 'Prometheus Alloy'… it is a material I have never seen before. Its processing difficulty far exceeds any cannon steel we currently have. Forcibly achieving complete localization within four years… I believe this is unrealistic and could lead to disastrous consequences."
Gruson's words were undoubtedly a blow to his own side, but Armin could not refute them.
Because Gruson was Prussia's top engineer, his judgment carried absolute authority.
"Moreover, Mr. Argyle, after visiting your food and pharmaceutical factories, I believe Prussia needs more than just weapons."
He turned to Armin, "Major, the Chancellor and General Moltke mentioned in their instructions that we should learn Mr. Argyle' 'system' as much as possible. Therefore, I believe that in addition to the machine guns, we should also immediately purchase at least ten thousand Militech 1863 rifles, along with Supporting facilities ration packs and Iodoglycerol disinfectant. We need to allow our logistics and medical departments to quickly engage with and understand this new way of warfare."
Gruson's unexpected "assist" even surprised Felix a little.
It seemed his carefully arranged factory tour yesterday had successfully planted a seed named "system" in the German engineer's mind.
"Mr. Gruson's suggestion is very constructive."
Felix immediately seized the opportunity, looking at Armin.
"Major, rifles, rations, and medicines can all be part of our 'strategic cooperation'. I can offer the Kingdom of Prussia a very favorable package price. The precondition is that we need to reach a more realistic and engineering-sound consensus on the timetable for core technology transfer."
Armin fell silent.
Gruson's "defection" had disrupted his original negotiating rhythm; he had lost the leverage to demand complete localization within four years.
"Of course," Felix smiled, throwing out the final bait, "if the Kingdom of Prussia can provide some… 'special' conveniences in the financial and trade sectors for my Argyle Bank and Argyle Company's European operations. Perhaps, regarding cooperation on the ammunition factory and the core technology transfer period, we can find some more creative solutions."
The entire room fell silent once more.
This time, it was Major Armin's turn to feel the pressure of being surrounded by the opponent with technology, reality, and interests, layer by layer.
Felix neither refused nor fully accepted.
Like the most skilled card player, he used a seemingly yielding posture to firmly regain control of the negotiations.
He cleverly tied the technology transfer timetable to the benefits the Kingdom of Prussia could offer in other areas.
Colonel Dale picked up his coffee cup, a subtle curve forming at the corner of his mouth.
He was pleased to see that this young ally had not been swayed by European money and technical requests, but had instead perfectly combined Federal interests (control over ammunition technology) with his own business interests.
"Mr. Argyle," Armin finally calmed down after a long pause, "your counter-offer… is also full of American wisdom. I need to report your new proposal to Berlin immediately and in its entirety."
"Of course."
Felix nodded, standing up, ready to end the now tense conversation.
"I have always believed that Chancellor Bismarck is a wise man who knows how to calculate long-term interests."
He walked to the door, then turned back and gave Armin a meaningful smile.
"Oh, by the way, Major."
"When you report, you can tell your country that a ship of mine bound for Dublin, Irish, should be arriving soon, and it also carries products from our company. Perhaps that will help them make up their minds."