Iron and Blood: A Triumph of the Will

Hippolit Chegilsky Steel Plant.

No, this place has had a brand new name since yesterday: "National Factory".

The clock struck eight in the morning, and as time passed, smoke began to rise from the chimneys of the old town, which borders the south bank of the Varta River.

Driven by the southeasterly winds, the smoke continued to drift into Polish territory.

"So, the first batch of samples can be produced starting today?"

Joachim had changed his clothes today; he and Manstein had taken off their military uniforms.

He changed into a worker's outfit: overalls, a gray shirt, and a hard hat made of canvas and leather.

However, besides the two of them, there was a chubby guy following behind them.

The man was uneasy, staring at Joachim with a flustered expression, afraid that his superior might have noticed something amiss.

"Yes, if we went to the factory now, we would see the first prototype gun, which they made overnight."

Manstein was an expert on military matters: "I've inspected it, and the quality is very good; it's very suitable for equipping our troops."

"Is it a G98 that was produced?"

"Currently, we only have the capacity to produce the G98." Manstein assumed Joachim was referring to some other type of firearm, so he didn't think much of it. "We don't have the capacity for other types yet. The workers aren't skilled enough... and we don't have the capability for independent research and development either. We don't have a professional design team."

"......"

Joachim nodded and silently continued walking forward: "Let's go to the production workshop."

Manstein winked at the portly factory manager beside him, who nodded repeatedly.

"Then let's go this way."

The portly factory manager led the way, bowing and scraping.

Joachim and Manstein followed behind him.

They hadn't gone far when they could hear the roar of machines coming from inside the workshop.

"Is this the basic prototype for a rifle?"

Although Joachim had not witnessed the manufacturing process of rifles in his previous life, he still had some understanding of rifles and such things.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Rifle stocks are being made here."

"What material is it made of?" Manstein asked casually.

"It uses laminate..."

"I remember the rifle stock was made of walnut wood, right?"

Joachim finally looked directly at the factory manager, but his tone now carried a hint of accusation: "Why not use walnut wood?"

"We would also like to use walnut wood, Your Highness."

The portly factory manager remained unfazed by Joachim's questioning, calmly replying, "But there's nothing we can do. We only have so much funding. You've hired more factory workers, reduced working hours, and even increased wages... all of these are costs associated with rifle production. If we continue producing the G98 at the previous prices, the money you're paying us won't be nearly enough..."

"So, in the end, it all comes down to not having enough funds, right?"

Joachim looked away, pondering where the funds had gone.

He doesn't have much cash flow right now; the soldiers need money for their daily food, drink, and other military expenses.

Wages and military uniforms, plus a large number of workers now working under him to make a living, all require money.

"Though I hate to admit it, that's the truth, Your Highness."

"Let's not talk about that for now, let's keep going. I want to take a look at the rifling production process."

Although the Hippolit-Cegilski steel plant became one of Poland's main arms factories after the war, without Polish investment in this world, it was just a small workshop. Especially now, its scale is pitifully small. There are only about 80 people working non-stop in the huge production workshop. Of course, using the word "busy" may not be entirely accurate. To be precise, it's one person doing the work while three others watch.

An ordinary person who has taken time off work cannot become a skilled worker immediately upon entering a factory.

He needs to undergo training and continuous production before he can become a qualified technician.

Joachim lowered his steps and went inside silently.

At this moment, the skilled German workers he had brought from Silesia were explaining to the Poles how to accurately produce standard rifling.

It's clear that Polish workers really cherish their jobs these days.

Because in Poz, being able to work in this factory is considered extremely respectable.

Previously, they were only qualified as temporary workers, but now Joachim has given them formal jobs. They not only receive the same pay as the Germans, but their working hours have also been reduced and their wages increased.

This gave them confidence to reintegrate into German society... As for where the Poles who had been captured by the Germans went, they didn't care.

Anyway, their lives are getting better now.

The death of one Pole is a number, the death of ten Poles is also a number, as long as it's not your own family member who dies.

So at this moment, everyone's attention was focused on the skilled German worker, and no one noticed the arrival of Joachim and the fat factory manager.

"After the initial machining, the barrel still needs precision straightening," the skilled German worker said, fiddling with the rifling in his hands. "And at this point, we don't rely entirely on instruments; we have to rely on our own eyes..."

The skilled worker saw Joachim, who nodded to him, signaling him to continue.

He then turned his head and whispered, "Give the sample gun to Wolf and let them continue training."

"Yes, Your Highness..."

.......

Inside the office of the national factory.

Wolf, a cigarette dangling from his lips, sat at the head of the office, looking down at the man across from him who was constantly sweating.

The man who was constantly sweating, though sitting in a chair, appeared to be on equal footing with Joachim.

But actually on the desk opposite him was an agreement and a newly manufactured rifle.

The agreement reveals its general contents; it's a low-price transfer agreement, with Wolf driving down the price significantly.

It's practically dirt cheap.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

Wolf had finished his cigarette, his fierce eyes fixed on the man opposite him: "Are you going to sign or not?"

"This...this acquisition agreement is far too cheap; I cannot sign it."

The man stammered, "This is a fire sale of my assets..."

"Then you can say goodbye to your family now, no, you can all say goodbye together."

Wolf remained ruthless: "If you don't sign this agreement, you die, your whole family dies!"

After saying that, he took out a few bullets from his pocket and slammed them on the table.

This is a blatant threat, practically a death sentence for the person on the other end.

The man felt utterly hopeless, having been threatened.

Finally, he shakily signed his name on the agreement.

"Very good, Mr. Hans."

"You can start working at my factory tomorrow."

Wolf finally smiled. "I'm sorry to have startled you."

"But we both know that to make money, we have to cut costs."

"You should be extending working hours and lowering wages, not trying to take advantage of my assets!"

The man gritted his teeth and roared hysterically.

He truly hated these guys, who held a gun to his head and forced him to sign the transfer agreement.

In the end, they even arranged for him to work back in their own factory. Is this some kind of humiliation and abuse?

"That's what I thought at first too, since everyone else does it this way."

Wolf nodded slightly in understanding of his anger: "But Major Manstein doesn't think so. He believes that rather than exploiting workers and causing labor disputes, it would not only embolden the syndicalists in Germany, but also affect His Highness's image in Germany, which would be very detrimental to His Highness's future political career."

"So he changed his approach."

"And you became that knife, didn't you?" The man was almost laughing in exasperation at Wolff. "Do you know you're illegally seizing property? You're violating German law!"

"Yes, of course I know."

"But so what?"

"I have never cared about other people's opinions on what I do."

"I only care about winning or losing."

"And in any team, there will always be someone who has to be the bad guy or the villain, and I don't mind that at all."

"You truly are a beast in human form!"

The man gritted his teeth: "What a waste of a human face!"

"Yes, thank you for the compliment."

Wolff was not angry at his insults; on the contrary, he felt more and more relaxed.

The victors never need to argue with the losers; they only utter their insults about the injustice of fate because of their defeat.

Therefore, it was precisely at times like these that he displayed the demeanor of a great general.

He stood up, straightened his clothes, and tried his best to appear as a gentleman.

He then generously extended his hand and said, "Thank you!"

Thank you for your cooperation!