Re: Steel and Gunpowder

"The watchmen report a white flag flying over the cathedral."

Konrad did not look surprised.

"Of course they are," Konrad murmured. "But we are not going to occupy Vienna, Bartholomew."

Bartholomew frowned, opening his ledger. "Then what is our objective, Sire? If we do not occupy, the Emperor will simply march a new army into the city next spring."

"We are going to force their acting government to sign a treaty so utterly crippling, so economically parasitic, that Austria will become a vassal state without us having to station a single guard here." Konrad smiled. "And when they inevitably fail to meet our impossible demands, it will grant me a perfectly legal Casus Belli to march on Emperor Charles himself."

Konrad tossed his coffee onto the grass and signaled for his black destrier. "Bring the Archduke."

The middle ground between the gates of Vienna and the Swabian artillery lines was an expanse of trampled grass.

Chancellor Wenzel rode out on a nervous brown mare, accompanied by a modest guard of five Austrian knights.

They carried a large white banner that snapped in the wind.

Waiting for them in the center of the field was a sight that made Wenzel’s blood run cold.

King Konrad sat atop his massive warhorse, impeccably dressed in his dark-grey uniform. Flanking him were a dozen elite Jaegers holding their terrifying grooved rifles at the ready.

But what truly shattered the Chancellor’s composure was the man kneeling in the mud beside Konrad’s horse.

Archduke Ferdinand of Austria...

The proud Habsburg ruler was stripped of his gilded armor, wearing only a soiled tunic.

Wenzel swallowed the bile rising in his throat and forced his horse to trot forward. He dismounted, offering a stiff bow.

"King Konrad," Wenzel greeted, his voice trembling slightly. "I am Chancellor Wenzel. In the absence of His Grace, I speak for the city of Vienna."

Konrad did not dismount.

"A pleasure, Chancellor," Konrad replied. "I assume you have come to surrender your keys, or would you prefer I have my mortars remodel the Hofburg Palace first?"

Wenzel flinched, his eyes darting to the bound Archduke before returning to the Swabian King. "We have no desire for further bloodshed, Your Majesty. I am authorized to offer the capitulation of Vienna. In exchange, we ask that you spare the civilian populace, and allow the remaining Imperial garrison safe passage to retreat into Bavaria."

Konrad chuckled, reaching into his coat and withdrawing a rolled parchment.

He tossed it down into the mud at Wenzel’s feet.

"I am not interested in your garrison," Konrad stated, leaning forward over his saddle. "You may keep your troops. You may keep your city. I will even return your beloved Archduke to you. But in exchange, you will sign that document."

Wenzel hesitated before crouching down to retrieve the parchment.

He unrolled it, his eyes scanning the dense legal script. As he read, the color drained from his face.

"This... this is madness," Wenzel gasped, looking up in horror. "You demand exclusive rights to every iron, coal, and copper mine in the Austrian Alps? Unhindered access for your freight wagons? And a monthly tribute of twenty thousand tons of raw ore?!"

"I am building a trans-continental railway system, Chancellor," Konrad replied, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. "Steel requires iron. Steam requires coal. Austria has an abundance of both."

"But this quota is impossible!" Wenzel protested. "Even if we conscripted every able-bodied man in the territory into the mines, we could barely produce half this amount! You are demanding we bankrupt our economy to feed your foundries! We will starve!"

Konrad’s eyes hardened.

"You attempted to use fifteen thousand of your own citizens as a human shield against my artillery today, Wenzel," Konrad hissed. "Do not speak to me of starvation or morality. The Archduke’s treason cost me ammunition, time, and patience."

Konrad drew his Swabian saber, pointing the steel at Wenzel’s chest.

"If you refuse, I will order my Gatling crews to advance to your gates," Konrad promised. "And I will not stop cranking the barrels until Vienna is a silent graveyard. Decide."

Wenzel looked at the broken Archduke kneeling in the mud.

Emperor Charles would be utterly enraged. But if he didn’t sign it right now, there wouldn’t be an Austria left to save.

With a trembling hand, Wenzel reached into his robes, producing a vial of ink and a quill.

He pressed the parchment against the saddle of his horse and hastily scrawled his signature.

He handed the document back up to Konrad.

"May God judge you for your greed, King Konrad," Wenzel whispered.

Konrad signaled to his guards, who hauled Archduke Ferdinand to his feet and shoved him toward the Austrians.

"You have one month to deliver the first ten thousand tons of coal to my border," Konrad declared, turning his warhorse around. "If you are late by a single day, my army will return."

As King Konrad rode back toward his army, leaving the Austrian leadership in the mud, Wenzel helped his Archduke onto a horse.

"Chancellor," Ferdinand rasped "What have we done?"

"We survived today," Wenzel replied, staring at the retreating back of the Swabian King. "But the moment we are behind those walls... Tell Emperor Charles that the East has fallen, we need the Imperial Inquisition."

...

King Konrad left a token garrison of two thousand Jaegers to oversee the mining quotas and immediately marched his army back to Augsburg.

Within a week of his return, the red-brick chimneys of Augsburg were belching black smoke back into the Swabian sky, fueled by a massive influx of Austrian coal.

His foundries were operating around the clock, casting miles of iron rails.

However, diplomacy still required his attention.

In the dining hall of the newly constructed Royal Palace, Konrad sat at the head of a table.

To his left sat Bartholomew, his ever-present ledger master.

Sitting across from them, looking out of place amidst the decor, was the French Ambassador, Marquis de Lafayette.

Lafayette had been sent by King Francis I with a singular mission.

As the dinner wound down, Lafayette dabbed his mouth with a lace napkin and prepared to broach the true purpose of his visit.

"Your Majesty," Lafayette began. "I must say, the sheer scale of your capital is breathtaking. The noise... the smoke... it is a testament to your unparalleled genius."

Konrad took a slow sip of his beer. "What does King Francis want?"

Lafayette flinched slightly. "His Majesty extends his deepest congratulations on your... acquisition... of the Austrian mines. It is no secret that France and the Habsburg Emperor share a mutual disdain. With Emperor Charles now entirely focused on your borders, King Francis sees an opportunity for a lucrative partnership."

Bartholomew adjusted his spectacles. "A partnership, Marquis? Or a transaction?"

Lafayette cleared his throat, pulling a wax-sealed pouch from his coat.

He set it on the table. "A transaction, to begin with. King Francis wishes to purchase Swabian steel. Specifically, he wishes to equip the French Royal Guard with the grooved rifles your Jaegers used to break the Austrian knights at Vienna."

Konrad leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Tell me, Marquis, does Francis plan to use my weapons to march into Italy and seize the Pope’s gold? Or does he simply want to reverse-engineer my firing mechanisms so his own blacksmiths can try—and fail—to copy them?"

Lafayette’s face flushed a deep crimson. "Your Majesty, I assure you, we merely seek to defend our borders."

"And I seek to maintain my monopoly," Konrad replied. "I will not sell my grooved rifles. I will not sell my solid-cast field cannons, and I will certainly not sell the Gatling carts."

Lafayette’s shoulders slumped.

His mission had failed before it even truly began...

The French King was going to hang him from the Louvre’s highest tower.

However, Konrad was not finished.

"That being said," Konrad continued. "I understand that France has a desperate need for modernization. If you are willing to compromise, I have an alternative product that will still grant your infantry an advantage over traditional armor."

Lafayette’s head snapped up. "An alternative, Sire? What manner of weapon?"

Konrad snapped his fingers.

The doors to the dining hall swung open, and General Voss marched in, carrying a crate.

He set it down on a side table and popped the brass latches.

From the interior, Voss withdrew a long firearm.

It was not the sleek, precision-machined grooved rifle of the Ironstorm Jaegers.

It was bulkier, with a smoothbore iron barrel and a flintlock mechanism.

"I call it the ’Swabian Musket Pattern-1’," Konrad announced, gesturing to the weapon. "It does not possess the extreme range or the armor-piercing conical rounds of my Jaeger rifles. It fires a standard spherical lead ball. However, the firing mechanism is miles ahead of your matchlocks. It fires reliably in the rain, the reload cycle is incredibly fast, and the barrel is forged from high-tensile steel, meaning it can handle a significantly larger powder charge without exploding in the user’s face."

Konrad had designed the Pattern-1 specifically for the export market.

It was a massive upgrade over the current global standard, guaranteeing that anyone who bought it would crush their technologically inferior neighbors.

But, crucially, it posed absolutely no threat to his elite Jaegers, whose grooved rifles could easily outrange and outgun it!

Furthermore, if France bought them, Spain would be forced to buy them to compete...

Then England.

Then Venice.

Konrad would trigger a continent-wide arms race, and the Kingdom of Alemannia would be the sole supplier of the ammunition and replacement parts!

Lafayette stared at the weapon. "It... it does not require a burning match cord?"

"It utilizes a precision-cut flint striking a steel frizzen," Konrad explained, a smile touching his lips. "It is point-and-shoot, even an illiterate peasant can learn to fire it in an afternoon. I am willing to sell France ten thousand units, along with the necessary high-yield Swabian powder."

"We will take them!" Lafayette blurted out. "Name your price, Your Majesty! King Francis will empty the treasury for ten thousand of those muskets!"

Before Konrad could cite his price tag, the doors of the dining hall burst open again.

A young, minor Swabian noble — Baron von Weiler, a man who owned a small tract of land near the Bavarian border — stormed into the room.

He looked furious, his face flushed with wine and indignation.

"You cannot do this, Konrad!" Weiler shouted. "You cannot arm the French! They are the historic enemies of the German people! If you give them muskets, they will eventually march across the Rhine and burn our farms!"

The room went dead silent.

Lafayette looked horrified.

General Voss rested a hand on the hilt of his saber, waiting for the order to drag the screaming Baron to the dungeons.

Konrad slowly picked up a napkin, wiped his mouth, and set it down.

"Baron Weiler," Konrad said. "You produce nothing. You engineer nothing."

Konrad stood up slowly, leaning his hands on the table. "I own the foundries. I own the steel. I own the powder. I will sell my weapons to the French, I will sell them to the Devil himself if he meets my asking price."

Konrad gestured toward the door. "Voss, seize his lands."

"You can’t do this!" Weiler screamed as General Voss easily overpowered him, dragging the thrashing nobleman out of the dining hall by his collar. "I have rights! I have bloodlines!"

Konrad sat back down. He looked across the table at the wide-eyed French Ambassador.

"My apologies for the interruption, Marquis," Konrad said. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The price for the Pattern-1 muskets. I believe a hundred tons of French silver should suffice for the initial shipment."