Outrage and Self-Reliance
June 4, 1919. Addis Ababa, Imperial Armory.
The smell of oil was intoxicating. One might call it a peculiar noble pastime, but there was no helping it. The scent of iron, machine oil, metal heating from friction. The moment I stepped into the armory, this combination hit my nostrils and strangely soothed my mind. In my past life, I'd chalked it up to my military geek tendencies, but even now, in the body of Ethiopia's princess in 1919, the reaction was the same. It wasn't just taste—it must be etched into my soul.
I walked slowly along the rows of workbenches, scanning the room. It had changed. Compared to 1916, when I'd first set foot here, it was a completely different space. Back then, rifles stood in dusty racks, no cleaning logs, no ammo inventory, and the only people handling guns were a few artisans eyeballing parts by hand.
Now, vernier calipers lined the benches. Metal rulers. Micrometers. Tools I'd expect in a vocational high school workshop back home were neatly arrayed in this highland city's armory. And beside them stood three engineers from the Korean Empire in work clothes, measuring alongside Ethiopian machinists.
One Korean engineer inspected a part made by our artisans and replied in Korean. "This one... passes."
Our artisan, hearing it through the interpreter, nodded and picked up the part again. I watched from a distance, feeling the corners of my mouth curl up quietly.
The old man had no idea what gauge blocks even were when I first pitched this to Minister Habte. The system Springfield Armory adopted before the American Civil War was finally taking shape in Addis Ababa.
Damn, it actually worked. Not感動, but a surreal sense of reality. Three years. From laying out the idea in 1916, securing budgets, consulting Korean engineers, importing machine tools, training machinists. The culmination was that vernier caliper.
"What do you think?" Tafari Mekonnen asked lowly beside me. He'd followed two paces behind as I walked the aisles. This was his second time here, but his eyes were different. The first visit had been calculating what this means; now it was calculations complete, direction confirmed. That's how Tafari signaled approval—no words, just his expression softening by a millimeter.
"We just need the blueprints."
Tafari nodded. Spanish Mauser rifles. 7mm caliber, 5-round magazine. Twenty thousand already in Ethiopia, concentrated in the Mehal Sefari. The armory was pumping out over 120,000 7mm Mauser rounds monthly. Guns and ammo matched specs, so with licensed production blueprints, Ethiopia could theoretically make its own rifles. Finished quality didn't have to be perfect yet. Practice makes perfect.
"Madrid's response deadline?"
Tafari unfolded papers. "End of this month. We sounded out Spanish intermediaries via Sarkis last month—it's been a month since they received the request."
"Isn't that already late?"
Tafari glanced at me briefly. "These negotiations usually take two to three months."
"Usually." I repeated, picking up a rifle at the bench's end. Not a finished product—a test assembly. Half stock parts, half newly machined here. In my hand, the weight balance felt solid. I racked the bolt. Clack. Smooth, no catch.
Oh, for real. I pushed the bolt forward, checked chamber closure, dry-fired. Click.
"Chamber machining is good," the Korean chief engineer said in Korean, to me. He knew I spoke it. "Finishing precision is up from last month. The machinists are picking it up fast."
I replied briefly in Korean. "Good work."
Tafari, overhearing, showed no expression change, but I caught the subtle shift in his eyes. He knew I spoke Korean, yet hearing it always elicited that reaction. Curiosity, naturally. But he couldn't ask, so just the eyes.
I set the rifle down, scanned the armory again. Blueprints in two months. Test production two months after. Low yield, but Ethiopia's first homegrown rifle... the meaning...
Then, rapid footsteps from outside. Urgent, heavy load, fast but not running, steady. A chamber servant halted at the entrance, bowing. "Your Majesty, a cable from Madrid."
"Here?" I took it immediately. Amharic translation attached; Tafari read over my shoulder.
...And I set it down with a sour expression.
Metal parts clinked on benches inside—machinists at work. Showing them this would be... awkward. So Tafari whispered. "Spain backed out."
"Yes."
Strategic materials tech leak prevention—Spain unilaterally withdrew blueprint provision promise. Licensed production talks voided. And the kicker: price hike over 50% on existing contracted rifles. No reason given.
I held the cable, pausing a beat. Calculations raced. 50% hike. 20,000 more rifles contracted. Half again on top... that upended budgeting from scratch. No blueprints, no production. Armory hitting 0.02mm tolerances meant nothing without specs. Ammo yes, but guns still bought—and now 50% pricier.
Ah, damn. Internally only. Face neutral. Tafari said quietly. "Italy."
I looked at him. He met my eyes from the cable. "Long marriage ties between Spanish and Italian royals. Vittorio Emanuele III and Alfonso XIII share maternal blood from 1901. After Sonnino folded in Paris, they pivoted."
I folded the cable slowly. Right. Not unexpected. Since Italy retreated at Versailles on Park Young-ho's word, I knew they'd go indirect. League of Nations blocked direct action, so choke arms supply. Licensed production going too smoothly? States rarely transfer arms tech to non-Europeans without hurdles. A month's reply meant they consulted someone immediately.
Of course they wouldn't just hand over licenses. I swallowed a bitter smile. Too optimistic; underprepared for rejection.
"Convene the Ras council."
"Now?"
"Now. This afternoon."
By afternoon, the Ras gathered in the hall. Urgent summons—only those in Addis Ababa. Father Ras Mikael, Kassa Haile, Seyum Mangasha, Hailu Tekle Haymanot, Lul Seged. Plus Minister Habte and Tafari.
I sat on the throne, scanning them, placed the cable translation on the table. "News from Madrid this morning."
Silence fell. Tafari summarized.
Spanish government voids licensed production talks. Existing contract deliveries price hike 50%+ notified.
Minister Habte spoke first. "50% means."
"Half again on original unit price."
I said directly. "20,000 7mm Mauser rifles were next batch. Price changed as of now."
Silence again, heavier, sinking in. Ras Mikael laid an arm on his rest, low. "Reason."
"There is." I said. "Italy."
The room chilled. Kassa Haile's brow rose. Seyum Mangasha uncrossed arms. Father's fingers uncurled slowly on the armrest. To Adwa survivors, that name wasn't just a country.
Tafari continued. "Royal blood ties. Likely Italy's response to our territorial clause at Paris Peace Conference. Direct action blocked by League, so they cut arms sources."
Hailu Tekle Haymanot drummed fingers. "No rifles then?"
The words landed heavy. "We have them. In Mehal Sefari now. Issue is blocked imports, stalled production."
"Heard armory equipment arrived—insufficient?"
"Equipment ready. Machinists training, tolerances nearing targets." I paused. "Problem: no blueprints."
Simple sentence. No specs, no rifle standard—prep wasted. Silence. Habte cleared throat lowly. "Other countries besides Spain."
"Britain won't sell Lee-Enfields. French Berthiers tied up with Turkey. German Mausers—non-signatory, official channels hard."
"Japan, Your Majesty?" Seyum Mangasha ventured. I countered. "Geography tough. Indian Ocean route, no direct diplomacy yet."
"Korea?"
"Diplomacy aside, next to Japan—shipping issue."
No one could fix this for us. I scanned faces again. Ras stern. Habte's hard eyes. Tafari calm. Watching their Empress's answer. Adwa generation sensitive to having not. Fear of defeat without arms—raw from pre-Adwa Ethiopia. That's why this news weighed so.
I tapped the cable lightly. Brief silence. Click in my mind. Should've foreseen. Dependency on suppliers. Single-nation blueprints. One block halts all. Spain refused. Italy behind. Others could follow. Answer? One from start.
I stood; eyes rose. "I know you're rattled."
Low, clear. "No rifles, no army. No army, no nation. Spain voided, production stalled. That's today's fact."
Ras listened quietly. Then, I declared.
"Then we'll make them ourselves. Blueprints domestic."