Preparations
June 10, 1926, Mehal Sefari garrison in Addis Ababa.
I didn't watch Russell's car leave through the main gate until the end. I confirmed the sound of the wheels fading behind me with my ears, then finally relaxed my shoulders and let out a quiet breath. No one would have noticed. Tafari was beside me, but even he might not have caught it…
Whoosh…
June air in Addis Ababa flooded into my lungs. It was heavy. Unlike the thin highland air, the atmosphere this season—right before the rainy period—carried moisture, settling thicker in my chest with each breath. Clouds were starting to move again along the distant ridge, and a faint rumble of thunder echoed once more. It looked like rain would fall this afternoon.
I turned toward the parade ground. The soldiers were dispersing from their positions. The battalion commander barked orders, and the hundreds standing in formation moved with perfect precision. This sharpness was different from when I'd first seen this army back in 1916.
Good. That's enough for today.
What I'd meant to show today wasn't firepower anyway. Discipline, organization, and proof that this country could stand on its own—quietly demonstrated right in front of the Italian and British consuls. That alone achieved my goal.
With that thought, I headed toward the simple barracks deeper inside the garrison. The interior was cooler than outside. Thick stone walls blocked the June heat, giving the air a different feel. In that sparse space with just a table and a few chairs, I took a seat. Tafari Mekonnen placed some documents down across from me and sat.
He was already sorting the meeting's proceedings in his mind. His expression gave nothing away, but I could tell from the way his fingers slowly uncurled once on the table.
"Your Highness."
Low, calm voice.
"The timing of proposing the joint consultative body today was unexpected."
Unexpected? A rare phrase from Tafari.
I picked up my coffee cup and looked at him.
"How long have you been planning this?"
Before I could answer, he continued on his own.
"Send the letter to the League of Nations first, then open room for compromise with Russell to split Britain from Italy. Let Italy leave frustrated, but leave Britain with space for dialogue. Using the fact that their interests diverged from the start."
He paused briefly before adding,
"Announcing our water resource development plan first was clever too. It framed Britain's demands as 'external interference' with a primacy effect. Though Russell must doubt the plan's feasibility. That 1939 target year."
I took a sip of coffee.
"Let him doubt it. What matters is that we declared it."
Tafari's eyes narrowed slightly. That expression usually meant his calculations had aligned perfectly.
"I see."
Short reply. But I knew there was more packed into those brief words. He was categorizing what I'd done today, extracting patterns, storing it for the next similar situation. That's why Tafari Mekonnen was so formidable.
"The joint consultative body also buys us time," I continued, and Tafari looked at me.
"Once consultations begin, Britain won't easily play direct pressure cards against Ethiopia. Turning Ethiopia into an adversary during the process would undermine the body itself. And during that time, we keep preparing."
Tafari fell silent for a moment, then said,
"We must finish in eight years."
I said nothing at that number. No need to ask when he'd figured out that year. Anyone running this country would naturally calculate the direction of Italy's ambitions around Ethiopia.
Plip— plip—
Raindrops began falling outside the window. Sparse at first, hitting the stone walls. It started pouring properly about two hours later. And I was reviewing reports inside the barracks.
June production figures from the arsenal, raw material inventory at the Alesssa steel mill, this month's export volume from the Harar textile factory. As I scanned the numbers, another calculation spun in my head. Consultative body. Britain. Italy. And the time left until 1935.
"Your Highness."
A servant's voice came from the barracks entrance.
"Ras Balcha Safo requests an audience."
Balcha Safo. From the Sidamo region, once a Dejazmach, now holding the title of Ras. In original history, he'd held key positions in the Ethiopian military—a blunt, straightforward man.
"Let him in."
Moments later, Ras Balcha Safo entered, dressed in the new Mehal Sefari uniform introduced two years ago. Approaching sixty, his build was still solid, his eyes etched with traces of long battlefields.
"Your Highness, it's good you're here."
After his greeting, he got straight to the point—no fluff.
I set down the report and looked at him.
"Sit. Speak."
As he took the chair, he pulled a folded paper from his bosom.
"Thoughts from watching today's training demo. The rifles, light machine guns, and mountain guns Your Highness created are now deployed in the Mehal Sefari. I thought they were sufficient."
Thought—past tense.
"Not anymore, it seems."
Ras Balcha Safo unfolded the paper and held it out.
Aircraft
Armored cars
Trucks
[We need a way to counter these.]
I took the paper and examined it briefly. He was right. Honestly, a problem I'd known about for a long time. From my past life, history books told me what Italy would bring when invading Ethiopia in 1935. Aircraft, poison gas, mechanized units. That's what the Italian army deployed against Ethiopia in the 1930s. This veteran had nailed the core today.
"Precisely."
I said it, and Ras Balcha Safo's eyes lifted slightly. He hadn't expected simple agreement.
"The Italy coming next won't be the one from 1896. It'll be an army that experienced mechanized warfare in the Great War. With aircraft, armored cars, trucks for logistics."
I set the paper on the table and continued.
"You've pointed out what we need to counter it, Ras. Thank you."
Tafari quietly watched me. He'd stayed in the room, so he'd heard the conversation. Ignoring his gaze as best I could, with the rain drumming on the barracks roof as backdrop, I thought for a moment.
Aircraft—could we produce them domestically? …The honest answer: not right now. Worlds apart from starting rifle design. Rifles had no self-propulsion; nailing the empty weight was key, and adapting to our arsenal's level took just two months. But trucks and aircraft were different. Both needed internal combustion engines, demanding precision far beyond machining rifle bolt assemblies. Fuel systems, cooling, airframe design. With Alesssa steel mill's current metallurgy, mass-producing even truck-grade steel was still tough, let alone aircraft.
But inability to make didn't mean we couldn't have.
"Aircraft and trucks are hard to produce independently."
I told Ras Balcha Safo, who frowned slightly but didn't argue.
"Ethiopia's current tech can't produce internal combustion engines. It'll change in ten years, but honestly, that's the situation now."
"Then."
"We buy them."
He looked at me steadily.
"Buy with license production rights. Negotiate with Britain's Bristol Aeroplane Company. America's Ford. Both."
I continued.
"Bristol ties into our morning meeting with Consul Russell. As water resource consultations progress with Britain, we can bundle military tech transfer in. Ford's American channel—we lack direct US military ties yet."
There, I paused and glanced at Tafari.
"Sound out Consul Yeo Woon-hyung's side. The Korean Empire already has US contacts in Europe. See if we can open a midway route there."
Tafari nodded once. A note-taking motion.
"If we parallel imports and license rights? Start by buying and using, let our engineers dissect the structures, then step up to licensed production. Full independent development after."
Ras Balcha Safo nodded slowly. Acceptance, not dissatisfaction.
"And anti-tank weapons, Your Highness?"
That question made me pause. Anti-tank. To face Italy's 1930s armored cars and tanks, we needed weapons to pierce them. In original history, lacking them cost Ethiopia dearly.
I placed both hands neatly on the table. Calculations whirred in my head.
Anti-tank weapons fell into two main categories. One: infantry anti-tank launchers. Large-caliber rifles or shaped-charge rockets to penetrate armor. Anti-tank rifles were the simplest at 1930s tech—infantry could carry them without specialists.
The other: anti-tank guns. Cannons for direct fire penetration. Far more powerful, but heavier and technically demanding.
So, anti-tank rifles seemed doable by the arsenal. Extension of rifle design: upscale caliber, reinforce chamber, add recoil absorption. Same principles, tuned for penetration.
But anti-tank guns were different. Honestly, direct design with Ethiopia's current tech was tough. Ballistics and chamber design required far more complex engineering than rifles. I had basics from past-life memory, but blueprints to prototype was another matter.
Have our engineers try what they can, and I'll handle the gun.
That was the conclusion. Looking at Ras Balcha Safo, I said,
"Two approaches. Anti-tank rifles designed by our newly trained engineers."
The room quieted briefly. Tafari's hand holding papers paused minutely; Ras Balcha Safo's eyebrows rose then fell.
"They've done rifles and LMGs, so direction's set. Upscale caliber for penetration—they can implement at arsenal level. It'll take time, but this is work we can do ourselves."
Ras Balcha Safo's eyebrows rose slightly.
"Can our engineers manage?"
"That's why we try. Confirm it."
I tapped the table lightly with a finger.
"When we started rifle design at the arsenal, Alemou and the craftsmen didn't know everything from day one. They learned while building. Empty weights missed my targets at first, but converged after a month."
He nodded. Rifles were already in production; he wouldn't dismiss it.
"Anti-tank guns are different," I continued. "Better if I handle cannon design than our novices."
I went on.
"Anti-tank guns are harder than rifles. Chamber design, breech mechanisms, recoil buffers. I can provide basics and direction. But full blueprints and prototypes? Still tough."
Tafari finally set his papers down and spoke.
"Hence, Your Highness—who has experience—makes them."
Low, even tone, but confirming something.
"Yes. I designed the rifles. LMGs too. But if Ethiopia keeps relying solely on my designs, that's dependency in another form. Engineers need experience solving problems themselves to tackle harder things next."
Ras Balcha Safo looked at me steadily. His gaze pierced deeper than mere admiration.
"Your Highness."
His voice lowered slightly.
"I heard what Emperor Menelik said at Adwa. 'What's wrong with taking Europe's guns to shoot Europe's armies?' Those words still ring in my ears."
I fell silent briefly at that. Ras Mikael's words. I remembered too. When I'd first raised adopting Western methods at the Ras council, Father's retort.
"Emperor Menelik was right. And now we're learning Europe's ways to build Europe's weapons with our own hands. Next step: our own engineers building them independently."
Balcha Safo bowed his head once. Rare for him.
"Understood, Your Highness."