Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Investment for the Future
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“Hey, Baron von Choi is coming through!”
“Whoa, Baron Hans von Choi!”
After returning to Potsdam,
I’d spent the last few days enduring the smirking faces of Joachim and Viktoria Luise, those two little troublemakers.
They’d finally found fresh teasing material after so long.
“...Please, at least just call me von Choi.”
How could anyone’s name be von Choi?
I could stomach Hans, but that was really pushing it.
“Nope. No way.”
“Ah! Huzmlrg!”
Only after I gritted my teeth and yelled did Joachim and Luise stop their cackling mockery.
This was why I couldn’t stand kids.
Though I guess I’m a kid too.
“Anyway, Hans, you’re rich now. What’re you gonna spend it on?”
“Let’s go traveling! Traveling!”
Joachim answered with an excited grin.
Kids. It’s my money, not yours.
“I’ve got plenty of places to spend it.”
“Places to spend it?”
Luise tilted her head.
“I can’t go into details, but let’s just call it an investment for the future.”
New weapons, radio, airplanes, antibiotics, and more...
Thanks to the Victoria Dowager Empress’s surprise gift, I finally had a chance to get my hands on them.
But as life always goes, you can’t have everything you want all at once.
I had to make choices.
Airplanes on hold for now.
Airplanes were essential for preparing for the world war ahead—I needed to acquire and develop them as fast as possible—but they weren’t feasible right now.
The Wright brothers wouldn’t achieve the first powered flight until 1903, two years from now.
Come to think of it, wasn’t Count Zeppelin developing airships around this time?
Their first flight was probably last year.
Not that it went well.
Besides, airships were a man’s dream, but they weren’t as practical as they seemed.
They might shine early in a war, but later on, they were too big and slow to compete with airplanes—not to mention the hydrogen made them massive fire hazards.
Helium’s too expensive.
Not worth my investment.
Though the Germans drunk on the grandeur of giant airships wouldn’t agree.
Let them do their thing. Next up, antibiotics...
Penicillin.
The miracle drug from blue mold.
Humanity’s greatest medicine.
Its impact and value made it a must-have.
But pharmaceuticals were a money pit.
One misstep, and I’d get no results while burning through the Dowager Empress’s legacy.
High risk, high reward.
Hold off on this too.
That left radio and new weapons for the world war as my best immediate options.
Radio, as I’d said before, had huge military potential and was an irresistible propaganda tool.
I wanted to develop it myself.
Too bad I’m no engineer.
I was a pure liberal arts guy.
So I needed geniuses to build the radio and other tech in my stead.
First on my list: Reginald Fessenden, the pioneer of radio technology.
In 1901, he was probably working for the U.S. Weather Bureau.
And second...
Nikola Tesla.
The tragic genius scientist of the early 20th century.
Also the poster boy for mad scientists.
Tricky personality, but handled right, he’d churn out groundbreaking inventions.
In alternate history novels from my past life, protagonists always enslaved him at every chance. Time to put him to work.
Plus, Tesla pioneered wireless communication before Marconi.
He lost the patents due to bad luck, but that tech and knowledge were gold to me now.
Problem is, I don’t know exactly where he is or what he’s doing right now.
Last I knew, he’d been experimenting with his famous Tesla coil in Colorado Springs until last year. After that? No clue.
But he’s famous enough that asking around should turn him up quick.
And being from Austrian-Hungarian Croatia, language wouldn’t be an issue.
I’d send letters inviting Fessenden and Tesla to Germany to build radios with me.
Finally, new weapons...
I wanted tanks, but that was impossible now. So, firearms it was.
Like the submachine gun—the root of roots for this era.
Nothing beats it for trench warfare.
In original history, it came too late in World War I to shine fully, but its power was undeniable.
Securing it early would pay off big later.
“Let’s see, a letter... Nah, better go in person.”
“Huh? Where to, Hans?”
“Just a quick trip to Suhl tomorrow.”
“Suhl? Thuringia?”
“Yes.”
Suhl.
A hub of German gunmaking for ages, even training East German shooters in its day.
Someone there could build the submachine gun I wanted.
The next day.
Louis Schmeisser, chief firearms developer at Bergmann Arms in Suhl, eyed the unusually rowdy workshop that morning with confusion.
“Boss, what’s all this racket so early?”
“Oh! Louis, you’re here!”
Theodor Bergmann, owner of Bergmann Arms, greeted him with barely contained excitement.
“Come here, take a look at this.”
“A telegram?”
A small telegram slip was indeed in Bergmann’s hand.
“Came from Potsdam last night. Some noble wants to visit our factory today!”
“A noble?”
“Yeah. You’ve heard of ‘the Oriental boy who saved the Kaiser,’ right?”
Louis nodded, puzzled.
He read the papers; he knew who the boy was.
Hans Choi, wasn’t it?
“But a noble? What nonsense is that? He’s just some yellow-skinned kid.”
“You’re behind the times. The Kaiser just granted him a title. A barony, no less!”
“Huh...”
An Oriental baron in the German Empire? Living long enough really showed you things.
“So what does his lordship want with us?”
“He wants to commission us to develop a revolutionary new gun he’s designed!”
“A revolutionary gun?”
“Yep. He’s even covering the prototype costs himself. Word is he inherited a fortune from the Dowager Empress and can’t wait to spend it.”
The words “revolutionary gun” lit a fire in Louis’s gunmaker soul.
But then he remembered Hans von Choi was just a nine-year-old kid, and his face soured.
“Isn’t this just some clueless brat throwing money around?”
“Who knows. Let’s hear him out first.”
Money was always right.
Bergmann headed back to his office.
Louis, pride as a craftsman overriding all, grimaced at the potential waste of time but followed.
And shortly after,
“Welcome, Your Lordship! I’m Theodor Bergmann, owner of this factory.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bergmann.”
The man who’d stirred up Bergmann Arms arrived.
Baron Hans von Choi.
“And this is Louis Schmeisser, our chief firearms developer.”
“Louis Schmeisser.”
“An honor to meet a master whose fame echoes across Europe, Mr. Schmeisser.”
Louis couldn’t help but smile at the baron’s praise.
The first impression was better than expected.
Poised and polite—far from the spoiled rich kid or scheming Oriental stereotypes.
“And who are those gentlemen behind you?”
Bergmann pointed at the burly suited men standing behind Hans.
“My escorts. The Empress was worried about me coming to Suhl alone.”
“Ah, I see.”
Louis and Bergmann sweated at the casual mention of the German Empress.
The rumors of the Kaiser’s favor were true.
“Well, come on in.”
Under Bergmann and Louis’s guidance, Hans and his escorts entered the factory.
“Those two young men look a lot like you, Mr. Schmeisser.”
Hans remarked, eyeing the factory with interest.
Louis scratched his head, embarrassed.
“Ah, my sons. They’re studying hard to become gun developers like me. The older one’s Hans, the younger Hugo.”
“I see...”
Hans looked at the Schmeisser brothers with keen interest.
His eyes gleamed like a hawk spotting prey.
Jackpot!
I inwardly cheered, staring at Louis Schmeisser’s sons—especially the younger one.
Hugo Schmeisser.
Developer of the MP18, the world’s first submachine gun deployed in combat.
And father of the StG44, the world’s first assault rifle, under the Nazis.
America has Eugene Stoner, Russia has Mikhail Kalashnikov—Germany has Hugo Schmeisser.
A talent I had to snag.
“Mr. Schmeisser, mind if your sons join us?”
“Pardon? But they’re still green as developers...”
“It’s fine. I’d like to hear young minds’ thoughts.”
Louis nodded, worried but proud.
You can be proud, Mr. Schmeisser.
Your son will etch his name in history as a legendary gunmaker.
“This way to my office.”
I sat on the sofa with Bergmann, Louis, and his sons for the real talk.
Escorts waited outside.
No point cramming those hulks in here—it’d just be awkward.
“First, let me explain the gun I have in mind.”
I pulled the prepared blueprint from my briefcase and handed copies to Schmeisser and Bergmann.
The brothers eyed it eagerly too.
“Submachine gun (Maschinenpistole)...?”
“Think of it as a small, light machine gun portable as a personal weapon.”
“It says to use pistol rounds here—is that to reduce recoil and improve stability?”
I nodded at Schmeisser’s question.
“Quite innovative. Full-auto rifles have too much recoil, so pistol rounds instead.”
“The recent 9x19mm Parabellum from DWM would be ideal. Even pistol rounds need punch—7.65x21mm won’t cut it.”
Hugo chimed in seamlessly, talent shining through.
The MP18 did use 9x19mm.
“But this design would have much shorter range than bolt-action rifles.”
Schmeisser said worriedly.
Obviously.
Most guns of this era were built for long-range engagements.
“That’s fine. The submachine gun is designed for close-quarters like trenches or urban combat, not long range.”
And for better portability and mobility, it had to be shorter and lighter than rifles.
Hence, “sub-”machine gun.
“Very intriguing, but we’re concerned. We specialize in automatic pistols—no experience with something like this.”
Bergmann glanced at Louis Schmeisser.
“Louis, can we do it?”
“......”
Louis closed his eyes, deep in thought.
“We can!”
But it was Hugo who spoke.
“Hugo?”
“The concept’s solid. It’s just up to the developers’ skill now. With you, brother, and me? We can do it. No—I want to.”
Success here would immortalize our family name.
Hugo beamed with youthful confidence.
That’s the spirit.
“Hm. Fine. Let’s do it.”
Louis, fired up by his son’s passion after years, nodded firmly.
Deal sealed.