Chapter 179: Elimination Round

The hall buzzed with noise.

Ever since Tayouan Telecom Company was established, the leadership had kept the entire Crossing Faction running smoothly through forums, voice software, and small-scale coordination meetings. But this large conference room, converted from a Dutch restaurant, had not been used for a long time.

Today's "Gun Fixation Conference" was called because there were simply too many noisy "goods" on both sides — the gun experts each refused to yield, opinions clashed sharply, and the forum had become unreadable... So the freshly minted Weapons Company General Manager Ma Zekai convened this meeting, ready to settle everything in one debate and quickly finalize the main rifle model for the future Crossing Army.

In the hastily cleaned old restaurant, fine dust drifted in the air. The Transmigrators, scattered in clusters of three or five, sat on battered wooden stools, gathered haphazardly into little groups, heads together, whispering and murmuring to one another.

And Ma Zekai, sitting behind a broken table on the "chairman's" platform, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette, glanced at his wristwatch from time to time, ready to announce the start of the meeting the moment the hour struck.

"I really don't get it — shouldn't the choice of weapons be decided by the military?" Mu Longcheng, dressed in a blue Type 07 Navy General uniform, leather shoes polished to a gleam, impeccably neat from head to toe, was sitting in a corner of the restaurant, whispering indignantly to the person beside him.

"In theory, yes." Han Bo, the Army Commander in camouflage training uniform beside Mu Longcheng, gave a dry laugh. "But in practice, weapons are decided by arms dealers and councilor lords at the dinner table. Soldiers can only take the allocated funds and purchase the designated models... It's called 'dual designation.'"

"And these guys call themselves arms dealers? Tch, putting the cart before the horse!"

Hearing Mu Longcheng's grumbling, Han Bo smiled and pursed his lips. "Look — there are no arms dealers in this room, but councilor lords are sitting in piles..."

It was a bit pitiful, really. Apart from these two, dressed in military uniforms and sitting against the wall as representatives of the Army and Navy, there was not a single other soldier in this room.

Even Marine Corps Commander Qian, who should have at least shown his face, made an excuse and slipped away after seeing this farcical gathering of gun experts. The Marine Corps currently had no real scale and was being used as a special forces unit — all their weapons were "imported" high-end goods. Commander Qian had the confidence to stay out of this mess.

Several dozen gun experts from all walks of life sat in the restaurant, forming a posture like the Seven Warring States.

And Comrade Mu Longcheng in the corner, bored out of his mind, finally began scouting the opposition: "Are Tao Zheng and his bunch Semi faction followers?"

"No, they're from the AK gang." Han Bo knew these people inside out.

"Huh? Aren't the Semi supporters the most numerous? How come they all joined the AK gang?"

"That's just people trolling online. Who doesn't know the AK is more satisfying to use?"

"Tch, can we even manufacture it?" Mu Longcheng's face was full of contempt.

"The AK faction has already proven their case on the forum." Han Bo wore a look of amusement. "If old men in Afghanistan can make them in workshops, we can make them too!"

"Oh please, those are just assembly workshops — the gun barrels are all imported." Mu Longcheng rolled his eyes.

"We can import gun barrels too..."

"Gun barrels can be imported, then..."

Just then, their conversation was interrupted by Ma Zekai rapping on the broken table: "Quiet down, everyone. It's time for the meeting. Let's begin."

Ma Zekai's age was relatively high among the Transmigrators, who were mostly under 30: he was 36. Old Ma had previously worked as a firearms repairman at a private weapons company and was the only Transmigrator with hands-on experience in actually building guns.

"Today we'll follow the old method: each group sends a representative to the stage in turn. Each person gets 10 minutes to speak, followed by a vote — elimination from the bottom."

... Ma Zekai knew perfectly well that his freshly minted Weapons Company was just a workhorse with zero discourse power. So Old Ma now wore an expression of detached indifference: Go ahead and argue — even if you decide on a six-barreled Thunder God, I don't care. You provide the materials, I'll dare to build it.

But the gun experts below the stage didn't see it that way, especially the supporters of the two largest rifle families, the AK and the Semi. The comrades' faces brimmed with confident smiles, each seemingly certain they could knock their opponent off the horse, so that the thousands of valiant warriors of the future Transmigration Nation would go into battle wielding the rifles of their dreams.

Just as Ma Zekai was about to draw lots to determine the order of speakers, three people walked in through the restaurant door.

Leading them was the current CEO of the Transmigrator Group, Xia Xianze, Grand Secretary Xia.

Following behind General Manager Xia was one of the lords of the Great Office, Zou Guoqing, Grand Secretary Zou, who oversaw industry.

The last one, wearing a suit, with somewhat prematurely graying hair and around 35 years old, was a Transmigrator named Lü Sheng.

Lü Sheng was a former Armed Police Fire Brigade detachment captain who had recently begun serving in the Great Office, overseeing military logistics, recruit training, and military materiel procurement.

Seeing these three enter, the previously warm atmosphere in the restaurant suddenly froze... The comrades were rapidly assessing the impact these characters' appearance would have on their own factions, so the scene turned somewhat cold.

Yet Han Bo, sitting in the corner, slightly parted his lips and laughed soundlessly — his rich life experience told him there should be a good show to watch today!

Seeing the Grand Secretary enter, Ma Zekai hurried forward quickly, grabbed the hand of General Manager Xia, who was dressed in casual clothes, and shook it incessantly, his sycophantic expression overflowing.

Meanwhile, Xia Xianze and his two companions, smiling as they greeted the gun experts whose faces were shifting through various expressions, walked up onto the "chairman's" platform.

... After coughing twice, Xia Xianze, standing on the platform, first tapped the broken table before him with his middle finger, then smiled and spoke: "I won't take up everyone's time. I'll say a few words and then leave."

No one doubted Old Xia's words — the Transmigrators currently numbered less than 200 in total, and bureaucratic habits were still far from forming. Someone in Xia Xianze's position, busy with countless affairs, saying a few words and leaving definitely meant under three minutes, absolutely nothing like the bosses of later generations, whose "I'll just add a few words" could last until quitting time...

"The reason I've come today, first of all, is to tell everyone some good news!" Xia Xianze's face was full of smiles. "After consulting with Cao Zong, I now solemnly declare to everyone: no matter which rifle model we decide on, Cao Zong will, at the fastest speed, import 200 sample guns of the highest quality to equip our earliest military academy student company!"

A few scattered claps and sparse cheers rose from below the stage. Xia Xianze, long accustomed to such a reception, was about to open his mouth for the next point when his sleeve was suddenly tugged by Lü Sheng. This middle-aged, white-haired former Armed Police officer whispered a single word into Old Xia's ear.

"Gun stock — oh right, forgot the gun stock." Xia Xianze patted his head. "Sorry about that, I don't know much about guns and cannons. Uh, the gun stocks we'll produce ourselves."

Below the stage, no one was speaking anymore — dead silence.

Even those with less keen senses now felt something was off. Everyone was now waiting for the Grand Secretary's "but."

"But — well, as everyone knows, our power base is currently extremely short on all kinds of industrial raw materials, so..."

Xia Xianze paused here, turned his head, and exchanged a nod with Zou Guoqing standing beside him: "So, after our research and decision: for the coming period, all self-produced guns and cannons are prohibited from using metal cartridges, especially copper cartridges. This restriction remains in effect until we secure a sufficient quantity of copper mines! That concludes my remarks."

His word was his deed — truly a man of his word.

The trio of Xia Xianze, from entering to leaving, took less than three minutes in total.

Leaving behind the utterly dumbfounded gun experts sitting there, staring wide-eyed at one another.

After a suffocating five minutes passed, one person slowly rose from his seat — Tao Zheng, Vice President of Tayouan Telecom and enthusiast of the AK series rifles.

He took two fierce drags on the Changzui Liqun cigarette nearly burnt down to his fingers, then fiercely threw the butt to the ground, fiercely crushed it underfoot, and the next moment, under the gaze of the crowd, Tao Zheng turned and walked out the restaurant door, like a dog with dignity.

"Hahaha," Mu Longcheng, his face already flushed red from holding it in, now burst into unrestrained laughter. Following Mu Longcheng's laughter, a large wave of AK and Semi faction members, faces expressionless, turned and walked away.

No copper cartridges meant they could only go the route of black powder and paper cartridges. All semi-automatic and automatic firearms were silently eliminated in that moment — firearms of the AK and Semi's precision, using black powder that sent residue flying everywhere, would blow their barrels after just a few shots.

"Very good." After laughing, Mu Longcheng's face straightened. He swept his eyes over the remaining "goods" in the room, stood up, and said: "Let me make this clear first — when my brothers go to the battlefield, they go to fight for their lives. My life and the lives of the brothers under my command are not for you to play nostalgia with. So, anyone clamoring to equip the army with smoothbore guns can get lost right now. Otherwise, you lead the charge yourselves — I'd like to see how many days you survive."

... Under Mu Longcheng's contemptuous gaze and Han Bo's stern face beside him, a few Brown Bess faction members also slunk away.

"Very good, the dilettantes are all gone. Now we can finally discuss serious matters." Ma Zekai walked over from the platform, casually pulled over a battered stool and sat down, then swept his eyes over the few remaining survivors in the room and said with a smile.

... The grand and vigorous Gun Fixation General Assembly had thus, with dramatic flair, turned into a small coordination meeting with fewer than ten participants.

Now, after all manner of bizarre elimination processes, only three candidate rifles still held their ground: the Minié rifle, the Sharps, and the Chassepot.

The principle was simple: since copper cartridges couldn't be used, they had to work backward through the history of firearms development. Whichever rifle was closest to the era of copper-cartridge rifles was surely the strongest candidate.

Thus, the Minié rifle was also quickly eliminated.

In the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, the Austrian Army equipped with Minié rifles was defeated on the battlefield by the Prussian Army equipped with the breech-loading, firing-pin Dreyse needle gun... The famous muzzle-loading Minié rifle officially exited the stage of history from that moment on.

And the transitional breech-loading Dreyse needle gun was soon eliminated by the French Army's superior Chassepot rifle.

So, the problem the Transmigrators now faced was: choosing one type from two excellent Rifles of the same era.

The Sharps and the Chassepot — pick one.