As a skilled businessman, Charles wasn't quick to reveal his true intentions. Instead, he calmly agreed with Browning's pessimistic assessnt, putting on a sympathetic expression:
"Yes, unfortunately, I don't really see any compelling reason to collaborate."
Boyata imdiately sensed Charles's reluctance and seized upon the hint. He scrambled to propose a reason—any reason—to sway the general's decision.
"General," Boyata began cautiously, "if we cooperated, FN could manufacture ammunition and shells directly for the French army, right here in Belgium. This would significantly cut down transportation costs and delivery tis."
Charles nodded slowly, "True, that's beneficial, but it seems more beneficial to Belgium itself than to France. After all, we're here to help liberate your country. It seems logical that you should support us, regardless of collaboration."
Boyata flushed slightly, realizing his reasoning was weak. He hadn't considered that angle thoroughly, and now he was caught short.
Quickly regrouping, Boyata offered another angle: "We have a substantial subsidiary in the United States. Through our cooperation, you could gain easier entry into the Arican military equipnt market. FN can open doors for you that may otherwise remain closed."
This argunt did genuinely intrigue Charles. In approximately a year and a half, the United States would enter the war, and Arican troops would desperately need all sorts of modern weapons—machine guns, automatic rifles, mines, grenades, armored vehicles—exactly the kind of advanced equipnt Charles specialized in.
But Charles's outward deanor didn't reflect his inner enthusiasm. Instead, he maintained a cool, skeptical tone: "Unfortunately, the United States is neutral right now, Mr. Boyata. Their military needs are limited."
Boyata, visibly growing anxious, saw his opportunity slipping away. He knew clearly what was at stake—without a aningful partnership, FN risked losing Browning's interest and possibly Browning himself.
Just as Boyata began to despair, Browning intervened thoughtfully: "General, beyond just military equipnt, FN's Arican branches can help France procure large quantities of both civilian and military supplies. From what I understand, France is currently suffering significant shortages of many goods."
At this, Charles finally displayed visible interest. France indeed faced critical shortages due to the prolonged war effort—basic commodities such as boots, canteens, household appliances, industrial equipnt, and nurous other essentials had grown exceedingly scarce. Even the British leveraged their vast stores of Arican-supplied goods to influence French military decisions.
Noticing Charles's change in expression, Boyata quickly reinforced Browning's suggestion: "Exactly! And not just the U.S.—we also have solid connections in the Netherlands. They're also neutral, border us by land, and can easily supply substantial amounts of goods directly."
Charles paused thoughtfully. Boyata's reasoning was sound; a partnership with FN would indeed open new avenues for securing desperately needed supplies, sothing vital for France's war effort and civilian economy alike.
After a mont's silence, Charles finally relented—but on his own terms. "Alright," he said evenly, setting down his coffee. "But I have one more condition."
Boyata and Browning exchanged quick glances, both relieved and excited. This was far more than they had hoped for.
"Anything within our power, General," Boyata eagerly agreed.
—
In Paris, the month of September brought vibrant blooms of dahlias. The colorful flowers gently swayed in the breeze, their sweet fragrance filling the streets, adding cheer and tranquility to the bustling capital.
Dominique had his own private lab at the police training academy. This lab allowed him the convenience of developing new firearms while simultaneously keeping in close contact with military and police forces to better understand their practical needs.
Occasionally, his father, Steed, would suggest, "You know, Dominique, you could focus entirely on your weapon designs. I can easily find soone else to oversee the training academy."
But Dominique always rejected the offer. "It's not just a job, father," he'd explain earnestly. "This place connects to the soldiers. Without firsthand interactions, how could I ever really know what they truly need on the battlefield?"
Steed saw the wisdom in his son's perspective. Saint-Étienne Armory's earlier failures had co precisely from disconnecting design from practical necessity. The previous designers had imagined impressive, yet utterly impractical weapons. Charles's own success, conversely, had always co from his direct combat experience and intimate knowledge of battlefield conditions.
The laboratory itself was an impressive operation: spacious, state-of-the-art, and costly. Steed had spent over a million francs equipping Dominique's laboratory with top-tier equipnt, machine tools, testing facilities, and even a private shooting range. Over seventy technicians and assistants worked tirelessly under Dominique's direction to support his creative endeavors.
Yet despite all the investnt and support, Dominique was stuck. He'd repeatedly attempted to design sothing innovative, but found himself caught in repetitive patterns, designing variations of existing firearms—sothing resembling a Mauser here, sothing akin to a slightly altered Lebel there. His frustration grew daily.
"Maybe I'm nothing without Charles's guidance," he muttered bitterly to himself, crumpling yet another drawing and tossing it away. The wastebasket was long full; paper balls littered his office floor, each discarded design a testant to his stalled creativity.
Then suddenly, his secretary brought him a telegram.
"Colonel," the secretary announced, handing Dominique the paper. "This just arrived from General Charles. He's asking if you'd like to beco John Browning's assistant."
Dominique absently nodded, distracted by his self-doubt. Then abruptly, realizing the ssage, he sat bolt upright.
"Wait, what did you say? Browning?" Dominique stamred, reading the telegram repeatedly.
"Yes, sir," the secretary confird patiently. "It specifically asks if you're willing."
Dominique, heart pounding, barely managed to conceal his shock. Becoming Browning's assistant—this wasn't just an honor; it was a once-in-a-lifeti dream. Browning was practically a deity among firearms designers worldwide.
As he stared, frozen with disbelief, another telegram arrived urgently. Dominique grabbed it hastily.
This second telegram clarified succinctly: "Browning is with right now. Simply reply 'Yes' or 'No.'"
Dominique laughed aloud in astonishnt and relief, startling his secretary. "Yes! Imdiately reply 'Yes!'"
As the secretary turned to leave, Dominique abruptly halted him. "Wait, please add: 'It would be my greatest honor.'"
The secretary raised his eyebrows in surprise—Dominique wasn't usually one for formalities—but he dutifully took down the added ssage and left to transmit the reply.
Dominique paced excitedly around his office, unable to calm himself.
"Am I really going to work with John Browning? How did Charles convince him?"
He glanced at his crumpled sketches scattered about the floor, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Is this really happening, or am I dreaming?"
(End of Chapter 499)
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