Today, the problem of rocket artillery has been corrected, and infantry weapons are at the leading level, so there is no need to worry.

As for the tanks of the support units, the current industrial capacity production is already difficult, and if the technical level is to be upgraded, the workers may have to scold the streets.

So the rest of Kuster's time is not going to be spent on these things that he has worked so. HE INTENDED TO PRODUCE ARTILLERY, THAT IS, THE 75MM AND 88MM GUNS, WHICH HAD PREVIOUSLY BEEN ABANDONED FOR VARIOUS REASONS.

The design drawings have hardly changed compared to before, the bolts are still wedge-shaped, and the steel is also up-to-date.

However, the idea of self-propelled guns can be considered scrapped, and there is not even a reliable truck to support the basis of a motorized unit, let alone move the artillery to the car.

Tank chassis are also very scarce, and compared to the abundant to bloated long-range firepower, the tank is the most needed breakthrough in the war, and it is obviously not worth wasting a tank chassis for a gun with only the right wheels.

In this backward industrial environment and poor political conditions, any innovation is heresy, and it is only natural to develop towed artillery according to tradition.

After finishing the drawings, Kuster felt a little silence, sighed, and folded the drawings into the gaps between the walls, and then plugged them with dirt.

Stood up, made a call, and asked how long Franz's gang would be coming.

"Almost four days."

There are still a few days to spare. Custer sighed again, went back to the blacksmith where he had buried his sword in the ground, and spoke kindly to the old blacksmith.

It just so happened that the old blacksmith was also quite idle, and according to him, since the beginning of the war, bayonets and shovels had been produced every day and night, and he was about to vomit.

Like Custer, he was very tired most of the time, but now he is idle.

According to the townspeople on the streets: "The Russians have surrendered, and no one dares to fight with us with bayonets." ”

Whether it's true or not, Kuster just wants to rest more.

He walked over to the familiar pit, kicked away the dust that had accumulated on it, and kicked his sword out in the fire of the burning charcoal.

The old blacksmith skillfully put on his leather gloves, and then put on a thick layer of gloves, and then picked up the hot sword.

After a few minutes of cooling, the anvil is ground with your hand, making a piercing sound like a sharp blade coming out of its sheath.

"Congratulations, hardened."

"Twelve days," Kuster muttered to himself, his eyes suddenly converging, and he asked:

"How many days does it take for a good steel to do this?"

"Then you'll have to ask my great-grandfather."

The blacksmith's casual joke amused Kuster. He smiled and turned back and asked:

"How many days does it take to pick a good steel?"

"Then you'll have to ask the Indians."

Kuster turned his head again, shook his head and smiled:

"How many days does it take to give birth to a good steel?"

"Then you'll have to ask—yourself."

Seeing him like this, Kuster sighed again, looked at the sky with some emotion, and then asked him:

"So, what do you think is a good steel?"

The old blacksmith did not reply, and concentrated on rubbing the dirty planks.

Kuster smiled again, stretched his hand to his waist, and grabbed a few thousand crowns to hand to the blacksmith.

"Since you want me to ask the Indians, then please take this money and ask them on my behalf. Of course, if you have any leisure, you can also ask your great-grandfather, who has passed away for a hundred years. ”

The old blacksmith looked very panicked, and hurriedly retreated, almost hitting the back of his head to the ground.

After finally getting up from the ground and fixing his body, he stared at Kuster in disbelief, and kept muttering:

"Sir... General, oh no... Generalissimo! I'm sure your knife is very exquisite, a hundred times better than mine, and it's made of gold, I really don't understand! ”

Hearing him say this, Kuster pulled out his sword a little unnaturally.

In an instant, all the reflected light entered the golden ritual sword, and shone with even more brilliant golden light, spreading along the exquisite texture towards the hilt. Kuster held the sword and stood on the clear ground under the scorching sun, even several times brighter than the sun.

Whether it's a blacksmith or a Custer, there's a moment when the eye is drawn in.

However, the moment was short-lived, and the old blacksmith quickly withdrew his gaze, still as calm as ever.

Kuster was a little reluctant, took a deep breath, and soothed it.

Close your eyes, clasp your hands on the hilt of the sword, and hold it high.

"My God! You won't..."

His actions caused the blacksmith to exclaim, but it was already too late.

With a crisp sound, I saw the golden sword smashing on the anvil, and the huge pressure directly broke the sword body in half, and it was broken from 1/2 of the sword body, which means that it cannot be repaired.

The nearby dogs barked uncomfortably at the sound of shattering glass. But when he saw the glittering gold shards, he kicked up his hind legs and went straight to the gold.

There were also a few people who were wandering on the street, and when they heard the sound of the old blacksmith's house, they thought that something had happened to the old blacksmith, and hurried to the door.

When they saw the gold, they reacted like the dogs, their eyes were attracted to death, and they refused to move.

But when he saw the old blacksmith in the courtyard like a stone statue, he looked slightly to the right - it was Marshal Kuster!

If there was only one old blacksmith, he could break in, but no one wanted to compete with the Marshal of Austria-Hungary. Moreover, this kind of gold weapon can only be used by such magnates.

His sanity barely retained a shred of his dignity, and at the same time saved his own life—the dogs had been killed by the gendarmes, and their corpses were scattered with blood, covering the splendor of the gold shards.

Custer himself stooped down to pick up one after another, littered with debris, and then put it in his hand and gave it to the old blacksmith:

"If that little kronor alone doesn't convince you, then the gold stained with dog blood will surely move you."

The old blacksmith had long been frightened by the movement just now, and his legs trembled, and he couldn't say a word at the moment, so he could only take it trembling all over.

"Excuse me, you... Need anything. ”

The old blacksmith struggled to utter a word, and the words and tone became more and more respectful.

Kuster reacted, turned around a little embarrassed, and stretched out his bloody right hand, almost scaring the blacksmith unconscious.

However, the blacksmith soon regained his mind and took the broken golden sword in his hand.

"I want you to fill the gap for me with the best steel from India."

"Marshal... Your request is too difficult for me to do. And even if this kind of sword is made, it is the kind that will break at once. Especially... It's ugly. ”

The old blacksmith was a little depressed, his tone became more and more humble, and his body gradually drooped.

The step Kuster had just taken out suddenly stopped, motionless in front of the blacksmith, as if he were dead.

He turned around slowly, revealing a nonchalant expression:

"Who told you I was going to use this sword?"