Grantville Gazette, Volume 71

by Bjorn Hasseler

  One interruption led to another. July slipped into August. Weeks passed before Pat finally had an opportunity to sit down with Gary Reardon and discuss his idea.

  Pat still hadn't fleshed it all out; everything was still a bit nebulous. Pat was a visionary. He was good doing things, imagining things, and working in his shop and with his hands. What he wasn't, however, was a planner. Planning was one of Gary Reardon's skills. Pat's method of operation was straightforward, see the hill, take the hill, as Archie Mitchell would say. Gary, given the same situation, would see another approach, usually a better one, plan it out in excruciating detail and get it done. Pat needed Gary. Gary had the drive, once he understood the end game, to get there quicker, and with less effort, than could Pat. Pat was the idea man. Gary was the man who could take the idea and make it a reality.

  ****

  ". . . that's the idea, Gary. What do you think?" The two met in Pat's office in the U. S. Waffenfabrik factory. He and Gary had been discussing Pat's idea. Gary had added to the vision with some of his own ideas. He wanted tungsten carbide to make harder, stronger dies and tools. With the added tungsten carbide, they saw a need for better steel, better than was currently available. Scope creep had set in.

  The end-game vision was now much more clear. How to get to that end-game still needed more thought. The two of them listed five things that had to be made and assembled to make the final product. Determining those five things was the easy part. How to make them was the real task ahead of them. Pat got up, went to his office door and asked someone to go to the inn down the street and bring back two steins of beer. Pat reached into his pocket and gave the other person some coins. ". . . and tell them to fill the steins with the cool beer in the cellar."

  He returned to his desk. "I was getting thirsty, and I expect you were, too."

  Gary laughed. "I can count on you knowing your priorities, Pat."

  Pat hung his head for a moment. It was true. His momentary attack of ADHD had been appeased.

  Gary stood and started to pace. He habitually paced when he was wrestling with a problem. He talked while he walked. He was clarifying his vision of the end game. Now the process was to work backward from the vision, detailing every item needed to make that vision a reality. "Well, we can get all the raw materials, I think. We have copper here in Suhl. We can get zinc to make brass from the Clausthal-Zellerfeld mines up in the Harz Mountains. Maybe tungsten, too. What we don't have are the tools to make the tooling and the dies . . . and the power to operate the machines. We need better steel, good hard carbon and tungsten carbide steel." He continued to build his list, mentally organizing them—what had to be done first, what was needed and when. He stopped before Pat's office window. The messenger Pat had sent for the beer was approaching with a large stein in each hand. They needed one more partner, another partner for the enterprise that would be built on Pat's initial idea.

  "I think Osker Geyer would be interested." Pat said. "I know he wants to start making carbon steel instead of cast and wrought iron. I know he's experimenting with crude carbon steel, he told me so. And, he mentioned wanting a powered hammer forge and stamping mill, too."

  Gary stopped pacing for a moment and considered Pat's statement. It mirrored his own thoughts. "Could be, Pat. If Osker Geyer wants to upgrade his iron foundry to a steel mill, I don't see why we can't help him—in exchange for him helping us." Gary returned to his chair in front of Pat's desk. "We'll need power for our factory, too, if we want to get into commercial production—more output than can be made by hand."

  Pat agreed. "How about Schmidt steam engines? Maybe we can get a price-break if we make a volume order—combine our order with one from Geyer?"

  "It's worth asking, isn't it?" Gary said.

  "Let's go visit Geyer and see what the thinks . . . after we finish our beer."

  "Good idea," Gary agreed as Pat's messenger appeared at the door with two steins. It was a hot day and, Gary thought, a nice cool beer would be a good interlude before bracing Geyer in his lair.

  ****

  Instead of finding Osker Geyer in his foundry on the outskirts of Suhl, Pat and Gary found him sitting on a stool behind a tall desk in the watch office writing in a ledger. Geyer was getting tired of the city council stalling to fill his temporary position with a permanent appointment. I have work to do at my foundry. If the city council doesn't act soon, I'll give them an ultimatum. I'll give them a week and if nothing is done, I'll resign. It's too much to ask...

  "Herr Geyer, Guten Tag," Pat Johnson said. "How are you this fine day?"

  Geyer glanced out the windows to the gray overcast outside. Looking back at the two, he simply said, "Herr Johnson," Geyer looked at Gary Reardon, "and you, too, Herr Reardon." Geyer was known for his bluntness but his greeting was more blunt than usual. Geyer was, if not quite friends with the two, a good acquaintance. He knew quite well that Pat Johnson and Gary Reardon wouldn't appear before his desk without wanting something from him. What was it Archie Mitchell had said? Keep your hand on your purse when talking with these two.

  "Pat and I would like to discuss an idea we have with you." Gary Reardon said.

  "What do you want the watch to do?"

  "Absolutely nothing. This is a business proposal, well, not a proposal, yet. Just an idea."

  Geyer looked at Gary and then Pat. "Humph! Come back into my office." With that, he got off his stool and walked into his office at the rear of the room.

  ****

  ". . . we thought that a combined order may get us a volume discount and save us all some money," Pat explained. "It'd help you with your upgrades and expansion and we'd get what we need from you at a discount, of course."

  Geyer looked at the two seated across from his desk. He had only asked a few questions but Pat could see the wheels turning in Geyer's head. He had a hungry look but was too cautious to go further until he'd calculated his risk.

  Pat continued, "And, of course, we would sell shares in our new . . . consortium. We've already spoken to some who may be interested and have some funds to invest."

  "Who?" Geyer asked.

  "I can't disclose that at the moment."

  Pat knew only too well that the only investors so far were Gary and himself. He knew of others who would invest when asked, but more money than that was needed. For that, they needed a plan, something that could be shown to the potential investors that would convince them the concept was feasible, and that Pat, Gary, and the...consortium were the ones who could make it possible.

  "We need to develop a plan—actually a financial plan, business model, and a project plan for all of us. There are a number of interrelated tasks and dependencies that we have to manage if we bring this off."

  "Determine the critical path, determine what has to be done and when it has to be done," Gary added. The critical path was those tasks that had to be done, in sequence, for the plan to progress. Some tasks could be done in parallel without affecting the critical path as long as they were completed as planned. "If the plan works, we could be millionaires."

  The three talked throughout the afternoon, interrupted occasionally by a watchman. Geyer wasn't totally sold on the idea. He wanted to do some research and analysis himself. Towards the end of the day, he sent a message to the city council by a watchman to say that he was taking a few days off.

  ****

  "Ambitious, aren't you," Archie Mitchell said. Pat and Gary had come to see him in his office in the Suhl District courthouse just as he was about to quit for the day. They recounted their conversation with Geyer and were about to expand on their need for funding when Archie interrupted, "Let's talk on my way home."

  The three left the courthouse through a side door. Archie's office, one that he shared with court bailiff Karl Wagner, was in the rear.

  The courthouse was adjacent to the Mounted Constabulary barracks. As they passed the barracks, the troop of Mounted Constabulary came toward them, about to enter the compound. From their appearance, they were returnin
g from an extended patrol along the surrounding roads and byways of the Suhl district. The lieutenant in command of the troop gave Archie a salute of respect as he rode past and Archie returned it. Archie was well liked by the troopers and their officers. He often rode with them whenever he had business in the area they patrolled and was willing and ready to take the same risks as they did.

  "How much do you need?" Archie asked as the patrol trotted past and through the barracks gate.

  Gary didn't reply until the last trooper disappeared into the compound. "Sixteen thousand silver guilders to start."

  Archie choked. "Boys, if you think I have that much, you're badly mistaken. I don't have anywhere near that much. I put a big dent in my ready cash when Dieter and I bought the house here in Suhl."

  "No, no, no, you misunderstand," Pat protested. "That's how much we need in total for the first stage. We're soliciting investors. You can invest whatever you can afford."

  They continued walking. The courthouse and Mounted Constabulary barracks were on higher ground than most of Suhl. They continued down into the city and along the river towards the western gate. Archie's house nestled in a corner of the city and had room for a small stable for his four horses and buckboard wagon. It was just a couple streets from the western gate.

  With the house in sight, Archie stopped. He needed to ask them something before he forgot. "And how many stages are there in this project of yours? You planning to sell more shares at each stage? That would dilute the value of my shares, wouldn't it?"

  "Well . . . maybe. We hope that after the first stage, the project will have products to sell to help finance the remaining stages. As an initial investor, we could give you a seat on the board."

  "Well, I'll still need to think on that, see if there could be any conflicts of interest." They walked on. "Ok," he decided. "Since we're here, why don't you and Gary have supper with us, and then we'll talk some more. I want to hear your complete plan. Dieter may be interested, too."

  "We don't mind. We're asking folks to keep quiet on this, even if they don't invest, until we have more commitments, investors, and suppliers, plus a few material contracts." They started walking toward the house with its aroma of fresh bread.

  "You're going to have to spend a lot of time on this. What about your businesses?" Archie asked.

  "Anse Hatfield is coming back, I hope. I've sent him some letters telling him what's been going on since he left last spring. He'll keep U. S. Waffenfabrik running for me," Pat said.

  Gary chimed in. "And I have a good foreman. Gaylynn will keep a close eye on him. We're covered, Archie."

  "I hope so. I don't want you to impoverish yourselves doing this."

  "We won't," Gary replied. "Both companies will be tightly integrated into the new company once it's running. I think we'll have more business than we can handle."

  Archie opened the front door and ushered them in.

  ****

  The family, as the Mitchells and Isslers thought of themselves, ate together around a large rectangular table. The table was another piece of up-time furniture that Archie had shipped from their house in Grantville to Suhl. Marjorie had brought the basics, chinaware, silverware, and cooking utensils, when she joined Archie in May. The remaining furniture, items they had selected before the move, had been arriving a few pieces at a time since then.

  The table normally seated six. It could be expanded to seat more but that wasn't necessary this time. For this evening, all six chairs were occupied. Marjorie had had a crock-pot simmering in the bakery's oven all afternoon, a mutton stew. Fortunately, there was more than enough for Pat and Gary. By family custom, no business was discussed around the table. That custom was bent when Archie mentioned that Pat and Gary had a business deal they wanted to discuss with him. After the meal was over, Archie motioned for the men to follow him into his office, the gunroom.

  "Okay, now what's your game?" Archie asked when everyone was seated.

  Gary talked. He recounted Pat's initial idea about the spent primers and how that idea had sparked others. "It depends," Gary Reardon said, opening the conversation. "What we want to do at first is, with Osker Geyer, to make machine tools—on a small scale. We need to make tools to provide mechanized production lines."

  Dieter Issler sat and listened. He didn't completely understand all the issues that Gary talked about. It seemed very expensive. But, he decided, he trusted Archie. If Archie became involved, Dieter was willing to do the same, as much as he could. He and Greta had been saving for a long time. A good part of those savings had gone into the Issler share of the cost of their home in Suhl. Fortunately, since the opening of the bakery, Greta was making more than Dieter was with his SoTF salary. While he mused, he had missed some of Gary's opening remarks. If he wanted to understand what was going on, he needed to pay closer attention.

  "It's the old, 'make tools to make tools.' What we want in the near term, next year, is to use those tools to start making cartridge brass . . ." Gary said.

  "And primers," added Pat when Gary paused.

  "If you are going to make brass and primers, why not go whole hog and make complete cartridges?" Archie asked.

  "We want to do just that," Gary said, leaning forward for emphasis. "But we need to determine what is feasible and what, at this time, isn't. Saying we want to make ammunition outright may not be advisable at this time. It could cost us investors if we're not careful. Too many people seem to think we don't have the ability, yet, to make cartridges in full commercial quantities, that the needed mechanization can't be made nor put into operation. I know there are some people making cartridges but they're low volume—using equipment like your single-stage press there," Gary pointed to Archie's reloading press bolted to a nearby table. "Each cartridge is handmade. How many can you reload with that press, Archie?"

  Archie sat back in his swivel chair and rubbed his chin. High volume throughput wasn't a feature of a single-stage reloading press. Back up-time, he used a Dillon progressive press. With it, he could load hundreds of cartridges, four or five hundred, in an hour. Still, hundreds was far from the number of cartridges needed for commercial quantities and he no longer had that Dillon progressive press. "I never counted, but maybe around fifty or sixty in an hour, somewhere around there," Archie replied.

  It was as Gary thought. He wasn't a reloader himself, but he did know how it was done. The number Archie quoted was about the number he had estimated. "To be commercially viable, we need to make thousands, tens of thousands if we can, in an hour. Commercial quantities have always been a goal but no one believes it can be done—yet. So . . . we won't mention it."

  "The Hart brothers have their primers in commercial production," Dieter pointed out.

  "That's true, Dieter, but they're using manual labor for their production line. Several people died last year when their plant blew up. In addition, they're using fulminate of mercury and are mostly making just percussion caps and only a few actual primers." Gary had been investigating the Hart Brothers business and manufacturing methods, as best he could from a distance. "Besides, I've heard they had another plant explosion." As far as Gary Reardon was concerned, the way the Hart brothers did business was exactly the wrong way to do it. It was dangerous, and they displayed a callous disregard for the safety of their employees.

  "We want to make primers that are non-corrosive—the French primers are corrosive—and don't make brass brittle like the Hart brother's primers. I've heard that lead styphnate is dangerous to make and to handle but it would be better than what the Hart boys are making."

  "Hang on a minute." Archie stood and walked over to a shelf on his wall that was lined with books. He ran his finger across a number of titles and pulled one out. He scanned the table of contents while he returned to his chair. "Ah, page 65."

  "What's that, Archie?" Pat asked.

  Archie showed him the cover, "It's the 1996 edition of Richard Lee's Reloading Manual. I have several reloading manuals, Hornady, Speer, and Lyman. I remembe
r writing some notes in this one." Archie found page 65, read the page, flipped to the next page, "Here it is. Lee wrote that the EPA would soon ban lead styphnate for primers because of the lead used in its production. I remember thinking, what's next? Lee talked about 'green' primers but I couldn't find much about them. I did a bit of research and found another primer compound that was more stable than fulminate of mercury, didn't leave a lead residue, didn't damage cartridge brass and was non-corrosive. I thought I had written some notes here and I did---DDNP, full name, Diazodinitrophenol. It has been used in explosives for a long time, blasting caps and such, but also for primers before World War Two." Archie gave the open manual to Pat, who read the page and passed it to Gary.

  Gary returned the manual to Archie and asked, "Why did they continue to use lead styphnate if this was better?"

  "Well, there's better and then there's better. I suspect that too many ammunition plants, the Army operated their own, you see, were already set up to use lead styphnate. With war on the horizon, no one wanted to change. It would be costly at a time when funds were hard to get. Besides, the danger of lead poisoning from the primers wasn't well known at that time, if at all."

  "How is this DDNP made?"

  "Beats me! I'm no chemist," Archie said as he returned the manual to his bookshelf.

  "Pat," Gary said to his partner, "I think we, or one of us, should consult the library in Grantville. I think Geyer will need some up-time data, too."

  Archie interrupted. "Count me out. I can't go."

  Marjorie entered the room and asked, "Archie, Dieter, can you help me for a minute? I need backs stronger than mine."

  Archie nodded, "Be there in a minute, Marj. I'll be right back, boys." And with that, he rose and followed Dieter out of the room.

  Pat and Gary continued their conversation. "I have some orders to fill," Pat said. "Think Geyer would want to go with you?"

  "He might. I'll ask. It'll give me a chance to look for some more investors, too. How much do we have promised?"

  "Umm, nine thousand guilders. We have credit with the local money people. I haven't asked the gunsmiths yet. Some would be against it. They'd have to retool, and some can't afford to do that by themselves."