Guarma

"Uh, alright Mr. Van der Linde, alright sir,"

Mr. Charlie stammered, his face a bit ashen, not from anger, but from a profound, chilling fright.

"I apologize, I won't do it again! But all these materials are things the Spanish can smuggle, everything is written on them, with prices marked, you can take a look."

Dutch was especially terrifying when his face contorted in anger in the game, completely unlike others, looking both utterly mad and ruthlessly cold. So under Dutch's piercing warning and veiled threat, Charlie was genuinely, profoundly scared.

He hadn't expected the Dutch Van der Linde Gang to give no quarter, no polite deference, confronting him directly, stripping away his usual theatrical posturing. This direct confrontation made him genuinely trust, at least a little, Dutch's earlier, audacious statement about flattening the entire Van Horn Trading Post.

However, Dutch ignored his pathetic apology, his gaze fixed on the report. He calmly picked up the document from the table. It claimed to be news about the arms trade, but in reality, it was just a meticulous compilation of various items smuggled by the Spanish. And as Dutch scanned the pages, a particular smuggling location, a familiar name, leaped out at him, exceptionally conspicuous, almost shouting its significance.

"Guarma?" Dutch's eyes narrowed slightly, a sudden, intense gleam appearing in their depths. He looked at the familiar name on the page, and his heart was filled with a sudden surge of pleasant, dizzying surprise! Damn it, he thought, a triumphant grin beginning to spread across his face, this is truly 'when mountains and rivers seem to end, and there is no way, a new village appears in the shade of willows and bright flowers'! A revelation!

"Damn it, is there still a Spanish armory or arms factory on Guarma Island now?"

Dutch's heart pounded with exhilarating realization. In the 1898 Spanish-American War, after this brutal conflict, Guarma Island's ownership was formally assigned to the United States. It wasn't necessary to know what place it corresponded to in reality.

But here, in this timeline, the Spanish warlords on Guarma Island truly existed, a remnant of a dying empire!

Especially after going to Guarma Island in Chapter 5 of the game, the Spanish there were still continuing the abhorrent slave system to maintain their lucrative sugar refineries and cultivate sugarcane.

This undoubtedly indicated that Guarma Island nominally belonged to the United States at the time, but the people, the power, were still Spanish. And in Chapter 5 of the game, Fusal, the tyrannical Spanish commander, had even called in the Cuban Navy to help them fight against the Van der Linde Gang.

(Cuba, of course, was eventually occupied by the United States due to the Spanish-American War, another layer of historical irony.)

So, if this arms factory or armory was really on Guarma Island, then he could begin to continue his efforts, his grand plan, right here in Saint Denis, with a direct, violent path to arms acquisition. With the United States Government as his unwitting backing, his justifiable cause, he could enter Guarma Island to clear out the Spanish and seize their arms factory on Guarma Island, bypassing Charlie Bahn entirely!

Dutch's eyes grew brighter and brighter, gleaming with an almost feverish ambition. This single clue, to be honest, was far more useful than the entire data sheet Charlie had so reluctantly provided! His original plan was to establish an arms factory on Guarma Island, to build it from the ground up, and now he had suddenly learned that there was already an arms factory, fully functional, on Guarma Island, which was undoubtedly a huge, unexpected surprise, a divine boon. Damn it, he thought, a sly glint in his eyes, it seems his female voter plan and immigrant voter plan need to continue running, and rapidly!

Dutch's eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. After the clothing store opened during this period, his contact with Ms. Dorothea and others had, by necessity, decreased because these ladies couldn't provide him with much tangible benefit at this specific stage.

However, if he wanted to officially, legitimately enter Guarma Island, to claim it as his own, he still needed the political power and influence behind these ladies' wealthy families! However, Dutch, ever the cautious strategist, liked to have double assurance in everything he did, a backup for his backup.

Thinking of this, Dutch looked at the paper in his hand again. This was the second layer of assurance. Simply inheriting an armory wasn't very useful; what was truly needed was the ability to independently research and develop, to innovate, to build his own military-industrial complex.

So he had to buy some machines in advance for Mr. Marko, this mad genius, to examine, to tinker with, or, failing that, to recruit some new talents, some truly brilliant minds!

A profound silence fell in the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the fireplace. Dutch's gaze meticulously scrutinized the paper, bit by bit, absorbing every detail, every number. The Spanish, he noted, smuggled a vast array of goods, from raw materials to intricate machines or finished products, and the prices were a bit cheaper than buying them in American stores.

Gunpowder, bullet presses, bullet shaping machines, and even the complex lathes used to manufacture gun barrels, including some finished brass products, all listed with prices.

Currently, a carbine repeater rifle in the average store sold for $25, but the Spanish, in their illicit trade, sold it for only $20, a direct saving of $5. A bullet press, however, cost $200, and this machine was a small one, only able to press bullet casings, not including the intricate processes of cutting copper tubes, etc.

And the lathe used to produce gun barrels and parts cost $300. However, this particular lathe was a general-purpose lathe, capable of not only making firearm parts but also cutting copper plates, making it versatile, multi-purpose.

(Dutch mused that he hadn't found the exact price, but cars could be used as a rough comparison. The first car sold for $1000, and in 1908, it became $825, and in 1916, it became $360. This indicated that the prices of such mechanical products, especially for things where the technology was already mature, were not astronomically high.)

But even so, the total price of all these things, the bare minimum to get started, was not small.

Dutch placed the documents back on the table, then looked at Mr. Charlie, who had become utterly obedient, across from him, his face radiating a forced, almost painful humility. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Bahn," Dutch said, a charming smile returning to his face, though his eyes remained cold, calculating.

"I think I have an idea, a very clear one. I want a complete set of 7.63×25mm bullet presses, and I need one lathe. When can they be delivered? Of course, at this initial stage, I just want to purchase a small amount of machinery to try out. If it turns out to be quite useful, if it meets my demanding standards, perhaps next time I order, it will be hundreds of units. So, Mr. Bahn, I need you to absolutely guarantee that my material transportation will not have any problems, not a single one. Here is a prepayment of three hundred dollars," Dutch pulled out a wad of crisp banknotes, five hundred dollars in total, from his clothes and placed them casually on the table, pushing them across to Charlie. "I will settle the remaining balance with you after the machines are delivered, intact and functional."

Ordering less than a thousand dollars worth of goods after such a grand, threatening entrance didn't make him feel embarrassed at all; it was a calculated power play. Mr. Charlie, his face wreathed in a wide, ingratiating smile, eagerly scooped up the money.

"Don't worry, Mr. Van der Linde! I guarantee your machines will be delivered intact, without a single scratch! One week, at most one week, the machines you want will be shipped over. At that time, please come and pick up the goods yourself, Mr. Van der Linde, after all, such large items are really difficult for us to transport!" Mr. Charlie's smile did not diminish in the slightest, not even a flicker, because the business was "too small."

Dutch laughed, a low, satisfied chuckle, and stood up. He nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, Mr. Bahn. It was a pleasure working with you, we'll see you in a week!"

"Okay, Mr. Van der Linde, see you in a week!" Charlie smiled, picking up the documents from the table, his eyes gleaming with profit. Dutch, meanwhile, had already turned and walked out, his stride confident, victorious.

"Bang!" The door slammed shut behind Dutch, the sound echoing through the room. The moment the door closed, the sickeningly sweet expression on Mr. Charlie's face immediately vanished, replaced by a contorted mask of furious indignation.

"F*ck! Damn it, what a useless bastard!"** Charlie screamed, pounding his fist on the table. "He comes here acting all high and mighty, threatening, and killing, only to place a f**ing order for less than a thousand dollars in the end! Damn it, what a disgraceful idiot! What a pathetic waste of my time!"