Mah GAWD

"Oh my God! Marko, you really are my lucky star, my friend, my indispensable partner! Damn it, you're a true genius! A great, undeniable genius!"

Dutch exclaimed, his face alight with an almost manic joy. He lunged forward, grabbing Marko's hands in both of his own, shaking them vigorously, a profound, almost desperate enthusiasm emanating from him. The raw excitement and unbridled fanaticism blazing in his eyes, along with the torrent of effusive praise pouring from his mouth, were the most potent, most effective stimulant for Mr. Marko, more powerful than any drug.

Damn it, Marko thought, his chest swelling with pride, his own eyes gleaming with a matching fervor, he had already fallen deeply, irrevocably, into the unique, intoxicating product named Dutch Van der Linde. What he looked forward to most now, what truly fueled his tireless work, was not money, not fleeting fame, nor even lofty status, but Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's fervent approval and boundless praise! It was his ultimate reward.

"Hahahahaha, Dutch, believe me, Dutch, I will definitely lead our Van der Linde Gang to dominate the world!" Mr. Marko roared, his voice hoarse with excitement, his hands clenching into fists, trembling slightly. His eyes were wide, glittering with excitement and a fierce, almost unhinged madness. He took a step closer, his body vibrating with energy. "I will make sure no one in the entire world dares to speak loudly to you, to challenge you, to raise their voice against our might!"

Dutch Van der Linde, indeed, was a very strange, almost paradoxical, person. The longer you spent time with him, the more you trusted him implicitly, the more you relied on him for guidance, and the more you felt like he was not just a leader, but family, an irreplaceable bond.

He seemed to possess a magical, almost mystical power, an uncanny charisma that made everyone willingly risk their lives for him, without question. They would even spontaneously gather together, drawn by an invisible thread, and spontaneously feel that they were all trustworthy people, bound by a common cause, then cooperate seamlessly, their individual efforts merging into a powerful, unified force.

This feeling was very strange, almost supernatural, and the Hope Ranch, with its flourishing community, best demonstrated this profound point, this radical transformation.

The Hope Ranch could now be stably maintained not by Mr. Van der Linde's direct, monthly payments, not by mere contractual obligation, but because all the workers at the ranch had completely, instinctively adopted the Hope Ranch as their own cherished home, a place of belonging.

Whether it was working diligently in the fields or factories, meticulously cleaning the premises, whether it was passionately protecting the environment or enthusiastically socializing among themselves, they had, almost imperceptibly, transitioned from a conventional employment system to a voluntary system, driven by shared ownership and devotion.

This transformation was particularly terrifying in its implications. The fundamental purpose of people working hard outside, toiling relentlessly, was, traditionally, for their own nuclear families and loved ones, a solitary pursuit. Now, the very term 'family' had unconsciously broadened, transforming into the all-encompassing entity of the entire Hope Ranch. This led to a very terrifying, powerful social problem: everyone was completely united, their collective willpower, their centripetal force, was completely concentrated on the figure of Mr. Dutch Van der Linde and the Hope Ranch. Just like the core Van der Linde Gang, which had constant minor internal issues but where everyone could trust each other implicitly, the Hope Ranch had transformed from a factory run by a businessman into a large, cohesive family formed by a group of diverse people facing difficulties together, a shared struggle.

This profound transformation meant that even if the ranch was poorly managed now, if it hit a rough patch, and Mr. Van der Linde faced severe financial problems and couldn't pay salaries, this group of loyal people would not only not leave, not abandon their post, but would also try every means, exert every effort, to help the ranch and Mr. Van der Linde solve the problems, making immense sacrifices so that the cherished family could continue to exist, to thrive.

This peculiar, self-sustaining model was just like the peculiar, almost mythical, Van der Linde Gang itself, a group of people constantly going out to rob, not for selfish gain, but for their family, for the greater good of the collective. The direct result of this profound peculiarity was that Mr. Van der Linde's power was almost impossible to destroy from within, unassailable, unless he himself, by some tragic twist of fate, lost his mind, abandoning his own ideals.

So Mr. Marko's current struggle, his driving motivation, had completely changed. If his previous struggle was for personal fame, for fleeting profit, for cold money, and for raw power, then his current struggle was solely for his family, for this warm and welcoming large family he had joined midway, which made him want to exert all his strength, every ounce of his genius, for its survival and prosperity.

He could still be lazy for himself, indulging in small moments of idleness; after all, a little self-sacrifice was not a big problem, a minor personal indulgence. But he dared not be lazy for his family, fearing that a little self-sacrifice, a moment of weakness, would cause the family to stop functioning, to crumble.

This was the profound reason why this group of people, once ordinary individuals, now toiled day and night with an almost religious fervor.

"Hahahaha, Marko, oh, my dear Marko, good, very good!" Dutch boomed, his voice radiating immense satisfaction. He clapped Marko heartily on the shoulder, a firm, congratulatory slap. "I will lead you all to develop our Van der Linde Gang into the strongest force in the world! A power unmatched!"

"But, now," Dutch continued, his eyes gleaming with a new idea, "I want to give you a big reward, Marko, a reward befitting a true genius!"

He gestured expansively at the impressive, if crude, Tank behind them. "This Tank, this marvel of engineering, will be officially named the Marko Armored Tank. A testament to your brilliance! In addition, for every Tank sold, I will personally give you a thousand dollars in revenue! A direct cut of the profits!"

Dutch's smile softened, a profound sincerity entering his eyes. "Even after you pass away in the future, when your time comes, this money will still be allocated to your family, your descendants, your clan, ensuring their prosperity, their legacy, for generations to come!"

He then turned, pushing Marko gently but firmly in front of him, and addressed the surrounding researchers, his voice carrying far and wide. "Marko, King of Research and Invention! I will give you countless riches and the most exalted status, my friend! You have earned it!"

This, Dutch knew, was his most typical 'buying horse bones with a thousand pieces of gold' strategy, a timeless principle of incentivizing genius. He was making an undeniable statement: the scientists who researched things for Mr. Van der Linde would receive the best, most unparalleled treatment in the entire world!

Dutch never truly cared about these small sums of money, these individual transactions. In his opinion, money not spent, money hoarded, was completely waste paper, stagnant and useless. Money only truly became money when it demonstrated its due value, when it was put to work, invested, or used to motivate.

As Dutch spoke loudly, his voice resonating with power, the eyes of the surrounding researchers, who had already come to him because Mr. Van der Linde's initial treatment was already too good, all widened, their faces slack with astonishment!

Damn it, they collectively thought, their minds reeling, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was too generous! This was beyond belief!

It was well known that in this era, the great inventor Edison was at the height of his glory, a titan of innovation. Yet the inventions of countless other, often brilliant, inventors ultimately served only as a foil to the great inventor's fame and a mere bottom line for his immense wealth, while they themselves gained nothing, receiving no credit, no profit, and even getting entangled in brutal lawsuits because of it, like the tragic fate of Tesla.

And at such a time, there was a person, Dutch Van der Linde, who not only did not claim your invention's fame, giving you full credit, but actively paid to help you develop the invention, providing unlimited resources, solving all the complex problems, and even generously shared a large portion of the profits from each product sold. This was simply an angel investor combined with a typical, flamboyant Saudi display of wealth and generosity. It was unprecedented.

This profound, almost unbelievable generosity made the eyes of the surrounding researchers instantly turn red, burning with renewed ambition, and they were so excited that they immediately wanted to rush back to their laboratories, fueled by this new, powerful incentive, to research new technology.

"Oh, sh*t! I need to quickly perfect the individual artillery I'm researching! Damn it, I need to hurry, I can't let anyone get ahead of me, not with Mr. Van der Linde giving so much!" one researcher muttered, already turning to leave.

"Jennifer, come on! Come on! Our ultra-long-range shells must be manufactured quickly, damn it, we can't let anyone get ahead of us!" another shouted to his colleague, gesturing wildly.

"Robinson, our ultra-fast rapid-fire gun needs to be expedited, sh*t! Countless dollars are beckoning to us, awaiting our genius!" a third roared, sprinting towards his workshop.

Mr. Van der Linde's policy of rewarding merit, of incentivizing innovation with such lavish promises, completely ignited the research spirit of the crowd, transforming them into a frenzied, competitive hive of scientific endeavor. A group of people frantically ran towards their respective laboratories, their footsteps echoing with renewed purpose.

They already possessed a strong competitive spirit among themselves, a healthy rivalry, and now, fueled by Dutch's promises, they were even more determined to surpass each other, to quickly research new weapons and equipment, and to fight desperately, not just for scientific advancement, but for their own lucrative future!

Dutch was very satisfied watching their exceptionally excited reactions, a subtle, knowing smile on his lips.

"Very good," he murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement, "it seems American capitalists are truly blessed; they will have more varied, more interesting ways to die in the future, including but not limited to: ultra-long-range artillery bombardment, spectacular aerial bombing from above, and the undeniable crushing force of Tanks. A true buffet of destruction."

"Presumably, they will be very much looking forward to such a life, right?" he mused, a sardonic chuckle escaping him.

Dutch's gaze then turned from the receding figures of the researchers to Marko, who stood beaming beside him, and only then did he remember to look closely at the subtle, yet crucial, difference between the castrated version of the Tank and the true, powerful Tank.

"Dutch, this Tank is our own Tank, the real deal." Marko proudly pointed at the sleeker, more powerful internal combustion Tank behind him, introducing it to Dutch with an excited, almost possessive expression. "Joels, let Mr. Arthur and Mr. John go in, we'll fire two shots to show Dutch! Let him feel its power!"

"Dutch?" Arthur and John looked at the enormous steel behemoth in front of them, their faces a mixture of intense excitement and a tingling, profound numbness, a cold dread.

A feeling of lingering fear, a stark reminder of their mortality, was born deep within them.

Sh*t! Arthur thought, his eyes wide. It was incredibly fortunate that they had researched and built this terrifying thing themselves. If they were still outlaws, still on the run, and the United States Government suddenly possessed such a weapon, a seemingly invincible machine with no discernible weaknesses, they couldn't even imagine how tragic, how utterly helpless, their deaths would be.

Even Arthur, the legendary Western sharpshooter, an unrivaled figure of skill and courage, still felt his scalp tingle looking at this steel behemoth.

Even if this thing didn't have a machine gun mounted, just by its sheer crushing power alone, it could absolutely squeeze out his sh*t, reduce him to a pulpy mess! The thought was grim.

Seeing Arthur and John's fearful yet eager expressions, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension, Dutch's face was full of wide, triumphant smiles, radiating his pleasure.

"Go, Arthur, John. Go try Mr. Marko's great invention! Go feel what, is called the wheels of civilization! The unstoppable march of progress!"

Hosea, standing by, his face etched with emotion, listened to Dutch's words with a lingering fear, a deep unease.

"Oh, Dutch, it's a good thing we changed professions, Dutch. A truly fortunate decision." Hosea sighed, running a hand over his face. "Only now do I truly realize how incredibly right your idea was back on the snowy mountain, that day you proposed this grand transformation. Sh*t!, if the United States Government had something this terrifying, this invincible, I can't imagine what we would be beaten into by this… this Tank! We'd be crushed, annihilated!"

Hosea's eyes widened, a profound revelation dawning. "Civilization, I always thought civilization was just a change of era, a mere shift in societal norms. I always thought we could have a retreat, a safe way out, a last stand, and with our cunning, we could still achieve a decent outcome, a respectable end. But looking at it now, seeing this monstrous machine, if we hadn't transformed, if we hadn't embraced this new path, we could only be crushed under the unstoppable wheels of civilization!"

Hosea's face was full of bitter smiles and profound emotion, a mix of awe and grim acceptance. Seeing this Tank today, even though it hadn't fired a single shot yet, he still understood one undeniable truth: civilization is an unstoppable force! And Dutch, with his foresight and ambition, is truly the one walking at the forefront of civilization, leading them into a terrifying, yet promising, new age!

American capitalists and European capitalists have always proudly called this era the era of civilization, their golden age. They proclaim themselves the pioneers of civilization, the architects of progress. But in reality, each of them hoards their wealth like greedy landlords, enjoying the benefits brought by civilization while still rigidly using old-era systems, archaic methods, wanting to remain high above forever, making everyone else serve their insatiable greed.

And now, Dutch, the ultimate revolutionary, will use various missiles, his newly acquired weaponry, to literally bomb all the capitalists, systematically destroying their power. He will use explosions, the sheer force of modern warfare, to tell them what, precisely, is true civilization! It is destruction, and rebirth.

At Dutch's signal, a subtle nod, Arthur and John, their faces a mix of eagerness and apprehension, eagerly climbed into the interior of the Tank, their movements a little clumsy in the cramped space.

"Oh, sh*t!, it's a bit cramped in here, Dutch!" Arthur grumbled, his voice echoing in the metal confines.

"This is for fighting, kid, for waging war, not for you to sleep in, you lazy brute!" Dutch retorted, a chuckle in his voice.

"Sh*t!, Marston, can you move your butt, you're taking up all the space!" Arthur snapped, jostling for position.

"F*ck, Morgan, you're clearly sitting in the wrong spot! You damned bastard, you should be sitting there, by the gun!" John shot back, his voice strained.

"Oh, alright, damn it, it's all your fault for not reminding me!" Arthur retorted, conceding with a sigh.

"Oh my god!" John groaned, a pained sound.

Even without seeing the interior of the Tank, Dutch and Hosea, standing outside, could already vividly imagine John's pained, exasperated expression, hearing the muffled chaos within.

This damned Arthur, Dutch thought, a flicker of amusement, he's becoming more and more beastly, more uncouth!

"Alright, gentlemen, stop arguing inside there. I'm going to start the Tank." Joels, the driver, his voice calm and professional, called out from inside the Tank. "Mr. Marston, you can sit a bit higher, that's an observation port, for spotting targets. I can't see outside from here while driving, so I need you to report the outside situation to me, sir."

"Alright, sir, let's move forward then," John's voice, muffled but eager, replied.

"Okay, then we're starting!" Joels confirmed.

The conversation inside the Tank was muffled, a distant echo, but because the main entrance wasn't fully covered, it could still be heard by Dutch and the others standing outside.

Along with the internal conversation, the deep roar of the Tank's engine sounded, a powerful, rhythmic hum, and then the Tank's tracks began to turn, grinding against the earth, slowly at first.

"Hummmm…" Accompanied by a low, powerful hum and some internal noise, the massive steel Tank slowly started moving again, its immense weight shifting, then its speed gradually increased, picking up momentum.

"Oh my god, can something this huge drive so fast?!" Hosea stood with Dutch and Mr. Marko, his jaw slack with amazement, exclaiming as he watched the Tank speed off into the distance, a steel beast on the move.

Although not as fast as a galloping horse, it was already close to a horse's trot speed, a remarkable feat for such a behemoth.

"Oh, this isn't even full speed, Mr. Matthews. Not yet." Mr. Marko said smugly, a wide, proud grin on his face, his chest puffed out. "The Tank engine I researched is very powerful. According to my meticulous calculations, its speed can even reach 40 kilometers per hour, and the internal combustion engine uses gasoline, which can fully support the Tank running for one hundred kilometers on a single tank!"

Since cooperating with the Morgan Family, resource development had progressed by leaps and bounds, a true industrial revolution. The crucial issue of deep oil refining was also a specific requirement put forward by the brilliant Wright Brothers, as their advanced aircraft engines also desperately needed this refined fuel.

Mr. Marko delivered his data with undisguised pride, and his figures surprised Hosea even more, his eyes widening.

"Sh*t! One hundred kilometers! Oh, this is a completely epoch-making invention, Mr. Marko! A true marvel!" Hosea roared, his eyes blazing with excitement.

He turned to Dutch, his face alight. "Dutch, give the order, Dutch, I'll lead the team for this arms sale to Mexico! I'll take this Tank!"

He laughed heartily, a booming sound that reverberated through the air. "Hahaha, let me, this old man, also experience such an epoch-making product, a glimpse into the future!"

Hosea began pacing back and forth excitedly, his movements agitated, watching the Tank run further and further away, shrinking into the distance, and then, seized by an uncontrollable urge, he quickly started running after it, calling out.

"Arthur, Arthur, let me try too!" he yelled, waving his arms.

However, the Tank had already gone far, its speed increasing steadily, and it did not stop.

Inside the Tank, Arthur, having settled into his uncomfortable position, had already loaded the prepared shell into the breech, his movements practiced and efficient.

"Is it like this, Mr. Joels?" Arthur lifted his head from the cramped corner, his voice muffled, asking with some annoyance.

His seating position was a bit uncomfortable, cramped and awkward; it was mainly designed for loading shells. The actual firing and road-watching were John's designated positions.

"Yes, Mr. Morgan, that's correct. Mr. Marston, you can now aim at the target and fire. Please do not aim at our factory, Mr. Marston, choose an open area. Mr. Morgan, please sit properly, the recoil of this cannon is very strong!" Joels sat firmly in the Tank's driving position nearby, kindly advising Arthur, his voice steady.

"Very strong? How strong can it be? Marston, if not, let me fire this one, I'll show you…"

Before Arthur could even finish speaking, before he could snatch the opportunity, John, fearing his position would be snatched, abruptly, eagerly, stepped on the firing pedal.

"Boom!!!"

Accompanied by a deafening roar of the cannon, a thunderous, concussive blast that shook the very ground, the entire Tank was violently shaken backward, pushed by the immense recoil. It directly shook Arthur, who wasn't sitting properly, into a sudden squat, hitting the iron wall behind him hard, a painful jolt.

Due to the sound conduction and the unsealed entrance, the huge cannon blast even caused a temporary, painful ringing in the ears of the three people sitting inside the vehicle, their heads swimming.

Arthur, whose mind was still muddled from the impact and the concussive cannon blast, sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and disoriented.

"Oh my god, this weapon is too powerful! Too incredible!" John shouted excitedly, his voice raw with awe, his eyes gleaming. "Damn it, Arthur, you didn't see what happened outside, oh my god, that small mound was completely flattened, erased!"

This shell, in reality, only blasted a large, smoking pit in the ground; there was no so-called flattening of the mound. John was exaggerating somewhat, caught up in the moment.

Arthur, whose mind was still muddled, his ears ringing, was furious at John's lie and his sudden, unannounced firing.

"Oh, f*ck! Marston, I wasn't even sitting properly! You damned bastard, get down, it's my turn! Move it!"

Inside the Tank, a chaotic, muffled argument erupted between the two old friends. Outside the Tank, Dutch and the other two, Marko and Hosea, were also startled by the sheer force of the cannon blast, their heads snapping up.

From their perspective, a brilliant flash of gunpowder exploded from the Tank's cannon barrel, a blinding light, and then the ground in the distance violently burst open, countless clods of earth flying everywhere, raining down, a truly domineering and immensely powerful display.

"Oh, sh*t! This is a Tank, Dutch, this is just the beginning! I still need to develop, I still need to research this damned, invincible thing, to perfect it!" Marko was mad with excitement, practically vibrating with renewed ambition.

Hosea, watching the spectacle, ran even faster towards the Tank, his eyes blazing, his initial worries forgotten in the face of such destructive power!

There are two types of Tanks, Dutch observed, a refined gasoline internal combustion Tank and the cruder steam-powered variant. And the one Arthur and his group were currently driving, the powerful one, was indeed the gasoline internal combustion Tank.

The gasoline internal combustion engine, meticulously modified and processed by Mr. Marko, surpassed the current level of automotive internal combustion engines, a true leap in technology, capable of stably outputting three hundred horsepower. This was entirely sufficient to propel this steel fortress with surprising speed, and it had ample endurance. After a full tank, it could continuously run for one hundred kilometers. If additional fuel tanks were strategically installed, it would be able to run even further, across vast distances. (During World War I, Dutch recalled, Tank engines were still woefully inadequate, with a meager range of just over thirty kilometers and a maximum of one hundred horsepower, and their speed was terrifyingly slow, only single digits. In comparison, the Van der Linde Gang's Tanks were significantly upgraded; although not at World War II levels of sophistication, they were far superior to World War I models).

However, gasoline internal combustion engines also had inherent drawbacks, Dutch knew: the fuel tank was prone to catching fire if hit by a shell, a dangerous vulnerability, and power consumption was higher compared to diesel internal combustion engines. The only significant advantage was a crucial reduction in size.

In reality, most Tanks after World War II strategically used diesel engines for their superior safety and efficiency. At the current stage, for a diesel engine to achieve the same horsepower as a gasoline engine, it would be considerably larger and heavier. To reduce this prohibitive weight, an expensive aluminum engine would be needed. Furthermore, crude oil reserves and their consistent supply were also a very important issue, a logistical challenge.

Of course, none of these were major problems for Mr. Van der Linde, because the vast oil mines in the Indian reservation and the immense coal tar left behind by the vanquished Mr. Cornwall were enough to ensure they had an inexhaustible supply of fuel. Mr. Van der Linde controlled two states, a vast territory; he lacked nothing except, perhaps, true, absolute global power, but resources were not an issue.

So Mr. Van der Linde and Mr. Marko discussed it on the spot, their heads close, their voices low and conspiratorial.

In the future, the Van der Linde Gang's own Tanks, the ones for their internal use, will strategically use improved diesel engines, which are not only less prone to catching fire and exploding but also capable of long-distance travel with ample horsepower. Tanks sold externally, to their unwitting customers, will use inferior, less efficient steam engines or gasoline engines, their flaws carefully concealed.

They would use inferior engines for external sales, preferably ones that break down after less than ten kilometers, ensuring their customers remained dependent and that Mr. Van der Linde could still maintain his overwhelming firepower advantage.

As for the steam engine Tank, that's the one Mr. Marko personally drove out first, the crude prototype.

This Tank, Dutch mused, was even worse, a true marvel of industrial inefficiency, using a modified train engine as its heart.

For the Tank to even move, someone inside needed to continuously shovel coal into the roaring furnace at the back of the Tank to generate steam for its operation, a grueling, suffocating task.

The ultra-high temperature furnace would also make the entire interior of the Tank insufferably hot and uncomfortable, causing severe heatstroke after just two hours of continuous operation, effectively limiting its combat duration.

Even without heatstroke, the noxious carbon monoxide and other toxic gases produced by burning coal would cause severe adverse reactions in the soldiers inside the Tank, potentially leading to asphyxiation, a slow, agonizing death.

Dutch really liked this steam engine Tank. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It could run, and it could keep running, but it was laborious, required a lot of manpower, and tragically lacked advanced design, a perfect example of inefficient brutality.

Capitalists, he knew, would definitely love this kind of thing, this crude, labor-intensive machine; after all, human lives, in this era, were the cheapest commodity, expendable resources.

If he sells gasoline Tanks and steam Tanks together, American capital, always driven by immediate cost-benefit analysis, will only buy the steam Tanks. Why? Because gasoline, refined and versatile, is far more valuable than crude coal, a bulky, dirty fuel.

As for wasting people? What's a human life worth to them? There's no such thing as human rights in this era, not for the common laborer. Dying in a Tank like this, crushed by its own inefficiency, is a meaningless death; you don't even need to pay for a funeral, a final indignity.

Dutch was overjoyed, a grim, satisfied smile on his face. He stood there, watching the Tank still circling in the distance, its massive form searching for a place to fire its next shot, and asked, his voice filled with an eager anticipation, "Very good, Marko, can the Tank be mass-produced?"

"Yes, Dutch! The most crucial part of the Tank, the engine itself, can be fully mass-produced with our current workshop capabilities, without issue. Processing individual units of this thing, fabricating the components, is not difficult; only final assembly requires specialized skill. I will specifically train a batch of dedicated assembly workers to expertly assemble the engines, ensuring quality."

Marko gestured around, encompassing their sprawling industrial complex. "The most time-consuming and material-intensive part of the Tank is its overall structure, the vast amounts of steel required, but this is also not a problem for us now. The large steel mill, strongly supported and funded by the Morgan Family, has already taken shape, its furnaces roaring to life, and with it, producing Tanks is no issue at all, a mere matter of scale."

"However, the initial output might be small, limited by our current infrastructure, but it can still guarantee the production of ten steam Tanks and ten diesel engine Tanks every month! A steady stream of armored might!"

Marko paused, his chest swelling with pride. "As our technology matures and our industrial scale expands, production speed will gradually increase, but for now, this much has reached our current production peak, our maximum capacity."

This number, twenty Tanks a month, was already quite substantial, truly impressive for the era, and it was also thanks to the rapid, comprehensive industrial scale and the complete, self-sustaining industrial chain that Mr. Van der Linde had meticulously established during this period, turning his vision into tangible reality.

The massive blast furnaces and sprawling steel mills in New Hanover and Lemoyne had been fully activated, their fires roaring. Utilizing the revolutionary converter steelmaking method, the massive steel plants were continuously producing steel, churning out tons of raw material, effectively pulling Lemoyne, a backwater state, into the industrial age almost overnight.

They had their own rich coal mines, their own abundant iron mines, countless other vital mines, and, crucially, the strong, unwavering support of world-class capital, the formidable Morgan Capital. This powerful confluence of resources and backing was precisely what allowed Dutch to bring Lemoyne into the industrial age in such a short, unprecedented period.

In the current United States, which had not undergone specialized industrial mergers and consolidations, they would struggle immensely to produce so many Tanks in a month because they lacked a complete industrial chain and sufficient production scale. (Note: this refers to the US under normal circumstances, not during wartime, when countries drastically ramp up military production; under normal circumstances, there aren't many factories dedicated to military production at this scale).

Even Germany during World War II, a highly industrialized nation, produced only 132 Tanks per month in 1940, a mere fraction of what they would later achieve. (By 1945, they could produce 924 units per month because they had fully transitioned to a total military production economy, leading to an explosion in capacity).

Listening to Mr. Marko's detailed explanation, Dutch was ecstatic, his face alight with unbridled joy, his grand vision taking tangible form. He clapped Mr. Marko heartily on the shoulder, a loud, resounding slap of congratulation, and exclaimed, his voice booming with satisfaction, "Excellent, Marko! Produce diligently, damn it! I want to sell our Tanks all over the world, to every corner of the globe!"

Arms, Dutch knew, were the most profitable business in existence because their primary value lay not in raw materials, but in their embedded technological value, their cutting-edge design.

For example, current warships and the Tanks in front of them were at most complex compositions of metal and intricate machinery. Even with labor costs factored in, the actual material cost wouldn't be too high, but they sold for millions or even tens of millions of dollars. The embedded technological value, the innovation, was the largest component of their price and also the most immensely profitable aspect.

For example, the Tank in front of them, the gasoline internal combustion model, its production cost, including steel, electricity, coal, labor, time, and even transportation, hardly exceeded ten thousand dollars. (Ten thousand dollars in this era was actually quite expensive, at least worth 250,000 to 300,000 dollars today, in terms of purchasing power, making it technically more expensive than a World War II Tiger Tank, which cost about 150,000 dollars. However, they are difficult to compare directly due to the vast differences in industrial development. The reason for setting this price roughly is the underdeveloped industry at the time; it's definitely inferior to a Tiger Tank, but the cost is not low. If anyone has more information, feel free to estimate and I will revise).

But Dutch, with his keen business acumen, decided to price this Tank for external sale at three hundred thousand dollars per unit. That's a staggering thirty-fold profit on resale, a true fortune.

Don't think this price is too expensive, Dutch mused, a cynical smirk on his face. In fact, the British warships he had purchased were priced even higher; a mere thousand dollars could only cover the down payment, and ten million dollars per warship was the true, exorbitant price.

As for whether anyone would actually buy such an expensive Tank, a crude, yet functional, war machine?

"Heh heh," Dutch chuckled to himself, a low, knowing sound, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, "it's the same old saying: it's your honor for me to sell you weapons. You have to buy them whether you want to or not! It's not a choice."

He imagined the grim, impossible choice he would present to potential buyers, his face a mask of benevolent menace. "If you buy them, they're your weapons, your tools of power. If you don't buy them, they're the weapons used to attack you, to crush your defiance! So, will you buy them or not? The choice is simple, and deadly."