Chapter 726: Gunnery Equipment
In the end, Charles closed the deal at a unit price of 1.6 million U.S. dollars per ship.
For a cruiser with over 3,000 tons of displacement, that was a steal—just $100,000 more than what the Brest shipyards charged for a 2,000-ton vessel. Practically a giveaway.
Charles knew he'd secured a bargain, but outwardly he only nodded with reluctant acceptance. "Fine, 1.6 million—but…"
He paused deliberately.
Miyamoto Akira's heart tensed. Was there still something Charles wasn't satisfied with?
Charles's demands were indeed harsh—truly befitting the "Mars of France," precise and uncompromising in matters of war.
With a nervous face, Miyamoto bowed again. "If you have any further requests, sir, please do not hesitate. We will do our utmost."
Charles nodded lightly. "Mr. Miyamoto, as you know, we usually divide warships into three squadrons. So the ideal number isn't 10—it's 12."
Twelve ships, three squadrons, four ships per squadron. With just ten, the structure was uneven.
By saying this, Charles subtly implied: I'm not pushing for more ships because I want a better deal—I'm doing it for operational needs.
Miyamoto was stunned for a moment.
He understood clearly: Charles wanted to increase the order.
If there had been profit in this, Miyamoto wouldn't have hesitated for a second.
But the 1.6 million price tag wasn't even enough to cover costs. Nihon would actually be losing money on the deal. Still, they had agreed—because this was about building friendly ties with France and winning Charles's favor.
And now he wanted two more ships?
"Is there a problem?" Charles's face darkened. His voice turned cold. "If it's difficult, Mr. Miyamoto, you don't need to force it…"
"No, no, not at all!" Miyamoto said quickly. "Twelve ships—it should be twelve, of course."
A small loss now was worth the long-term gain. With victory in sight, he couldn't let two ships derail the entire deal.
Besides, a few hundred thousand dollars in loss per ship wasn't too big a blow—not in exchange for this relationship.
"Good. Then it's settled," Charles said, satisfied, and signed the contract.
Originally, Charles had planned to wait before upgrading his destroyers to the 3,000-ton class. He saw that as the natural evolution of naval development.
But now, Nihon had come to him with the upgrade already in hand, saving the French Navy valuable time and resources.
After storing away the contract, Miyamoto smiled and bowed.
"But there is one matter I must inform you of in advance, sir."
"We will not be equipping the cruisers we build for you with fire control systems—no command calculators, range clocks, or gunnery instruments."
"It's not that we don't want to, but that our fire control systems are underdeveloped. I believe your country would prefer to install your own."
(Image above: The white "disk" at the top of the mast is a range clock, typically installed front and rear, sometimes on all four sides.)
(Image above: A range clock, a mechanical device from the WWI era before modern communications. Once a rangefinder determined distance to a target, the data was mechanically relayed to all the ship's guns, allowing gunners to dial in their fire. Nihon only produced its first Type 4 range clock in 1915.)
Charles simply gave a short "Mm" and didn't press the issue.
He knew Nihon lagged behind in fire control.
The reason stemmed from their 1905 victory over Russia.
Despite being Britain's ally—like Japan—Britain, concerned about the balance of power in the Far East, cut off all gunnery-related technology and training to Nihon starting in 1909.
(Note: This was a typical British tactic. The empire preferred to maintain control by ensuring rival powers in a region remained evenly matched—always helping the weaker side and limiting the stronger one.)
As a result, Nihon's gunnery capabilities fell roughly a decade behind Europe's.
"Just build the hulls," Charles said. "We'll handle the fire control systems ourselves."
"Yes, sir," Miyamoto nodded, then hesitated.
"But... we'll need to know the dimensions in advance to reserve space. If possible, sir, we'd be grateful if you could provide us with one full system for reference. That would be the perfect solution."
Now Charles understood.
Miyamoto had taken the long way around—but ultimately, he wanted France's gunnery equipment.
Charles responded without hesitation: "No problem. I'll have a set delivered to you."
This was a move to drive a wedge between Nihon and Britain.
It sent a message: what Britain won't give you, France can.
And it wasn't a big deal—these mechanical systems would soon be rendered obsolete by advances in wireless communications.
So if Charles could trade one outdated device for strategic cooperation, why not?
Miyamoto was overjoyed. "Thank you, sir! Thank you very much!"
"But," Charles added, "no one else can know about this. Not even the Minister of the Navy. Understand?"
That was a warning.
There were still many in France aligned with Britain—but Charles was not one of them.
If Nihon wanted access, it would have to go through Charles alone.
"I understand," Miyamoto nodded eagerly, his eyes full of gratitude.
Clearly, this deal had been worth it.
Nihon might finally break the decade-long British blockade on fire control development.
…
Just as Miyamoto left, Wells arrived—bringing with him Vice Admiral Gai Platt.
Wells still wasn't fully convinced that Charles could override the Minister of the Navy's decision.
After all, this involved the fate of the Brest shipyard. He couldn't afford to be careless.
So he brought in Gai Platt for reinforcement.
He had told the admiral, "I don't doubt Charles's ability. But he's facing the Minister of the Navy and a room full of legislators—all on his own, with no navy insiders supporting him."
Gai Platt had found that convincing.
Charles might be a lieutenant general in the army and had even commanded a naval victory, but in naval circles, his reputation was still in its infancy.
If the issue came up for debate in parliament, Charles could be overwhelmed by "professional scrutiny," including from the Navy Minister himself.
But with Wells representing the shipyard and Gai Platt representing the navy, they could handle any technical questions the opposition might raise.
Only when they arrived in Paris did they discover—nothing had happened.
Or rather, parliament was busy intensely debating the Meuse River campaign—and there was no mention of the Nihon shipbuilding deal at all.
"Is this a joke?" Gai Platt said with annoyance. "Do they not even consider this a serious matter?"
"It's not that," said Wells calmly, a man well-versed in parliamentary politics.
"It's simply not trending like the Meuse campaign is. Understand?"
Gai Platt blinked—then nodded.
It was true. Legislators followed the spotlight. They chased headlines and public opinion—not actual importance.
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