Trieste.
June arrived.
Shipload after shipload of grain brought from East Africa began unloading at the docks of Trieste's port, then was transported by a dedicated railway line to Vienna Food Company's factory in the outskirts of Trieste.
"For these next two months, everyone needs to work harder. We need to raise production capacity by sixty percent," the foreman said in the factory.
Night had already fallen, but electric lamps lit the entire factory bright as day, with the night and day shifts changing over seamlessly.
It was the height of summer, and the weather was scorching. The baking ovens sent waves of heat rolling into every corner of the workshop.
"Francis, keep feeding coal into the boiler."
"Mars, organize the men. Get the finished goods out of the ovens at once, dry them quickly, then package them."
"Larry, clear out the warehouse for me. Make sure it stays dry."
At the same time.
The factories in Hechingen, in the German territories, were all stepping up production, especially of military supplies, processed food, alcohol, and other goods.
Even the factory originally dedicated to producing knockoff East African militia uniforms had begun mass-producing relatively refined Prussian military uniforms. They would stockpile them for now, then ship them directly two months later.
Prussia had long been plotting to wage war against France, especially reckless and audacious figures like Bismarck and the Prussian Army.
The outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War could not be separated from those gamblers. In the so-called Ems Dispatch incident, Bismarck had altered King Wilhelm I's reply to Napoleon III without authorization, sending the French's fury soaring and ultimately igniting a war between the two nations.
If something like that happened in East Africa, Ernst would definitely let such self-important people learn what the iron fist of dictatorship meant.