The International Brigades Had Talent to Spare

Meanwhile, Morin found the International Brigades' temporary camp.

He knew his way around and soon found Andrei, the bearded commander of the 2nd Battalion, 1st Regiment, Eastern Europa Brigade, who had fought alongside them in close combat.

Just as Ludwig had guessed, Andrei and several others were making Molotov cocktails.

"Andrei, my friend, are you making Molotov cocktails?" Morin asked as he approached.

"That's right, Morin! But we haven't found enough soap or rubber tires. We won't have enough thickener, and the Molotov cocktails won't work nearly as well."

Andrei set down what he was doing with a sigh, then looked at Morin curiously.

"Lieutenant Morin, did you come looking for me because you need something?"

"I did. I need your help," Morin said without beating around the bush.

"Tell me what you need, Lieutenant Morin. If I can do it, I will."

Andrei was an outgoing Slav, rough-edged in every respect.

After fighting beside Morin and seeing how he had dealt with a breach of military discipline, he had grown to like this young lieutenant who was so unlike a typical Saxon soldier.

"I need a few people."

Morin got straight to the point.

"Do you have anyone who used to teach chemistry? Blacksmiths or foundry workers would do too. The more skilled, the better."

"A chemistry teacher? Craftsmen?"

Andrei scratched his thick beard, looking a little puzzled.

"My friend, we're a volunteer force, not a university or a factory... But now that you mention it, I may have a few people in mind."

He turned and called out several names. Before long, a few men were brought before Morin.

At their head was a bespectacled, scholarly-looking middle-aged man whose face was weary and melancholy.

Andrei introduced him as a chemistry professor from a university in Silesia. Wanted for speaking out against the war, he had fled all the way here.

Behind him stood several burly men with calloused hands. They were experienced workers, Andrei said, familiar with smelting and casting.

Morin took a deep breath as he looked at this "professional team" hastily assembled before him.

Everything depended on this.

Andrei looked at the odd group, his curiosity growing.

"So, Lieutenant Morin, what exactly are you planning to do?"

"I want to make a 'Can Opener' for the Britannians' White Iron Cans."

Morin brought the group back to the Teutonic Order's camp. Ludwig had already had the things they had "borrowed" from the artillery battalion laid out.

Morin found a table, quickly sketched an object with a strange structure on a sheet of paper, then looked at the others.

"Gentlemen, I need your help turning these things..." Morin pointed to the shells and casings on the ground. "...into what's shown in this drawing."

The professor adjusted his glasses and studied the drawing, his brow furrowing deeper by the moment. The workers gathered around the shells, their eyes full of curiosity.

Ludwig stood off to one side throughout, watching like an outsider.

He watched Morin direct everything methodically, bringing together Saxon artillerymen, a professor from the International Brigades, and workers who had nothing else in common. The strange feeling in his chest only grew stronger.

How did Dresden's notorious playboy have so many bizarre ideas in his head?

As Ludwig watched Morin arrange the shells, casings, and strange drawing on the table, it struck him that Morin looked less like a Saxon officer than an alchemist.

"All right, gentlemen!"

Morin clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention.

"We don't have much time. Let's get to work!"

And so an unprecedented session of "alchemy" began in the makeshift workshop.

Morin directed the whole operation. The chemistry professor from Silesia served as technical adviser, while the workers from various places handled the most crucial work.

The first step was also the most dangerous: taking apart intact 105mm shells.

The shells for the leFH 98/09 105mm Howitzer used separate-loading ammunition. What Morin needed was the Picric Acid inside the projectile—the yellow explosive. That job fell to several veterans sent by the artillery battalion.

They carefully used tools to unscrew the KlAZ23 Fuse from a 105mm high-explosive shell, turning it counterclockwise bit by bit until it came free.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on every man's forehead. They almost never disassembled shells, and when they did, it was in a safe, specialized facility behind the lines.

Not in a shed they had found in the middle of a war zone.

"Slowly. Slower..." one veteran murmured, handling the shell as gently as if he were stroking his wife's cheek.

Watching from a distance, Ludwig suddenly regretted staying at Morin's side to see what happened.

He would rather charge into battle in an Armored Knight and face ten Armored Knights of the Order of the Garter than remain somewhere that could blow sky-high at any moment.

Morin was much calmer. He watched the artillerymen work with keen interest, learning how they separated the warhead from the shell body.

When they successfully dismantled the first shell and removed the yellow block of explosive intact, everyone let out a long breath.

While the artillerymen worked on the shells, the chemistry professor and the workers heated a huge cauldron belonging to the Teutonic Order.

Their task was to melt down the brass casings and cast hollow metal cones to match Morin's drawing.

"The bellows! Give it more air!" one worker shouted, his dark skin glowing red in the firelight.

Flames surged upward. The casings, carefully cleaned and cut down, slowly melted in the intense heat, turning into golden liquid.

Meanwhile, another worker made conical molds from clay.

His hands flew over the clay. One precisely shaped mold after another soon took form.

The chemistry professor watched the workers and said to Morin:

"Lieutenant, as far as I know, most countries make their shell casings from a copper-zinc alloy. Zinc boils at a lower temperature than copper melts. If we melt the casings directly, we'll lose zinc in the process..."

"Isn't that perfect?"

"What?"

Morin smiled at the professor's startled expression. "What I want is a hollow cone of pure copper. Other substances mixed in would only interfere."

"I see. Understood..."

The professor nodded. With that detail settled, he began calculating the amount of explosive and the best angle for the cone based on Morin's description.

At first, he had been deeply skeptical of Morin's theory.

"A hollow space? You mean to focus the force of an explosion with an empty cavity?" The professor adjusted his glasses and shook his head repeatedly. "Lieutenant, that flies in the face of conventional blasting theory. Energy spreads outward. How could it possibly be focused?"

Morin patiently explained, "Professor, think of it as light. A concave mirror can focus sunlight onto a single point. The shock wave from an explosion travels outward along the normal to a surface. To a degree, the principle is the same."

From his earlier probing questions, Morin had realized that the Munroe Effect did not seem to have been discovered in this world. For now, he could only explain it with the simplest analogy he could find.

The professor remained doubtful, but he picked up pen and paper and began calculating furiously.

The new theory had caught his interest. Academic curiosity overcame his assumptions, and for a moment he seemed to be back in a university classroom.

Once everyone understood that their lives depended on the thing they were making, the little workshop beside the Teutonic Order's camp soon began running efficiently.

The artillerymen dismantled shells, the workers melted and cast metal, and the professor handled calculations and theory. Morin was the mind connecting every part of the operation.

At first, some distance remained between people from different countries and social classes.

The Saxon soldiers disliked the casual ways of the International Brigades' workers, while the workers remained wary of the imperial troops.

But as the work progressed, their shared goal and Morin's effective direction gradually wore those barriers away.

They began working together. A glance or a gesture was enough to make themselves understood.

Ludwig watched it all in silence.

There seemed to be something about the young lieutenant that drew people together.

He could unite people whose identities, backgrounds, and beliefs could hardly have been more different behind a common goal.

To Ludwig, that was even more astonishing than the "Can Opener" Morin was about to create.