The clanging of hammers rang across the halls of the Hotchkiss foundry.
Molten light from the furnaces flared.
To most men, it was chaos.
To Major Étienne Moreau, it was something close to divine music.
He stepped into the foundry with a folder tucked tightly under one arm and a cigarette already burning between his fingers.
It had been nearly two weeks since the meeting at the Ministry two weeks of drafting, recalculating, redrawing.
And now, with Beauchamp's blessing and the full attention of Hotchkiss, the vision was becoming real.
Delorme was already waiting in the corner.
His eyes lit up when he saw Moreau.
"You brought the full cross-section?" he asked
"Down to the last millimeter," Moreau replied, setting the heavy roll of paper on the table.
From another side room, Chevalier emerged, wiping graphite from his fingers with a rag already stained grey.
