In the Heart of Darkness by Eric Flint & David Drake

Machine-gun fire.

Dazzling, in the speed of the tanks, and the accuracy of their fire. Like a vision of St. George battling the dragon, except the saint was a dragon himself. And his lance a magic wand belching flame and fury.

“How?”

Images of complex—machines?

Internal combustion engines.

Images of perfect metal tubes—cannon barrels, Belisarius realized. He watched as an object was fit into one of the tubes. A perfect fit. He wondered what it was until he saw the cannon fire. Cannonball, he realized—except it was not a ball. It was a cylinder capped by its own cupola.

“How can metal be shaped so precisely?”

He was inside a huge building. A manufactory, he realized. Everywhere he could see rolls and slabs of steel being shaped and cut with incredible speed and pre­cision. He recognized one of the machines as a lathe, like the lathes used by expert carpenters to shape wooden legs for chairs and tables. But this lathe was much bigger and vastly more powerful. The lathes he knew were operated by foot pedal. No such lathes could rip through metal the way this one was, not even bronze. He watched a stream of steel chips flying from the cutting tool like a waterfall.

The other machines he did not recognize at all.

Horizontal boring mill. Vertical turret lathe. Radial drill press.

“Impossible,” stated the general firmly. “To make such machines would require making machines to make machines to make machines which could make those machines. We do not have time.”

The facets shivered momentarily, confused. The crystalline intelligence which called itself Aide viewed ­reality in an utterly different manner than humans. The logic behind Belisarius’ conclusion was foreign to it. Where the man saw complex sequences, causes and effects, Aide saw the glorious kaleidoscope of eternity.

Malwa will have tanks.

The thought carried an undertone of grievance. Belisarius smiled, faintly. He was reminded of a small child complaining that the neighbor boy has a nice new toy, so why can’t he?

“The Malwa tanks are completely different. They are not made like this, with this—” He groped for words to describe a reality he had never seen in real life.

Aide filled the void. Precision machining. Mass production.

“Yes. The Malwa do not use those methods. They use the same basic methods as we Romans do. Artisanship. Craftsmanship.”

Incomprehension.

Belisarius sighed. For all Aide’s brilliance, the strange mentality was often befuddled by the simplest human realities.

“Each Malwa tank—the tanks they will make in the future—will be unique. Handcrafted. The product of slow, painstaking work. The Malwa can afford such methods, with their gigantic resources. Greek artisans are superior, but not by that much. We will never be able to match the Malwa if we copy them. We must find our own way.”

The general made a short, chopping gesture with his hand.

“Forget the tanks. Show me more of the battle. It could not all have been—will be—a contest of tanks.”

Montage of images. Infantrymen in a trench, firing hand cannons and hurling grenades. A line of cannons hidden in a copse of trees, belching fire. A strange glass-and-metal wagon hurtling to a stop. There was no horse to pull it; no horse to stop it. Atop the wagon was a rack of tubes. Suddenly, the rack plumed flame and a volley of rockets streaked forward. Another—

“Stop! There—focus there! The rocket wagon!”

The wagon, again. Belisarius could now see that men were sitting in the glass-enclosed front. Other men were placing rockets into the tubes. The tubes rested on a flat bed toward the rear of the wagon and were slanted up at the sky. Again, the tubes plumed fire. Again, rockets soared.

“What are those?”

They will be called katyushas. These are eight-rail 132 millimeter rocket tubes mounted on what will be called 4X6 trucks.

“Yes. Yes. Those are possible.”

The thought which now came from Aide carried more than an undertone of grievance.

Why is this possible and not tanks? Both are made by the same methods, which you said were impossible. Contradiction.

“You are confusing the—trucks?—with the rockets. They are two different things. We cannot make the trucks, but we can make the rockets. Not as good, but good enough. And then—we can substitute a different—” He groped for unfamiliar, as yet unknown terms.

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