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Chapter 1029: The Strongest Steam Fleet

At nine in the evening, a violent pounding on the door startled Sapina, who was buried in his studies.

The fifty-year-old Sapina frowned as he swung the door open. His neighbor, Mabelde, burst inside, shouting frantically.

"Roman! Roman, Kevin's stopped breathing! You have to save him!"

Sapina's heart skipped a beat. His first instinct was to run for his mentor, Vieuxtemps, who lived in the village church, but he suddenly remembered it was "Match Day." Vieuxtemps had returned to Reims and wouldn't be back until the day after tomorrow.

Sapina rushed from the inner room to find Mabelde drenched in a cold sweat, his son Kevin slumped over his back.

Bringing a lamp closer, Sapina saw the boy’s eyes rolled back and his face turned a sickly shade of purple. He was completely unresponsive.

He took the child from the man. "What happened?"

"He snuck a pickled olive earlier tonight, and then this happened... Please, you have to do something!"

Sapina placed a finger under the boy's nose. He felt nothing. He checked the carotid artery in the neck; there was a faint, thready pulse.

He shoved the candlestick into his father's hand and, all in a fluster, grabbed the Reserve Physician's Handbook. He quickly looked up the symptoms for "inability to breathe," which listed three possible causes.

Following the index to page thirty-seven, he found the entry for "obstruction due to food or foreign objects." There was no time to read the full diagnostic process; he skipped straight to the treatment.

It was printed clearly: Recommended treatment—The Heimlich Maneuver.

Sapina hadn't studied this section thoroughly before, but fortunately, there were detailed illustrations. He followed the diagrams, pulling little Kevin into a standing position and having his father hold the boy steady.

After a quick glance at the handbook, he stepped behind the child and wrapped his arms around the upper abdomen. Following the instructions, he delivered a sharp, upward squeeze with all his strength.

The sudden pressure forced Kevin's eyes open, and he let out a dry heave.

Sapina squeezed again.

With a soft "pop," a pickled olive flew from the boy's mouth.

Kevin immediately let out a ragged, gasping "hic," as if snatching his soul back from the clutches of death.

Sapina checked the boy's breathing again. A stream of warm air brushed against his fingers.

Consulting the handbook once more, he laid Kevin on his side and wiped the saliva from his mouth.

Three or four minutes later, the boy slowly opened his eyes, and the purple hue on his face began to fade.

Mabelde's wife cradled her son's head, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, "It's all right, Kevin's okay..."

"You're incredible, Doctor Sapina," Mabelde said, gripping Sapina's hand and bowing repeatedly. His tone had shifted to one of deep respect. "Thank you so much!"

He fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a few banknotes. "So, how much is the fee?"

Sapina waved him off. "You must have missed Father Carlo's announcement. I don't charge for my services here."

"But... how can that be?"

"It's the rule. Besides, the government provides me with a stipend."

Mabelde and his wife offered their thanks a thousand times over before carrying their conscious child back home.

The following morning, Sapina rubbed his sleepy eyes as he trudged toward his fields. He was naturally a bit lazy and physically frail, so he rarely did heavy farm work, but today was his family's turn to use the water pump. He had to be there. However, before he even reached the edge of his plot, he saw two figures busy in the wheat field.

"Who's there?" he shouted.

Mabelde and his eldest son, Gilles, straightened up and waved to him. "Roman! To thank you for saving Kevin, I'm helping you till the soil. Your land was starting to clump.

"Oh, and don't worry about the irrigation; I'll handle the watering later."

"I can't let you do that!"

"It's fine. Go on back. Leave this to me."

Around noon, Barbel from the eastern side of the village brought his child to Sapina, complaining of diarrhea and a fever.

Following the handbook, Sapina administered portulaca juice and a dose of "Crown Prince's Blessing." He also instructed Barbel to give the child lightly salted water, emphasizing that the water must be boiled first.

This treatment cost eight deniers for the medicine.

As more people were successfully treated, Sapina's reputation grew, and his days became increasingly hectic.

The mandated four hours of daily clinic time were nowhere near enough. He found himself seeing patients for at least eight hours a day, sometimes from dawn until dusk.

Ironically, Sapina's crops were better tended than ever before. To ensure he had more time to treat the sick, the villagers had taken over all his farm work.

By the time Vieuxtemps left the village six weeks later, Sapina had become a highly proficient doctor.

Well, at least he was extremely proficient at flipping through the handbook.

...

Outside the Port of London.

Admiral Jervis, the British First Lord of the Admiralty, stood on the deck of the newly built first-rate battleship, the Neptune. His expression was grim as he stared out at the distant horizon, occasionally peering through his telescope.

He was still ruminating on the report he'd received that morning from the diplomat returning from Lisbon.

Five days ago, the Prince Regent of Denmark had convened most of the members of the International Maritime Convention Organization to celebrate the "first great victory of the Maritime Convention."

Frederick had the audacity to declare that the British Navy's decision to lift the blockade on France was due to the "collective pressure of the more than eighty member states." He called for "member states to stand in even greater unity to bring a more stable order to the world's oceans."

Most infuriating of all was that they had actually invited Britain to attend the meeting!

'Ignorant clowns!' Jervis cursed under his breath. If Parliament hadn't been so hell-bent on cutting the naval budget, the combined navies of those eighty nations couldn't have hoped to threaten the Royal Navy.

In the distance, a long, low whistle finally echoed across the water.

Jervis's eyes lit up instantly.

He knew that sound—it was the Avenger, the steam warship recently completed by the Chatham Royal Dockyard.

She was a standard fifth-rate battleship armed with thirty-six cannons, larger than any steam vessel the French possessed.

Powered by three formidable Engine52 steam engines, she could reach a terrifying speed of 12.4 knots when running with the wind.

And today was her maiden sea trial!

This new class of warship would soon enter mass production, with an initial order of twenty vessels. Combined with the Comet-class steam frigates already being produced at high speed—the final number of which would exceed forty—Britain would soon possess the most massive steam fleet in the world.

When that day came, the Royal Navy would return to the Mediterranean and remind the French exactly who ruled the seas!

Soon, the Avenger passed the port side of the Neptune, belching thick black smoke as she cut through the water at high speed, leaving two trails of white foam in her wake.

The Avenger's gun ports swung open, and her cannons roared in a series of rhythmic volleys, saluting the assembled officers and dignitaries.

Just as Jervis and the others were applauding in excitement, a bone-jarring "screech" echoed from deep within the Avenger. The thick smoke ceased pouring from her funnels, and her speed plummeted instantly.