Spain, Late Spring/Early Summer, 1938

The Gunsmith's Union supports the revolution. This is a fact. A vital fact, too; many of these paramilitants are not familiar with firearms. They will need to be taught, and when they fuck up, their guns will need to be repaired. Fernando had seen many silly things; mostly it was fucked up rifles, though. Some of these were explainable, but he never knew how many ways you could fuck up a MAS-36 until the SWF had started sending the workshop he was employed in guns to fix.

Fernando would normally be going on about these while working on a rifle, such as "How the fuck do you screw up the sights on a gun so bad that they can only be moved sideways?!", but he is currently working on affixing mounts for gun stocks made from bent and welded metal wire which are currently being manufactured by someone else in the workshop, onto a pile of pistols he has been given.

It is a hot day outside; Spring is always miserably warm, it's the worst season, all of the heat of the summer without even any of the self-respect of summer's heat. Then again, summer can be unbearable, too. Honestly, not many times of year are nice. But that doesn't matter to Fernando, he's a simple man, he works whether rain, shine, hot or cold, and will only mostly bitch about it. He takes an Astra-400, a good pistol, very nice, well made, this one, and begins mounting the two mounts on each side of the grip, afterwards testing it for a stock to make sure it fits and is reasonably comfortable to use. He mounts the stock and lays it against the wall, with the others he's completed, murmuring about this being a waste of his damn time and talent. All along the wall are revolvers, handguns, all of them retrofitted with the ability to mount a new, cheap stock, for use as a carbine in lieu of a rifle. It all looks a little silly, to be honest, but in the end, it will get the job done.

Elsewhere in the workshop, the basement, it is less warm, due to the darkness, the belowgrounded-ness, but it is also stuffy, the air filled with dust and gunpowder. Through the haze, Paco reloads shotgun ammunition to use Slugs instead of Shot, at the commission of the Worker's Front. Because many of their troops have only hunting shotguns, they want them to have some longer range capability beyond just buckshot, and maybe even some limited armor penetration ability. Maceo, while repacking some shells of his own, attempts to make awkward small talk with him.

"So, uh... Excited for the Spartakaid?"

"Mm hmm."

"Uh... Read any good books?"

"Not really."

"Hmm. So, how about that, uh, Largo Caballero, huh? He sure is-"

"Oh, that mother fucker!" Replies Paco, immediately stopping his work and jumping up from his bench. "Caballero is just a hopped up liberal who thinks he can be the next Lenin! He has nothing, is nothing compared to comrade Ramos! He is just-"

Maceo regrets his choice of conversation and tries to ignore his comrade, as he repacks his ammo.

These scenes are being recreated in workshops all across Spain, all the while, factories and workshops which produce guns are beginning to add the stock mounts in advance, or are shifting production for new pistols which already are designed to take a stock. Hopefully, they involve less longwinded political rants, though.