This is the Rhine River. It is, more or less, the front of a VERY intense war between the Second French Empire, and a loose confederation of German monarchies that is, for the time being, led by Prussia.
North down the river, high-tech German warships creep. They're all partly-submerged. On their sides, they bear the Prussian black cross. It seems Prussia is gaining some influence in German society's ranks...
In the shrubs and forests on both banks, French imperial troops hide, and wait for the signal to volley. Their uniforms are much more high-quality than the Germans'. By the end of the war, that won't remain true. Their precious emperor, Napoleon III, had better enjoy his golden days as France's second emperor for as long as they last...
The French use lever-action rifles as their service rifle. This repeating magnificence in gunsmithery would've seen more golden days in the American Civil War...if only that war had lasted a few years longer. And the French are sure that many Americans are glad it didn't. But for the time being, Napoleon III needs to show those stateless German ruffians who's boss...
Below the weather decks of the Prussian warships, many German sailors, dressed in shabby clothing, stand in large groups, listening to their Prussian commanding officers make inspiring speeches. Their captains make many references to Norse myth; Njoror, their sea god, seems to be a common inspiration in this particular situation. Yes, these speeches will get Germany through many decades as a unified society...and about two decades after that, it'll also inspire them to charge towards their second doom, under the command of a crazed ex-convict who dares proclaim the Aryan race superior to all of Earth's others...
On the warship's forecastles, poop decks, and amidships, trap doors open. They do a very robotic job of descending somewhat beneath the deck, and sliding, very slowly, under one side...
From these hatchways, big guns surface. Some are Gatling guns. Some are revolving cannons. Some are heavy mortars.
One nth at a time, they rotate, and adjust their own angles. On the banks, the French guerillas don't know what to expect...
On command, the Prussian river fleet gives the French a volley. All over the banks, cannonballs and machine gun rounds fly.
French guerillas fly from their hideouts, screaming like women. Some are on fire. Some land in the river...where their fires still burn. Many try to make a stand...but can't reload their lever-action rifles in time before the German machine guns mow them down like blades of grass, spewing French blood as they go along.
The French have their own artillery, far from the river. Few get to it before getting cut down. The ones who do get a few shells off. Alas, the Germans only lose a few warships in this battle.
Prussia is on its way to victory. And Germany is on its way to unification, and the federation of its Second Reich, with a kaiser on its will-be Prussian throne...
Over here, this is Paris. In 1870, the Tuileries Palace still stands. Inside, Napoleon III lives the high life...as his relatively more famous, and infamous, grandfather did decades before. He'd better enjoy himself; in less than a year, this palace will be a pile of charred rubble.
In the streets, the French militias boldly protests the Second Empire. They long to see France restored, once again, into a republic...where the proletariat, and not the nobles, make all the hard decisions for the French nation...
From a window in a tall building, François Paul Jules Grévy, now over sixty years old, looks down upon the marching militias. In his heart, he will always be a monarchist. Alas, he's seen the monarchy abused many times in his life; he himself was born during the Napoleonic Wars. As much as he hesitates to sacrifice his own childhood dreams, he MUST support the people's bid for a republic.
He's right to do so. He's destined to have an endangered species of zebra named after him.
As Mr. Grévy watches the fashionable monotony excite below, one of his younger relatives slithers into the room he's in. He's holding a lever-action rifle, and seems excited.
Zéphyrin Grévy, like his older relative once did, dreams of the French monarchy. He anticipates Napoleon III proving its might as a result of this war with the stateless Germans. The French will crush them under cannon fire, and embarrass them like mice under a leopard's paws, just as Napoleon III's grandfather did many decades before. This will be the year that all Frenchfolk who've ever doubted the majesty of the French monarchy will see their precious royal dream restored to its glory, back when a certain lovely Scotswoman sat on the throne next to the king of France...
Zéphyrin looks over his apathetic older relative's shoulder, at the marching militia. He sighs, and pulls the lever on his rifle out and in.
Jules fidgets when he does so. Zéphyrin mocks his older relative, and tells him that the rifle isn't loaded.
Zéphyrin offers to go out there, and mow all of those pro-republicans to the pavement like grass. It's what they deserve, after all, for questioning the worth of the French monarchy. Sure, Marie Antionette was a big of a sow; but she was just one person, and France was a MUCH more different society at that time. Lucky for France, though, Zéphyrin has invented the perfect weapon to discipline them, if only he could get his predecessor's support...
Jules, still adamant about his republican convictions, reminds his successor that rightists are just as capable of living a good life within the lines of a leftist system as they'd have too much of in a rightist one. Besides, everyone's seen what happens when the rightists have too much of an advantage over the left. The right, of course, is all about advantage. They acknowledge their own, the use it, they abuse it, and they barely regard anyone who offers them accountability. Jules has been down that road before; and he will not be codepended back to it by anyone; not by the Emperor, not by the French flag, and certainly not by his own monarchist kin. Jules appreciates what his successor is trying to do; but he needs for France to give its kings, emperors, and otherwise despots a permanent holiday.
With that, he leaves Zéphyrin in peace. Or rather, he MEANS to leave Zéphyrin in peace...
But as you can imagine, Zéphyrin is hardly at peace. As long as France still fights Prussia on the Rhine, he still fights half the world in his soul. It also hasn't changed the fact that he's come up with the perfect way to replace Iron Man in global politics. And if Jules won't listen to his proposal...he knows four Turkish nationalists who just might have use for his skills...
Alas, he's capable of meeting a slight setback, if these four Turks care more that he's not Turkish than they do about his talent... But then, from what he's heard, they've just lost one of their own to the NYPD; they're probably hungering for all the help they can get.