Chapter 15
In the middle of a stretch of sweltering weather, the second improved trial model, consisting of twenty rifles, was completed.
The bolt-handle cutout had been widened so that a hand wearing a winter glove wouldn’t bump against it, and a metal reinforcement had been added to the sling slot. Long, shallow gripping grooves had been cut into both sides of the fore-end.
Of course, we hadn’t changed the barrel or overall length, so it was still a Gewehr 98.
Father was very pleased when he saw the twenty rifles lined up in a row.
“Now we can arm a whole platoon with your rifles.”
Seeing the rifles I’d made lined up on the rack gave me a strange sense of satisfaction, too.
This time, the test was attended not only by Imperial Guard officers, but also by officers and technicians from the Rifle Test Commission. They didn’t look pleased from the start.
From their perspective, it probably sounded as if they were being asked to change a newly adopted rifle to suit a princess’s tastes.
Before we began, I made one request.
“Please don’t tell the soldiers who improved these rifles beforehand. Just say that Mauser has made some new improvements to them.”
One of the commission officers raised an eyebrow.
“May I ask why?”
“If they know I made them, they might say they’re good no matter what.”
Father cleared his throat behind me.
“Who would dare give a false report in front of the Emperor?”
I swallowed my reply: that was exactly why they might do it.
The test unit received the improved rifles, but the soldiers weren’t told that the Imperial Family had made the modifications.
The first test was a march.
The soldiers walked ten kilometers carrying their rifles, ammunition, and packs. The course also included running and crossing low obstacles. We’d originally planned a twenty-kilometer march, but shortened it because of time constraints.
For the first few kilometers, there didn’t seem to be much difference.
But as time passed, the soldiers carrying the standard Gewehr 98 kept reaching out to hold their rifles so they wouldn’t swing around. Thanks to the side-mounted sling, the improved rifles stayed against their backs and moved relatively steadily.
During a break, the recorder asked the soldiers carrying the improved rifles a question.
“Which is more comfortable, your usual rifle or the improved one?”
“The improved one.”
But not everyone preferred the improved rifle. A few soldiers said they liked the standard model better.
“I’m used to the one I’ve always carried. The sling’s in a different place, so it feels awkward to raise and lower the rifle.”
The improved model wasn’t better in every way. The different sling position made the soldiers fumble at first, and the standard model was faster when taking the rifle off their shoulders, holding it, and fixing the bayonet.
Next came rapid fire from the prone position. As before, we tested the standard rifle alongside the improved one for comparison.
The soldiers fired five rounds, reloaded with a stripper clip, and repeated the exercise. Since the barrels and ammunition were the same, there wasn’t much difference in accuracy. But overall, the improved model was a little faster to cycle.
The curved handle meant they didn’t have to raise their elbows as high, and their fingers didn’t bump against the stock even when they wore gloves.
“Wouldn’t you say the difference is rather small?”
One of the commission officers asked, tilting his head.
“It might seem that way at first, but the difference will add up with repetition.”
Mauser answered, but the officer wasn’t easily convinced.
In the afternoon, they sprayed water on wooden obstacles for the soldiers to cross, then had them crawl across a muddy patch.
That was when the gripping grooves proved their worth.
With the standard model, their hands slipped little by little when they gripped the fore-end with wet hands. With the improved model, their fingers caught in the grooves, making it easier to keep their grip in the same place.
However, mud also collected easily inside the grooves. After the training, one soldier wiped them out with a piece of cloth and offered his opinion.
“It’s definitely easier to grip than before, but having more places to clean isn’t ideal.”
I wrote down his words exactly.
Keep the gripping grooves at their current depth.
Increase the curvature at both ends.
Make the curves at the ends gentler to help with drainage and cleaning.
The final test involved setting the rifles on the ground, getting them dusty, and then repeatedly loading and firing them. Of course, since the improved model’s internal mechanism was the same as the standard Gewehr 98’s, there was no reason for its reliability to be any different.
Dirt did get into the bolt-handle cutout and sling slot, but those weren’t moving parts, so it didn’t interfere with firing.
When we inspected the rifles after the test, the sling reinforcement on one of the twenty improved rifles had come loose.
A Mauser technician immediately took the rifle and examined the cause.
“The reinforcement wasn’t secured firmly enough.”
“Was that a production defect or a design flaw?”
The technician hesitated at the commission officer’s question. Seeing him hesitate, I spoke first.
“We need to check both. If the method of fastening can vary from worker to worker, then the design is also at fault.”
At that, the commission officer looked at me. The look in his eyes had changed; he no longer seemed to regard me as a child at play.
After the test, we asked the soldiers which rifle they would choose.
Of the twenty men, thirteen chose the improved model. Four chose the standard model, and three said they couldn’t tell much difference.
A sergeant who had chosen the improved model explained why.
“If I’m only shooting, they’re about the same. But if I have to carry one around all day, I’d choose the improved model.”
His one comment made me happiest of all.
It wasn’t because the rifle had been made by the Emperor’s daughter, but because a soldier who’d actually used it had chosen it as more comfortable.
But the commission didn’t decide to adopt it that day.
The meeting continued until after sunset. The cost of revising the plans and production process for the Gewehr 98, whose production was about to begin, the supply of new slings, changes to the drill, and the army’s requirements for the rear sight all had to be considered.
Perhaps tired of waiting, Father leaned slightly toward me and whispered.
“The test results are better, so what is there to discuss for so long?”
Paul Mauser must have heard him, because he spoke quietly.
“Making one rifle better and changing the rifles used by the entire army are two different matters, Your Majesty.”
After deliberating through the night, the commission decided to recommend to the Ministry of War that a hundred improved rifles be produced for long-term testing.
A few weeks later, the additional production of a hundred rifles was formally approved, on the condition that Father cover the cost from the Imperial Family’s testing budget.
The rifles would be distributed among the Imperial Guard and infantry units for a year of long-term testing.
In the meantime, preparations to produce the standard Gewehr 98 would continue as planned.
If the long-term test results were good, some of the improvements would be incorporated into later production models.
Since the rear sight was tied to the army’s requirements for long-range shooting, it would be tested separately.
Father didn’t seem to like the number one hundred.
“Only a hundred?”
“Still, they’re making a hundred rifles I designed. That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”
The commission officer closed the report and bowed to me.
“Your Highness, you have not created a new standard-issue rifle from scratch.”
At the officer’s words, Father’s expression immediately hardened. The officer suddenly felt the back of his neck go cold and hurriedly continued.
“But you’ve clearly shown us the direction in which the current rifle should be improved.”
Only then did Father’s expression soften.
I liked that assessment.
The core of the Gewehr 98 was the work of Mauser and the test commission. I had only made an already good rifle a little more comfortable for soldiers to use.
After the test, Paul Mauser invited me to the firing range, where he held a small celebration.
A C96 like the one I’d seen at the factory was sitting on a table at the range.
“I heard Your Highness was interested in this pistol at the factory.”
An officer loaded the magazine, raised the pistol, and fired a rapid burst.
The shooter didn’t work the bolt by hand while firing. The pistol simply ejected its own casings and loaded the next round.
When the demonstration was over, Mauser asked,
“What did you think?”
“Reloading looks a little inconvenient. Wouldn’t it be better if the magazine were inside the grip?”
Mauser looked at me.
“Automatic pistols with that kind of design are being studied, too.”
I examined the side of the C96 again.
The C96’s basic design was already established, so I couldn’t get the pistol I wanted simply by changing its shape. It would be much better to design one from scratch.
Of course, that meant I’d have to work out everything from the beginning: the angle at which rounds rose from the magazine, how the spent casings were ejected, and what kind of spring returned the moving parts to their original positions.
It would clearly be much harder than improving a rifle. That was exactly why I wanted to try.
That night, I took out a new notebook. But instead of drawing a pistol’s profile on the first page, I wrote down questions.
What path does a bullet follow on its way into the chamber?
When and in which direction is the spent casing ejected?
How do the parts that move after firing return to their original positions?
As I wrote down question after question, Oskar leaned over my shoulder to look at my notebook, apparently curious about what I was doing.
“What are you trying to make this time?”
I thought for a moment, then answered.
“A pistol.”