Chapter 8
Time passed quickly once again, and I turned ten.
Over the past few years, I’d taken apart and reassembled revolvers, hunting rifles, and all sorts of mechanical devices. At first, I needed help from my nanny and the guardsmen, but now I could handle most of them on my own, unless the parts were too tiny or too tightly fitted.
“Power really does have its perks.”
In my previous life, I’d only ever seen firearms like these in museums or blueprints. Thanks to my status as a princess, I could even see and handle prototypes and new equipment that ordinary people would be lucky just to catch a glimpse of.
And on my tenth birthday, the thing I’d been waiting for finally arrived in my room.
“Your Highness. We’ve brought the rifle you requested.”
Two attendants set a long wooden case on the desk.
When the lid opened, a beautifully decorated rifle came into view.
It was unmistakably different from military-issue weapons.
The wooden stock was covered in intricate engravings, with thin strands of gold inlaid between them. The metal parts were also engraved with the imperial crest and floral patterns, making it look more like a work of art than a firearm.
Even so, its essence was unchanged.
“Ooh... Gewehr 98……”
I carefully lifted the rifle. It was definitely heavier than a pistol or any of the other guns I’d handled.
I’d expected as much, but it was quite a burden for a ten-year-old to hold. My arms trembled if the muzzle tilted forward even a little.
Oskar laughed beside me.
“What? Can’t lift it?”
“I can lift something this light!”
“Oh? The muzzle’s slowly dropping.”
“Hey, come on. That’s because it has so many decorations.”
It was heavy even without the decorations, but I set the rifle on the desk, keeping up my big-sister bravado.
Gew 98.
It was a new service rifle the German Empire had just adopted, and a renowned rifle that would become the ancestor of countless future variants. As far as I knew, tens of millions would be produced, including its variants.
In my previous life, I’d studied its structure dozens of times through CAD drawings and videos. I had a general idea of how the Mauser-style rotating bolt locked and how the magazine and feeding mechanism worked.
But seeing it on a computer and actually touching and feeling it were completely different experiences.
When I lifted the bolt and pulled it back, I felt the heavy sensation of the metal parts fitting together in my hand.
“Ooh……”
“Here we go again.”
Oskar said it as if he’d given up on me.
I pretended not to hear him and pushed the bolt forward again.
“Ooh... so this is the Mauser action...!”
The sensation in my hand was something I could never have learned from a video. I could clearly feel the resistance as the locking lugs engaged and disengaged, and the play between the parts was smaller than I’d expected.
“Of course it’s Mauser-style. Mauser made it.”
“Hey, don’t interrupt my moment of awe.”
The day after my birthday, I got to try shooting it, too.
I fired the rifle with it resting on a sandbag. There was no way I could shoot it standing up at ten years old, and Wilhelm wouldn’t allow it, either.
When I pulled the trigger, it went off with a bang that was nothing like the revolver. The stock shoved against my shoulder, and the smell of gunpowder spread beside my face.
“Ugh.”
I thought I’d braced myself properly, but my body was pushed backward.
Oskar laughed at my reaction, but when it was his turn, he made the exact same face.
“Didn’t you say it didn’t hurt?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Your face is practically saying, ‘That really hurt!’”
“I was startled.”
My accuracy was terrible on the first shot. Still, my second shot hit the target. The rifle itself was accurate enough. The problem was its user.
‘I’d have to change the ammunition to reduce the recoil.’
That wasn’t something I could tinker with just yet. It wasn’t completely beyond my abilities, but it wasn’t my specialty, and I wasn’t confident about it.
For several days, I did little but fuss over the Gewehr.
I took it apart, put it back together, then took it apart again.
After reassembling it to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, I took it apart once more.
On the first day, I checked the bolt and magazine; on the second, the trigger and safety; and on the third, the fit between the wooden stock and the metal parts.
‘It really is a masterpiece.’
It was no wonder it was Germany’s signature rifle.
The bolt’s locking mechanism was sturdy, and the parts were simple but reliable. The stock, too, looked like it could withstand rough handling in battle without breaking easily.
Of course, it was possible that the imperial version had been machined with more care than the military model.
So I borrowed a military rifle at the shooting range to compare them.
The decorations and finish were different, but the basic feel of the action was much the same.
The soldiers’ rifles had scratches, and their bolts were a little stiffer than mine. Still, they worked well even after being exposed to dust and rain.
I took a rifle apart, then tried moving the bolt with a glove deliberately smeared with dirt. A guardsman panicked and tried to wipe it clean, but I told him to wait a moment.
“It can’t always be clean on a battlefield.”
The action felt a little rougher, but it didn’t stop working.
‘It’s definitely reliable.’
“This really is a good rifle.”
I sat on the floor and worked the bolt back and forth over and over.
At first, all I could do was admire it.
But after a few days, I started noticing one inconvenience after another.
The first thing that caught my attention was the bolt handle.
It stuck straight out to the side, so I had to raise my hand quite high to operate it. My arms were short, of course, but even an adult soldier had to make a big movement to reach it.
I deliberately lay prone on the floor and aimed the rifle.
When I tried to operate the bolt, my elbow lifted and my position fell apart.
“Hmm……”
Oskar, who’d been watching from beside me, asked,
“Why?”
“The handle’s too high.”
“All rifles are like that. Isn’t that just how they’re supposed to be?”
“Just because that’s how they’ve always been doesn’t mean it’s comfortable.”
I called over one of the guardsmen.
By now, the guardsmen had a pretty good idea what would happen when I called them over while holding a gun. He lay down on the floor with a resigned look on his face.
“Try operating the bolt the way you normally would.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The guardsman raised his arm to reach the handle. Sure enough, his elbow moved a great deal.
“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”
“It’s not so uncomfortable that I can’t use it.”
“I asked if it was comfortable.”
The guardsman thought for a moment.
“……It isn’t very comfortable.”
‘Just as I thought.’
If the handle were bent downward, it would be much easier to reach. It would reduce the movement of the hand, and there was a good chance it would keep the prone position from falling apart as much.
‘No wonder the Kar 98 series had a bent bolt handle.’
Of course, it would look strange if a ten-year-old suddenly started talking about ergonomics and handling motions.
Still, I could explain it well enough by saying, “You don’t have to raise your hand as high.”
Next came the sights.
The Gewehr’s rear sight looked impressive. It resembled a little machine, and its range adjustment was precise.
But it restricted my view to the sides, and the mechanism was complicated, too.
When aiming quickly at a nearby target, it was more of a hindrance than a help.
“It certainly looks impressive.”
I moved the rear sight back and forth.
“Then isn’t that a good thing?”
Oskar asked.
“War isn’t about looking impressive.”
“Father said looking impressive is important, too.”
“That’s true, but the sight doesn’t need to look impressive, does it? Who’s going to look at this tiny thing up close?”
“You just looked at it up close.”
After thinking about it, I realized he wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d gone and hit me with facts.
“Still, ease of manufacturing comes first.”
I pictured a simple tangent sight. It would be easy to produce and good for aiming quickly. As far as I knew, tangent sights had been around for ages, so there should already be examples available even now.
I could also make changes to the barrel, chamber, and locking mechanism.
Ideas for improvements came to mind: a free-floating barrel, bedding, and fine adjustments to tolerances.
But I soon put the thought aside.
If I tinkered with them for no reason, I might reduce the rifle’s reliability or make it harder to manufacture. Those were overly technical improvements for a ten-year-old to propose.
‘Set this aside for now.’
Knowing when to let go was a designer’s skill, too. The last thing that caught my eye was the sling.
I slung the rifle over my shoulder and walked down the hallway.
The rifle hung away from my body and kept swinging. It became even more uncomfortable when I walked quickly or changed direction.
“Why did they attach this underneath the stock?”
The sling swivels were attached to the underside of the stock, so the rifle didn’t sit close to my body.
It seemed like moving them to the side would make it much easier to carry securely.
I went up and down the stairs, tried jogging a short distance, and even sat astride a chair as if I were riding a horse. No matter what position I tried, the rifle swung at my side.
When I asked a guardsman to try carrying it, he said it was fine at first.
“Are you sure it’s fine?”
“The rifle pokes me a little, but isn’t that how they all are? I’m used to it.”
“Being used to something isn’t the same as being comfortable.”
He couldn’t answer.
I stopped walking right there and thought it over.
The bolt handle, a simple sight, and side-mounted sling swivels.
They were all things I could change without altering how the rifle worked.
I didn’t need to invent a new rifle. For now, I just had to make a good one a little easier to use.
Starting that evening, papers began piling up on my desk.