The Plains of Pluto (Imperium Volume 2), page 28
She could smell the harsh scent of spent powder, suggesting that he’d already been testing the weapon this morning, which was good. The news from the front had not been good lately, and they needed this weapon out of testing and into the hands of the soldiers as quickly as possible.
“I trust this demonstration will prove more successful than our last, Hortensius.”
She didn’t intend for the statement to come out as caustic as it had, but it was hard to keep her concerns from coloring everything she said.
“Without question, Your Majesty. The problems we encountered were entirely in the cartridge manufacturing, not the weapon itself, and they have been sorted.”
“Good. Then let’s proceed with the demonstration,” Lucilla said.
“Indeed. Manius, if you would.”
Several praetorians and assistants had been standing off to the side when she’d arrived. One of them stepped forward to the table. He lifted the rifle, checking its mechanisms briefly before loading cartridges into the magazine and moving to the fire line. Bringing the rifle to his shoulder, feet planted in a stable stance, he took aim at the nearest row of wooden silhouettes positioned thirty paces downrange.
He paused, looking to Hortensius.
“Ready when you are,” the manufacturer said.
Turning back, Manius fired the first shot, a loud crack split the air and startled Lucilla, even though she knew it was coming. Without lowering the weapon, he worked the lever mechanism, sending a brass cartridge cartwheeling out of the weapon and landing a few steps away.
A thump could be heard downrange as a hole appeared in the wooden silhouette.
As soon as the lever clicked closed, he fired again. Then he repeated the process, fire and lever, fire and lever, in a steady rhythm. Seven shots, seven holes in the target, all within the span of fifteen seconds.
She’d seen this once before, of course, but that time, the weapon had jammed after a few shots, even after being broken down and reassembled.
This time, there was no such delay.
As with that demonstration, she was impressed by how quickly it fired. Seven shots in fifteen seconds was much faster than the three shots a minute their best legionaries could manage with their current rifles.
“Impressive, although I do remember it firing all seven rounds in one of the last demonstrations as well.”
Hortensius smiled. “Watch.”
Manius lowered the rifle, reached for the ammunition box, extracted seven fresh cartridges, and fed them into the bottom of the weapon. The entire process took less than twenty seconds.
“From empty to fully loaded in under half a minute,” Hortensius said. “In battlefield conditions, perhaps slightly longer, but still remarkably fast compared to our current rifles.”
Once more, Manius brought the weapon to his shoulder and fired. Seven more shots rang out in rapid succession. Seven more targets showed impact marks. Not a single misfire or jam interrupted the sequence.
“We’ve conducted over three thousand test firings with the refined cartridge design,” Hortensius said. “The failure rate is less than one in five hundred, which is unfortunately impossible to eliminate entirely, and is about the rate of failures for primers in our current rifles as well.”
“Good,” Lucilla said.
Hortensius motioned to another praetorian. “I did want to add a bit to the demonstration. Avitus here has never fired this rifle before today. He received basic instruction this morning, fired it once, and that’s it. You’re aware of how long it takes to teach new recruits to load and fire the current weapon in a reasonable amount of time. I think, beyond the direct benefit on the battlefield, once these are generally in service, it should also help decrease the amount of time needed to train the men. By a bit, at least.”
Lucilla nodded thoughtfully. With their manpower consideration and all the conscripts about to enter service, that would be helpful.
The second praetorian took Manius’s place at the firing line. His handling of the weapon lacked the grace of his more experienced counterpart, but he loaded more rounds without difficulty.
“The targets at sixty paces, if you please,” Hortensius instructed.
Avitus raised the rifle and fired at the more distant row of targets. His first shot missed, but he quickly adjusted his aim. The next six rounds all struck their targets. A little slower and with somewhat less precision than Manius had demonstrated, but hits nonetheless.
“Most importantly,” Hortensius continued, “the rifle’s operation is intuitive enough that soldiers familiar with our current weapons can quickly master it. A few days of training should suffice for basic proficiency.”
Avitus reloaded and fired another series of rounds, this time hitting all seven targets.
“The rate of fire is about four times that of our current rifles.”
Avitus finished his demonstration and stepped back from the firing line. Hortensius turned to the third target range, where human-shaped silhouettes stood way in the distance, right up against a high, dirt berm meant to stop missed bullets.
“Those targets are over a thousand paces away. Manius, if you please.”
Manius returned to the firing line, loaded more rounds into the weapon, and took aim at the distant targets. It was impossible to tell what happened with the naked eye. Hortensius picked up a spyglass from the table and handed it to her. It took Lucilla a moment to find the target, but when she did, she was able to make out a neat hole in the center of the wooden figure.
Manius continued firing, working the lever with remarkable speed. As she watched, three more found the target. The remaining must have missed, but it was hard to see where they impacted looking through the spyglass.
“The rifle’s effective range is about the same as the current rifles, although I’m to understand the new powder Sorantius is working on will greatly extend that,” Hortensius said, and then looked at Cynwrig, who’d been standing a few steps behind Lucilla. “Captain, would you care to try the weapon? As someone with no prior experience with this particular design, your assessment would be valuable.”
Cynwrig looked to Lucilla, who nodded her approval. He stepped forward, accepting the rifle from Manius with the careful respect of a veteran warrior handling an unfamiliar weapon.
“The loading process is straightforward,” Hortensius explained, demonstrating the procedure. “Insert the cartridges here, pointed end forward, and then slide the next one in behind it, and so on.”
Cynwrig loaded seven cartridges into the magazine, his fingers hesitating between each round. Unlike the demonstrators, he was much slower in loading the rounds. Even still, he had them all inserted within about thirty seconds.
“The lever serves two purposes,” Hortensius explained to him. “When pulled down and forward, it ejects the spent cartridge and cocks the hammer. When returned to the starting position, it chambers a new round.”
Cynwrig nodded, then raised the rifle to his shoulder. He squinted down the sights at the closest target and squeezed the trigger. The rifle’s recoil jerked his shoulder back. He blinked once, then worked the lever down with a stiff motion. Brass ejected out the side as the mechanism clicked. By his third shot, his hand moved the lever in one smooth motion, the mechanism flowing from fire to reload without pause.
All seven rounds struck their targets. Though half as fast as Manius, Cynwrig was still able to empty the weapon in under thirty seconds, a fraction of the time needed with a muzzle-loading rifle.
“Your impressions, Captain?” Lucilla asked.
Cynwrig hefted the rifle, testing its weight and balance. “I’m impressed. It’s lighter than our current rifle, and much easier to use since it’s not so long. The balance is good, although being able to use that weapon as a spear in moments of combat was a noticeable advantage.”
“And maybe not needed since you can fire the weapon so much more quickly,” Hortensius pointed out. “But, we have also developed a new bayonet for it. Yes, it doesn’t have the reach of the current rifle, but you also aren’t facing phalanx spears any longer.”
Cynwrig shrugged and handed the weapon back to Hortensius.
Hortensius offered, holding it out to her as well. “Would you care to try the rifle yourself, Your Majesty?”
Lucilla considered the offer. As Empress, she rarely handled weapons, though over the last several years, Ky had taught her to shoot, just in case she ever found herself in need.
Also, because she enjoyed the experience.
“I would.”
Hortensius smiled and checked the mechanism personally, quickly clearing it before loading new rounds into it and presenting the rifle to her.
“Loaded and ready, Your Majesty. Simply aim and squeeze the trigger. Be prepared for the recoil.”
Lucilla accepted the weapon, bringing the stock to her shoulder and taking the stance Ky had shown her. She could hear Cynwrig let out a wry chuckle as he did every time she showed how capable she was. She drew a breath, aimed the rifle looking down the barrel as she’d been taught, and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle kicked against her shoulder harder than expected. Through dissipating smoke, she saw her shot had struck the target near its edge.
“Well struck,” Hortensius said. “Now work the lever to chamber the next round.”
Lucilla pulled the lever down and forward. The mechanism ejected the spent cartridge with a satisfying click. She pushed the lever back, feeling resistance as it chambered a new round.
Her second shot landed closer to the center. By the fifth round, she found her rhythm with the lever action, though each recoil challenged her smaller frame. She hit the target with all seven rounds.
“Remarkable,” she said, lowering the weapon.
Her shoulder was a little sore as she handed it back to Hortensius, and she knew she would feel that in the morning, but it had been an exhilarating experience. Lucilla handed the rifle back to Hortensius, who immediately began disassembling it.
“Begin full production immediately. As soon as you have enough to justify it, I want them added onto whatever shipment is headed to frontline units in Germania and Greece. Make sure you send someone along with that shipment to explain how the rifle works. I know Ky should be there, but just in case.”
“As you command. We’ve already got one line set up for them, and I will be adding additional lines within the next week.”
“Good. Don’t wait on any approvals. Just do what you have to do to get these to the front as quickly as possible. This weapon may determine the outcome of the war.”
Devnum
Claudius and three of his praetorians crouched against the wall in the shaded alley as the freight train from Factorium pulled into the station, steam erupting from the locomotive’s valves. It was a good position with a clear view of the unloading area, but just far enough away to keep them out of sight of the casual viewers.
He and his men each wore the types of clothes favored by dock workers instead of the uniform he normally took so much pride in.
After stopping the warehouse manager’s arrangement for getting military supplies out of Factorium, Claudius had been sure another system would open up. The manager hadn’t been nearly smart enough to be behind the smuggling operation himself, which meant whoever was would eventually find another middleman.
Claudius had been right. After a few weeks they’d started noticing more armaments going missing. This time, it was packers who were adding additional pieces into crates that were scheduled to ship before loading them. He and his men had been watching the activity for weeks, had witnessed them being unloaded on the other end, and where the marked crates had the extra pieces removed, were resealed, and then sent on their way.
Last time, he’d stepped in because he thought he could turn the manager and get the identity of his boss. Something Medb had been very good at doing. Sadly, the person behind it was smart enough to use a series of cutouts to pay the manager, so even the names he had given them ended up going nowhere, so he let the thefts continue so he could follow them to their destination.
The men loaded the new containers with the stolen goods into a wagon. As it pulled out, Claudius and his men followed on foot. Devnum was a bustling city with people quite literally everywhere, which made it easy to follow a wagon on foot. It headed toward the western edge of the port.
At the docks, the wagons turned away from the mass of warehouses that sat at the end of the docks and headed toward one of the loading berths at the far edge of the long dock area. It sat on the opposite side from the section that ended against the drydocks and was furthest from any of the warehouses that ships loaded and off-loaded from.
These were the least popular berths a ship could have and most ship’s captains complained when they got stuck at one of these, which meant they tended to only be used when the port was particularly busy.
Which it wasn’t right now, which meant the Scandi vessel waiting there now was secluded and by itself.
Claudius did not know the ship, whose name painted on its side proclaimed it to be the Njord, but he did recognize the man standing on the dock near its gangplank, supervising its loading.
Tall, with a red beard that was streaked gray, Sten had been one of the ship-owners whose ships Claudius had found were meeting the Egyptian crewed vessels. He and Medb had questioned Sten at the time, and he’d claimed ignorance, blaming the captains for acting without his knowledge.
It had seemed possible, as there had been several ships dealing with the Egyptians, and only one had been his. Now, however, it seemed like maybe that was also a cutout the man had been using, hiring other ships not connected to him to do his dirty work.
Sten was clever; there was no doubt of that. The fact that he was here and put himself where smuggled goods were being loaded suggested maybe things were not going so well for him at the moment.
And they were about to get worse, Claudius thought with a smile.
As Sten directed the goods from the wagon that Claudius had been following personally, a port official came walking up the dock, stopping and talking to the merchant. Claudius was not so naive to think that this was a chance inspection or that Sten would get caught, even though that was the official’s job.
Sure enough, after less than two minutes speaking together, Sten handed a small sack, probably full of coin, to the man, who slipped it into his pocket and walked away, never once looking at the crates being carried onto the ship.
Claudius made a mental note to deal with that man later.
“Return to headquarters,” he said to one of his men. “Bring twenty praetorians and meet us at that warehouse there, the one with the broken window on the second floor.”
The man nodded and slipped away as Claudius made his way to the warehouse that had a view of Sten’s ship. He had some time, as there were a lot of crates still left to be loaded. Probably there to help bury the smuggled cargo in the hold. The second floor of the warehouse provided an unobstructed view of the Njord, allowing him to watch everything without having to stand in the open.
The ship probably wouldn’t sail until the evening tide, which was a good three hours away.
Praetorians arrived in small groups, filtering into the warehouse. By the time the twenty men were assembled, the loading operation was near completion. Empty wagons departed, and the Njord’s crew looked to be preparing to sail.
“Once aboard, we need to move fast to make sure they don’t destroy or hide any of the cargo,” he ordered, pointing at a group of nine to ten of the men. “I want you lot to secure the deck and round up all the sailors. Bring them to the center of the deck and hold them there for questioning. The rest of you I want down in the hold as soon as we’re onboard to make sure no one does anything to the cargo. As soon as we have the sailors there secured, I want you to start going through every single crate down to the very bottom of them. We’re looking for controlled goods such as rifles, rifle parts, and artillery shells, although anything that seems out of place from the other goods should be set aside to be examined. Let’s go.”
The group moved quickly, practically sprinting from the warehouse to the ship, so that they would be on board before Sten and his men had a chance to do anything. A shout went up as they got to the gangplank, but by then, it was too late.
The ship’s crew, startled, had only started to look around as his praetorians reached the deck and began rounding the men up.
“This ship is impounded by order of the Empress,” Claudius announced. “Any resistance will be met with lethal force.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Sten demanded, emerging from the captain’s cabin.
“Your vessel is suspected of transporting contraband weapons and military supplies in violation of Imperial export restrictions and is hereby impounded on order of the Praetorian Guard.”
“This is absurd! I carry only legitimate trade goods, wool, ceramics, and lumber,” he sputtered, turning to the ship’s captain. “Show them the manifest.”
The second praetorian team had already descended into the cargo hold. The crew must not have done a good job of hiding the goods, because by the time the Njord’s captain produced the ship’s manifest, one of the praetorians had returned to the deck.
“Tribune, we’ve found some artillery shells buried beneath other goods. The men are still looking through the rest.”
“I know nothing of this! If contraband is aboard, it was loaded without my knowledge. Perhaps …”
“I didn’t just happen to stumble across your ship. I observed you personally directing the loading of crates I knew to contain contraband materials,” Claudius interrupted. “You supervised the entire operation, accepted the shipment from wagons, and paid off a port official, who is being detained at this very minute.”
Claudius hadn’t sent anyone for the official yet, but Sten didn’t need to know that.
The merchant’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he maintained his facade. “These are baseless accusations. I demand to speak with the Scandian consul.”
