Beiyang Dream

Chapter 57 Germanic Heavenly Soldiers, German Military Supervisors

Chapter 57: Germanic Heavenly Soldiers, German Military Supervisors (Fifth Update)

1890, April 4.

Outside Berlin, the Prussian Army's Seventh Training Range.

Chang Desheng stood at the observation point, squinting at the three rows of gray-white wooden targets below the slope.

Today's demonstration was quite costly.

Duan Qirui's four lads stayed up all night last night setting up targets, measuring distances, and digging gun emplacements. They got up before dawn today to calibrate the guns... I'll have to give each of them 100 marks as a reward for their hard work, so that "Fifth Uncle" can make money!

Fifty shells, at Schneider Electric's quoted price of fifteen marks each. Fifty shells would be seven hundred and fifty marks...

Shells are expensive! Without the support of my wealthy father-in-law and uncle in Southeast Asia, I really can't afford to fight!

To satisfy the wealthy investors in Southeast Asia, we need to adopt a "professional spirit" of "getting paid and getting things done." Therefore, this collaboration with the "German giant" is a do-or-die situation!

He turned around.

Ten steps to the left is a wooden viewing platform with a canvas cover for shade.

Guo Shigui sat on the far left, wearing the official robes of a fourth-rank civil official, looking very nervous.

Zhang Zhensheng sat beside him, dressed in a silk robe, his eyes fixed on the gun emplacement. That was his "patented weapon," into which he had invested hundreds of thousands of marks! If the German army took a liking to it, he would truly have made a profit.

Luo Jingrou sat behind Zhang Zhensheng, holding a small notebook and pencil, ready to record data.

Two carriages were parked on the right. One bore the insignia of the Moltke family, and the other the insignia of the Prussian Navy.

The carriage door opened.

Moltke and Tirpitz got off their respective carriages.

Chang Desheng quickly stepped forward and saluted: "Teacher, Colonel."

Moltke nodded without saying a word. He first raised his binoculars to look at the target in the distance, and then at the gun emplacement.

The gun position was set up 80 meters away, in a shallow pit, where an 80mm mortar was mounted.

There were four people standing next to him.

Duan Qirui, Shang Dequan, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang.

All four men were dressed in uniforms from the First Military Academy of Berlin, standing ramrod straight with their chests puffed out. But upon closer inspection, Duan Qirui's collar was slightly damp, Shang Dequan's boots were covered in mud, Wu Dingyuan had a small cut on the back of his hand, and Kong Qingtang had dark circles under his eyes.

I stayed up all night last night.

"That's it?" Moltke put down his binoculars and looked at Chang Desheng. "The 'projectile launcher' you mentioned?"

"That's it." Chang Desheng smiled. "Don't underestimate its small size; it's very useful and should be highly efficient in combat."

"What is the range?"

"The nominal range is 2,000, but the actual range is between 1,800 and 2,200, depending on the propellant charge." Chang Desheng paused and added, "But in the South Pacific, there are many mountains and dense forests, so the range doesn't need to be too far; 1,000 meters is enough. The key is indirect fire, which can hit targets on reverse slopes and effectively destroy targets hiding in trenches and fortresses."

Moltke and Tirpitz exchanged a glance, then said, "Let's begin."

Chang Desheng waved to the artillery position.

Duan Qirui knelt on one knee to the left of the gun position, his right thumb raised, his left eye closed and his right eye open. This was the standard rangefinding hand gesture for Prussian artillerymen, and he was now doing it quite well.

"Eight hundred and twenty meters!" he reported the data, "Wind direction southeast, wind speed level 2!"

Shang Dequan squatted down beside him, a hand-bound booklet spread out on his lap. The cover of the booklet was inscribed with the title "Quick Reference Table of Ballistic Parameters" in calligraphy. Inside were mortar firing tables compiled by engineers from Schneider Electric, including elevation angle, propellant charge, and crosswind corrections, filled with densely packed numbers.

His fingers flew across the paper as he muttered, "Elevation angle 42.3 degrees, charge mark 3, crosswind correction 2 mil to the left —"

Finally, he shouted, "All done!"

Wu Dingyuan picked up a shell. It was a brass shell with six tail fins, looking like a large spindle. His movements were steady and quick; he removed the safety pin, checked the primer, and then, with a "click," shoved it into the muzzle and let go.

The shell fell down the breech with a muffled thud and hit the bottom.

Kong Qingtang grabbed the firing cord (some mortars are fired with a firing cord) and glanced at Chang Desheng.

Chang Desheng nodded.

"boom!"

The cannon recoiled, kicking up a cloud of dust. The shell traced a high parabola, flew through the air for a short while, and then—

"Bang!"

The wooden target 800 meters away exploded, sending up a cloud of black smoke and scattering wood chips everywhere.

"Great!" Zhang Zhensheng couldn't help but slap his thigh, his Hakka accent spilling out. "Hit! Did you see that? Even more powerful than a 75mm cannon!"

Luo Jingrou quickly scribbled in her notebook, while turning to Zhang Zhensheng and whispering in Hakka, "Uncle, did you see anything?"

"Indirect fire, devastating blows. Those Dutch devils in their stone fortresses on the mountain are most afraid of this kind of cannon. If the Lanfang soldiers had a few more of these, it would be much easier to defeat them."

Little Moltke didn't say anything.

He stared at the lingering plume of black smoke for a full ten seconds, then turned to Tirpitz: "What do you think?"

Tirpitz stroked his goatee: "The trajectory is high, and the angle of impact is large. It has an advantage against trenches and reverse slope positions. It's useless against ships, but useful against shore defenses."

"What about the rate of fire?" Xiao Mao asked Chang Desheng curiously.

"A skilled gun crew can fire fifteen to twenty rounds per minute," Chang Desheng said. "But this thing doesn't require much from the gunner; three months of training is enough to get it working. Unlike the Krupp 75 field gun, which takes at least six months to master."

He paused, then added, "And it's cheap. A cannon plus a hundred shells costs less than two thousand marks. A 75mm field gun, the cannon alone costs eight thousand."

Moltke nodded and raised his binoculars again, this time to look at the impact point of the shells. The wooden target was blown to pieces, and a shallow crater was blasted into the ground, large enough for a person to lie down in.

"How much explosive should be loaded?"

"0.8 kg," Chang Desheng said. "Bitter acid, C/88 formula."

Moltke frowned slightly.

C/88. He knew the formula. The latest warhead charge of the German Army and Navy, in pursuit of safety, was somewhat over-passivated, resulting in a high misfire rate.

"What's the dud rate?" he asked directly.

"Fifty rounds were test-fired," Chang Desheng replied without changing his expression, "Eight rounds went silent, a dud rate of sixteen percent."

"And what about practical applications?" Moltke asked again, "Rainy days? Damp conditions? After long-distance transport?"

"With proper moisture control, we should be able to keep it below 20%," Chang Desheng thought for a moment and said, "It's better than gunpowder; that stuff loses half its power in damp weather. And—"

He lowered his voice: "The boss in Southeast Asia said that a high dud rate isn't a problem; they have the money to buy more and keep them on hand. The key is that this thing can fire indirect fire, so it can be used to attack hilltop fortifications. Spending a little more money is worth it."

Moltke put down his binoculars and didn't respond to Chang Desheng's words.

"Continue," Moltke finally spoke after a while, "Fire five rapid shots, and I'll check the reload speed."

"yes!"

At the gun emplacement, Duan Qirui wiped his sweat and began counting again. Shang Dequan opened the booklet, Wu Dingyuan picked up the shells, and Kong Qingtang pulled the fuse.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom—Crack!"

The fourth shot went out, but it didn't explode.

Another dud.

The field fell silent.

Moltke's expression remained unchanged; it seemed the dud rate was acceptable.

The dud landed more than 30 meters off the target, exploding on the grass and creating a small crater, but it didn't smoke.

According to regulations, we have to wait ten minutes, in case of a delay in the explosion.

Just then, Moltke suddenly turned around and said to Chang Desheng, "This cannon—it's a new type of weapon; we didn't have one before."

Chang Desheng nodded: "Indeed not."

"Wipe off the Schneider Electric logo," Moltke continued, "and don't write it as some kind of projectile launcher."

Let's declare it as steel pipes.

Steel pipe!

Chang Desheng was secretly delighted, but he had to keep a straight face: "Teacher, those sixty subjects—"

"Declare them all as steel pipes," Xiao Maoqi said. "I'll talk to customs. But on the contract, the product name will be 'special purpose steel pipe,' the specifications will be 80 mm × 1200 mm, and the purpose will be 'industrial fittings.'"

Absolutely!

Chang Desheng screamed inwardly. Steel pipes! Industrial parts! This name is safer than "projectile launchers"! If customs finds out, just say it's a pipe used to transport latex in Nanyang rubber plantations, what can anyone say?

He quickly pressed on, "How should we report those sixty Maxim machine guns?"

Moltke narrowed his eyes, then turned to Tirpitz and asked, "Alfred, do you think it's necessary to equip the ironclad 'Changyuan' with some Maxim machine guns?"

A few machine guns on an ironclad warship?

Tirpitz paused, thinking: What's the use? Are they going to use the ironclads to board ships? Ironclads have 240mm main guns and 150mm secondary guns, what's the point of machine guns? To shoot seabirds?

"Yes, we need them!" Chang Desheng interrupted Tirpitz before he could speak, "We also need to equip all the sailors with 1888..."

"Type 051 rifles—because ironclad warships also need to engage in boarding maneuvers!"

Boarding action.

Tirpitz was somewhat taken aback by these words. He stared at Chang Desheng as if he were looking at a madman.

"Ironclad warships all have rams!" Chang Desheng actually came up with an excuse, speaking with a straight face, "After two ironclad warships collide, won't they have to board? Then we should use Maxim machine guns to support the sailors in attacking the enemy ship! Machine gun suppression, rifle assault, hand grenades to clear the hatches... perfect!"

Capture enemy ships —

Tirpitz opened his mouth, but didn't know how to refute it.

Moltke nodded, a "that makes sense" expression on his face: "Then—the Maxim machine guns and 1888 rifles, along with bullets and grenades, will be supplied through the 'Changyuan' ship's equipment route. As for the nine thousand indirect fire shells—"

He paused, then looked at Chang Desheng.

Chang Desheng quickly added, "It can also be used as training ammunition for the secondary guns of the 'Changyuan'! Think about it, new guns, new ammunition, wouldn't the sailors need live-fire training? It's inconvenient to fire at sea, so we'll fire at the land-based firing range. After firing, the spent casings are recovered, and the shells are consumed—that's it!"

Nine thousand rounds...for training!

Moltke's lips twitched, as if he wanted to laugh.

"Okay," he nodded, "but the contract must be formal—it must bear the seal of the Qing Dynasty's ambassador to Berlin. The product name, quantity, unit price, and total price must all be included. I need to see the complete customs declaration documents."

Ah!

Chang Desheng cursed inwardly. "Is this some kind of 'German' style of turning a blind eye? So, the dissection procedures can't be omitted, but the contents can be reported? Steel pipes, training rounds, boarding equipment—ostensibly you Germans helped come up with the ideas, but the procedures have to be followed completely?"

Is this all the "Han-fa specialists" can do?

Chang Desheng thought to himself: If I were really doing these things on Li Hongzhang's instructions, that would be fine, but I'm doing it "alone." It wouldn't be difficult to appease Hong Jun, but the problem is that the official contracts need to be filed—so these crude arms export contracts, left in the archives of the Berlin legation, are like a ticking time bomb!

"Understood." Chang Desheng swore, guaranteeing, "There won't be any problems with the contract."

Ten minutes have passed.

The worker ran over and dug out the dud. The fuse was set, but it still didn't detonate. A Schneider Electric technician examined it and shook his head, saying, "The fuse is faulty."

Little Mao's odds dotted oath, the fuse failed, the old problem persists...

The test firing continued.

Another twenty shots were fired, and three more went silent, so the dud rate was still around 15%.

By 11:00 AM, all subjects were finished. Duan Qirui and his three companions jogged over, stood at attention, and saluted Chang Desheng, Moltke, and Tirpitz. The four young men were drenched in sweat, their uniforms soaked through.

"Report!" Duan Qirui's voice was the loudest, but his throat was a little hoarse. "Test firing complete, 62% hit rate!"

Chang Desheng returned the greeting: "Not bad."

He looked at the four men, then at little Moltke.

Moltke made a few notes in his notebook, then closed it and swore: "These four people came from Qing China with you."

""

"Yes," Chang Desheng said. "I studied at the Renjin Military Academy for a year and a half before coming here to enroll in the Berlin First Sergeant School."

"Learn from Muhammad?"

"One and a half semesters."

Moltke didn't ask any more questions. He turned to Tirpitz, and the two walked aside, exchanging grievances in hushed tones.

Chang Desheng couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could guess.

The two were discussing the value of the mortar; the German Navy didn't need it, but the German Army might order a few for trial use.

Guo Shigui leaned closer and whispered, "Zhenbang, how's the revenge going?"

"Passing by," Chang Desheng said.

"real?"

"You still don't believe me?" Chang Desheng paused, lowered his voice, "Don't worry—after this million-mark deal, your commission won't be less than what you'd expect. Three percent commission, that's thirty thousand marks. I'll give you ten thousand, enough for you to take another concubine in Berlin."

Guo Shigui sighed and mumbled, "That passionate affair, that passionate affair—"

Xiao Maoqi turned to Chang Desheng, his face expressionless, his voice flat: "Zhenbang, this is not bad. It is indeed a very effective defensive weapon."

Chang Desheng had just breathed a sigh of relief.

Moltke immediately followed up: "But weapons alone are not enough."

Not enough? Chang Desheng's heart sank, knowing that this German was still making demands!

Imperialism... it's fucking unacceptable!

Moltke the Younger continued, "Sixty Maxim guns, twelve hundred rifles, sixty guns—how will these things be used in Southeast Asia? Who says it's acceptable? How long will the fighting go before we stop? How will we clean up the mess afterward?... Have you thought about that?"

Chang Desheng immediately tensed up; he understood what was going on.

"What the teacher means is—"

“What I mean is,” Moltke looked at him, “that the German Empire can turn a blind eye and let this shipment go. At the appropriate time, the Far East Fleet can take a trip off the coast of Pontianak and make a show of force.”

He paused, his voice lowering: "But there's a prerequisite... the situation in Pontianak must be completely under control. We can't fight, we can't let things get out of control, we can't push the Dutch too far, and we certainly can't give the British or French a pretext to intervene. This matter, from beginning to end, must be a 'limited, controllable, defensive local conflict.' Do you understand?"

Chang Desheng understood everything, and everything was clear.

The Germans only wanted to gain an advantage and didn't want to cause trouble... they didn't even want to fall out with the Netherlands over the port of Pontianak. Wilhelm II and his sister Wilhelmina had a very close relationship; historically, after the fall of the Solon Kingdom, he went to Wilhelmina's Netherlands to retire.

"So," Moltke pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, flicked out a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff, "Schneider Electric needs to send an after-sales service team over. Twenty-three men, all veterans who have fought in Africa and dealt with natives; they know how to fight in the rainforest."

He exhaled a puff of smoke.

"The captain's name is Hanfer Hervaman, a former Imperial Army sergeant major, a senior security chief for the East Africa Company, and formerly served under the 'Iron-Blooded Specialist' Vivaman in East Africa. His twenty-two subordinates are all non-commissioned officers, encompassing infantry, cavalry, engineers, medics, and other branches of the military. In the past, they were nominally training clients on how to use their equipment, but in reality..."

'

Maoqi looked at Chang Desheng and said, word by word, "It is to ensure that the situation in Pontianak is completely under control."

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