Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 48: Weapon Testing Part 3

The range officers moved first.

They treated the machine like artillery, not a rifle. Two men knelt at the mount, checking the legs, pressing them deeper into the packed earth. Another unscrewed the cap on the water jacket and poured from a metal canister until the level mark was reached. Steam curled briefly, then vanished.

A fourth man lifted the ammunition belt.

It was long. Too long.

Brass cartridges were linked together in a continuous chain, each round identical.

The belt fed across the tray and into the side of the gun, disappearing into the housing.

Napoleon I watched the preparation in silence.

"This is crew-served," Napoleon II said, standing beside him. "Not because it’s complicated. Because it changes how men fight when they’re alone."

He turned slightly, addressing the officers behind them.

"A single soldier fires until he reloads," he continued. "This fires until the belt ends."

The range officer raised his hand.

Downrange, new targets rose.

They weren’t single boards this time.

They were shaped like men.

Dozens of them.

Arranged in a wide line, shoulder to shoulder, stretching across the field at two hundred meters. Some stood upright. Some were mounted on frames that could move forward on rails.

Cavalry silhouettes.

Someone swallowed audibly.

Napoleon II nodded once.

"Begin," he said.

The gunner took position behind the machine gun. He leaned into it, shoulder braced, hands on the grips. His assistant stood beside him, one hand ready at the belt, the other on the water jacket.

The gunner squeezed the trigger.

The sound was not like rifle fire.

It was continuous. A ripping, tearing noise that filled the air and erased everything else. The gun didn’t buck. It vibrated, locked into its mount, the barrel cycling so fast it blurred.

The belt moved.

Rounds vanished into the gun and casings poured out the other side, clattering onto the ground in a growing pile of hot brass.

The targets didn’t fall.

They came apart.

Wood splintered. Frames shattered. Entire sections of the line collapsed under the impact, the silhouettes ripped through faster than the eye could follow. The moving targets lurched forward for a second, then stopped as their mechanisms were torn open.

The gun did not pause.

It did not slow.

The assistant poured more water into the jacket as steam hissed out, the gun cycling without interruption.

Napoleon II didn’t look at the gun.

He watched the field.

After thirty seconds, there was nothing standing.

The gun kept firing.

The range officer raised both arms and waved.

The gunner released the trigger.

Silence crashed down just as hard as the noise had risen.

Steam drifted from the barrel housing. The smell of burned powder hung in the cold air, sharp and metallic. Brass casings lay ankle-deep around the mount.

Someone counted under their breath.

Another officer whispered, "That was—"

Napoleon II spoke before anyone else could.

"Two thousand rounds," he said. "Fired continuously."

He turned back toward the observers.

Napoleon I hadn’t moved.

His hands were still clasped behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the empty field where targets had stood moments before.

"No formation survives that," Napoleon II said calmly. "Not line infantry. Not columns. And certainly not cavalry."

He gestured toward the shattered rails.

"A charge depends on momentum," he said. "Speed. Shock. Fear." He paused. "This removes all three."

One of the cavalry officers looked pale.

"You wouldn’t hear the command," Napoleon II went on. "You wouldn’t see the enemy clearly. Your horse would go down before you knew where the fire was coming from."

"Cavalry will still exist," he said. "But not like this. Not in frontal charges. They’ll scout. Screen. Exploit gaps." He glanced at the machine gun. "They will not break lines anymore."

Napoleon I finally spoke.

"...Mon Dieu."

The words were quiet. Almost reverent.

He turned slowly, looking at his son.

"All my life," he said, "I learned how to move men faster than the enemy could react." His jaw tightened. "You’ve built something that reacts faster than men can think."

"I’ll take it as a complement."

Napoleon I looked back at the field again. "Now, last but not least, the artillery."

Napoleon II nodded and stepped forward, stopping just short of the firing line. He didn’t gesture to the new gun yet. Instead, he turned back toward his father and the officers, his tone shifting—less demonstrative, more instructional.

"Before we go further," he said, "I want to remind everyone how artillery worked during the wars most of you fought."

He looked directly at Napoleon I.

"Especially you, Father."

A few officers straightened. They knew where this was going.

"In the old system," Napoleon II continued, "a gun crew loads from the muzzle. The barrel must be run forward. Powder bag in. Ram it down. Shot in. Ram it again. Prime the vent. Pull the lanyard."

He spoke evenly, almost conversationally.

"After firing, the entire piece jumps backward. The crew hauls it forward again by hand. They realign it by eye. If the ground is uneven, the shot is off. If the crew is tired, the shot is slow. If the enemy is advancing, you get maybe two rounds a minute if everything goes right."

He paused.

"And if it doesn’t?"

No one answered.

Napoleon I exhaled slowly. He remembered. Everyone there did.

"You trained men to compensate for that," Napoleon II said. "You drilled discipline into them. Timing. Courage under fire. Entire doctrines built around keeping formations steady while your guns struggled to keep pace."

He turned slightly, motioning behind him.

"That struggle is over."

At his signal, the artillery crew finished rolling the field gun into place. It looked nothing like the heavy, squat cannon of the previous wars. The barrel was slimmer, longer. The carriage sat low. Steel shield angled forward. The recoil housing beneath the barrel gleamed faintly.

Napoleon II rested a hand on the shield. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"This is the Model 1829 Rapid Field Gun," he said. "Seventy-five millimeter."

The artillery officers leaned in despite themselves.

"It is breech-loaded," he continued. "Fixed ammunition. Shell and charge as one unit. No ramming. No separate powder bags."

One of the gunners opened the breech to demonstrate. The mechanism slid open cleanly. A single round was inserted. The breech snapped shut with a solid metallic lock.

Napoleon II tapped the recoil housing.

"Hydraulic recoil system," he said. "When the gun fires, the barrel absorbs the force and returns to battery automatically. The carriage does not move."

Napoleon I’s head lifted sharply.

"It stays... in place?"

"Yes," Napoleon II said. "Which means the gun remains aimed."

The crew took their positions.

Downrange, new targets were raised. This time, they were not silhouettes. They were earthworks—mock infantry trenches, wooden revetments, stacked barriers meant to simulate fortified positions.

Napoleon II stepped aside.

"Fire."

The gun cracked.

It was a sharp, violent sound, but contained. The barrel snapped backward only inches, then slid forward smoothly. Dust kicked up at the target, followed by a concussive thud.

Before the echo faded, the breech opened.

Another round went in.

Fire.

Again.

And again.

The shots came fast. Too fast for traditional artillery. Each round landed within meters of the last. The revetments shattered. Earth flew. The trench line collapsed inward under the repeated impacts.

The gun did not shift.

The crew did not reposition.

They fired fifteen rounds in under a minute.

Napoleon II raised his hand.

Cease fire.

Silence returned, broken only by falling debris downrange.

"This," Napoleon II said, "is direct fire artillery that keeps up with infantry."

He turned back to the officers.

"You no longer wait for guns to catch up. You don’t protect them while they reload. They advance with you. They suppress, destroy, and move again."

Napoleon I stared at the ruined fieldworks.

"At Austerlitz," he said quietly, "I won by timing artillery volleys to moments." He shook his head once. "You’ve removed timing from the equation. These weapons...should be adopted by the army this instant!"

"Well Father, I’m not the only one who made this possible, it is thanks to the best work of the arms manufacturing company that are here with us today and the chemical company that would supply the ammunition to us," Napoleon II looked at the industrialists who were watching with interest and they bowed their heads reverently.

That is how it would work, he would give them the blueprint and the technical know-how, similar to how kings give charters to the company but they are under strict rule of not giving it away to French’s rivals. In return, he would receive royalty for every gun and ammunition sold. And thanks to it, Napoleon II bank account in the National Bank is in the hundred million francs.