Smith found the words eerily familiar, yet the scene and the people in front of him were entirely different from his memories. This contrast only deepened his sense of wonder. Indeed, life experiences often transcend history and eras, resonating across time.
His grandfather, King William, nodded in approval, once again praising Dreyse for his humility. With that, the demonstration and explanation portion concluded. According to usual practice, the next step was for the Junker gentlemen to test the latest Dreyse rifle, imbued with a touch of Mauser's ingenuity.
Naturally, King William was the first to take the shot. Smith watched closely. From the moment Paul Mauser demonstrated the rifle's impressive rate of fire, his grandfather had been itching to give it a try. As for his father, Frederick, he was equally restless, his excitement betrayed by the occasional twitching of his arm muscles.
Sure enough, as King William stepped up to the firing line with the Dreyse 1862 in hand, Frederick couldn't hold back either. He hoisted Smith onto his shoulders to free up his hands, then eagerly took the rifle from Paul Mauser. This gave Smith an even closer look at the weapon.
The Dreyse 1862, having just been fired rapidly, was still faintly smoking in the chilly spring air on the outskirts of Berlin. It emitted the distinctive scent of burnt gunpowder—a smell Smith knew well. Before his time travel, during the Lunar New Year, this scent would fill the streets, emanating from countless firecrackers. It was the smell of black powder.
This was no surprise. In 1862, although nitrocellulose had already been invented, industrialized, and even applied in engineering and military fields, its performance was still unstable. Improper storage could lead to spontaneous combustion or explosions. As such, this highly energetic material had yet to be used in firearms or artillery propellants. The Dreyse 1862 before him clearly used black powder cartridges.
Frederick was clearly fascinated by the ammunition used in the Dreyse 1862. After examining the rifle for a while, he asked Paul Mauser to bring over a wooden box that resembled a teaching aid for bullet structure. He wanted to delve deeper into the revolutionary ammunition.
"Mr. Mauser," Frederick began after studying the box for a long time, "won't using copper cartridge cases significantly increase the cost of bullets? After all, copper is much more expensive than paper."
"On the contrary, Your Royal Highness," Paul Mauser replied confidently. "Using copper cartridge cases not only doesn't increase the cost but actually makes them cheaper than paper cartridges."
Frederick's face showed clear doubt, prompting Mauser to elaborate.
"As you know, the cost of raw materials accounts for only a small portion of a product's production cost. The wear and tear of production tools is also minimal. The largest expense comes from labor, which is closely tied to the time required for production. While copper is indeed more expensive than paper, the processing time for copper cartridge cases is far shorter than that for paper cartridges."
"How is that possible?" Frederick asked in astonishment. "How is this achieved?"
"The paper used for paper cartridges isn't ordinary writing paper," Mauser explained. "It's been nitrated, and this nitration process is performed by us. In other words, before making paper cartridges, we have to immerse sheets of paper in nitration solution, dry them, and press them flat—a process that consumes significant time and costly nitration solution."
Frederick began to grasp Mauser's point, nodding as he listened. Mauser continued:
"And that's just the start. The entire process of making paper cartridges relies entirely on manual labor. From cutting the paper, rolling the cartridges, filling them with powder, attaching the base and bullet, to finally sealing them, every step requires skilled workers. Training such a worker takes at least three months, which also incurs costs.
"In contrast, the production of copper cartridge cases is mechanized. Workers only need to operate machines to punch copper discs from sheets, shape them into cartridge cases, and finish them with minor adjustments to the base and rim. The final steps of loading powder and bullets can also be mechanized.
"Moreover, these tasks aren't performed by a single worker. Each worker handles one step before passing the semi-finished product to the next. Overall, the time required to make a copper cartridge is about two-thirds that of a paper cartridge. Even accounting for copper's higher material cost, the new copper cartridges are still slightly cheaper than paper cartridges!"
Frederick now fully understood, his gaze increasingly drawn to the individual bullet components in the wooden box.
Smith's attention was also on the box, but his focus was on the bullet's design.
Modern bullets are typically associated with a jacketed lead core, the jacket often made of copper or another metal. While this design is commonplace in the 21st century, such jackets appeared much later than copper cartridge cases. From Smith's knowledge of firearms, even rifles like the Martini-Henry and Mauser 1871 fired unjacketed bullets.
The Dreyse 1862 bullets lacked metal jackets as well, but they featured a white material on the exterior of the projectile. Though Smith wasn't entirely sure, his instincts suggested this was likely a sabot, similar to those used in the paper cartridges of the earlier Dreyse 1841. However, this time, the sabot didn't need to house a primer.
In other words, this new Dreyse ammunition was likely a form of subcaliber discarding sabot round!
In the blueprints left to Smith by "Smiling Willi," there was a detailed design for the paper cartridge of the Dreyse needle-gun. As a rifled firearm, the Dreyse rifle had a caliber of 15.4 millimeters, corresponding to the diameter of its lands. The paper cartridge's diameter, however, was 15.2 millimeters—seemingly too small to stay in the chamber without slipping out. However, an additional paper casing enveloped the cartridge, increasing its overall diameter to 16.5 millimeters. This ensured the ammunition fit snugly into the rifling and stayed securely in place.
Due to the inclusion of the sabot, the bullet diameter was smaller than the rifle's caliber. The bullet for the Dreyse 1841 rifle had a diameter of 13.6 millimeters, 1.8 millimeters smaller than the caliber. With the sabot and paper casing in place, the bullet never made direct contact with the rifle's barrel during firing, reducing the likelihood of lead fouling.
This new metal cartridge design retained the sabot-and-bullet structure, likely due to both design inertia and the desire to minimize barrel fouling.
As Smith pondered this, Friedrich spoke again:
"I noticed some changes to the bullet's design. Could you explain them to me?"
"At your service, Your Highness!" Paul Mauser replied, picking up the wooden box and pointing to some components within.
"As you can see, this new bullet still consists of a sabot and a bullet, but it incorporates several improvements over the Dreyse 1841's design.
The new Dreyse rifle retains the same 15.4-millimeter caliber as the 1841 model. However, with the removal of the paper casing, the sabot's diameter has increased to 15.8 millimeters, allowing it to engage the rifling directly. Additionally, the new sabot is larger in volume, extending beyond merely supporting the bullet's rear. It now partially encloses the bullet's front, preventing it from detaching during transport or handling."
As Paul Mauser explained, Smith and Friedrich turned their attention to the sabots and cross-sections in the box. From the cross-section, it was clear that the sabot now encased approximately three-quarters of the bullet. The bullet's shape had also changed significantly from the old Dreyse design.
The old Dreyse bullet resembled a flat-bottomed ice cream cone, with a round, full-bodied front tapering from about one-third of its length to facilitate separation from the sabot. The new Dreyse bullet, however, was spindle-shaped, with a longer, more pointed upper section comprising about two-thirds of its length. This design was clearly intended to ensure the sabot's grip on the bullet.
Smith also noted that the depth at which the sabot and bullet were seated within the cartridge had been carefully calculated. Roughly half the sabot's length was inserted into the cartridge, positioning the bullet's widest part inside the casing. This arrangement provided additional stability, preventing accidental detachment during transport or jostling.
Anticipating Friedrich's next question, Paul Mauser continued after a brief pause:
"Of course, while this design prevents the bullet from detaching accidentally, it necessitates changes to the separation mechanism after firing. In the old ammunition, the sabot only supported the bullet's rear, so air resistance could easily dislodge it after firing. With the new design, the sabot also encloses the bullet's front, rendering the old separation method ineffective."
As he spoke, Mauser pulled two small objects from his pocket. Smith scrutinized them and immediately recognized their purpose: they were sabots for the new metal cartridge, designed in two halves. Before and during firing, the two halves were held together by the friction of the brass casing and the barrel. Once the bullet exited the muzzle and the friction was released, centrifugal force and air resistance caused the sabot to split apart, separating cleanly from the bullet.
Paul Mauser's explanation perfectly matched Smith's deduction, though this came as no surprise to him.
"Brilliant design!" Friedrich exclaimed, clapping his hands. As a commander focused primarily on strategy, Friedrich lacked such detailed insights into military technology, making Mauser's explanation all the more novel and impressive to him.
"Did you design this sabot as well?" Friedrich asked, taking the two halves from Mauser and examining them with interest.
"I thought you were an excellent firearms designer, but I didn't expect you to have such innovations in ammunition as well!"
"You're too kind," Paul Mauser replied with a proud smile.
"This sabot, like the bullet, is my design. However, much of the inspiration came from my father."
Smith had a good idea of what Mauser meant. The Mauser family was renowned for their expertise in small arms. Paul Mauser's father, Franz Mauser, was a highly skilled gunsmith known for his meticulous craftsmanship and ingenious designs in their hometown of Oberndorf.
Despite his talents, Franz Mauser's income was stretched thin by his large family—he and his wife had 13 children, with Paul being the youngest. To support his family, Franz worked overtime at the armory and crafted additional firearms and ammunition at home, many featuring inventive designs. It was no wonder Paul had absorbed so much inspiration from his father.
However, this topic was not of great interest to Friedrich or Paul Mauser. After a brief introduction, the conversation returned to the ammunition at hand.
"One thing I noticed," Frederick said after a moment, lifting his gaze from the wooden box to meet Paul Mauser's eyes, "is that the diameter of this new bullet seems significantly smaller than the old one, but it's also noticeably longer. What's the reasoning behind this design?"
"Your Highness, your keen observation is truly remarkable," Paul Mauser replied, with a hint of flattery. "In the old Dreyse paper cartridge, the bullet diameter was 13.6 millimeters with a length of 26.9 millimeters. For the new rifle cartridge, the diameter has been drastically reduced to 8.3 millimeters, while the length has increased to 33.1 millimeters. This change in design stems from two main considerations:
"First, the alteration in the cartridge case design necessitated a longer bullet for secure attachment and a smaller diameter to ensure the structural integrity of the cartridge case, as the new design requires it to withstand greater stresses.
"Second, we discovered that a smaller diameter and greater length provide superior lethality. This aspect was even more compelling than the first in driving the change."
"Forgive my ignorance," Frederick said with a shrug, raising the rifle in his hand. "If my calculations are correct, despite the bullet being longer, the significant reduction in diameter means its weight has decreased substantially. I recall that the bullet for the Dreyse 1841 rifle weighed around 34 grams, while this new bullet likely weighs less than 20 grams. How can the lethality increase when the bullet weight has decreased?"
"The answer lies in velocity and aerodynamics!" Paul Mauser succinctly replied before elaborating further: "You are correct; the new bullet weighs less than 20 grams—more precisely, it weighs only 15.3 grams, less than half the weight of the old Dreyse bullet. However, the muzzle velocity of this new bullet reaches 530 meters per second—"
"What?" Frederick interrupted, startled by the figure. "Did I hear that correctly? You said 530 meters per second, not 350?"
"You heard correctly, Your Highness," Mauser said with a broad grin, his mustache curling upward. "The muzzle velocity is indeed 530 meters per second!"
"My God!" Frederick exclaimed, clearly astonished. It took him a moment to process the information before he murmured to himself, "530 meters per second… That's faster than the speed of sound!"
"Precisely," Mauser confirmed, offering a vivid explanation. "This means that if you were to fire at an enemy 200 meters away, they would be hit before they even heard the gunshot."
Frederick lifted the new Dreyse 1862 rifle in his hands, his expression one of awe and disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. Had Smith not been perched on his father's shoulders, he would have noticed the crown prince's childlike wonder at the weapon.
"This is nothing short of miraculous, Mr. Mauser," Frederick finally said after a long pause. "The muzzle velocity of our old Dreyse 1841 rifle was only 305 meters per second, and now this new rifle nearly doubles that!"
"That's the advantage of a lighter bullet," Mauser continued his explanation. "A higher muzzle velocity means a flatter trajectory, making it easier for soldiers to aim. Additionally, the reduced flight time minimizes the impact of wind, target movement, and other variables, significantly improving accuracy."
Frederick nodded in agreement. Though not an expert in small arms, he understood the basic principles. Mauser, with evident pride, added, "You may have noticed during the firing demonstration earlier that I hit 15 targets with 15 shots using this new rifle, while the shooter using the Dreyse 1841 rifle needed 17 shots to hit the same number of targets."
Smith could feel Frederick's body trembling slightly, a mix of excitement and exhilaration. As a commanding officer, Frederick fully grasped the revolutionary implications of a rifle in 1862 capable of firing over 15 rounds per minute with a muzzle velocity of 530 meters per second and exceptional accuracy.
"And from an energy perspective, the difference is even more striking," Mauser said, determined to leave a lasting impression on the already astounded crown prince. "The old Dreyse needle rifle had significant gas leakage issues. Despite using 4.85 grams of black powder, it could only propel a 34-gram bullet to a muzzle velocity of 305 meters per second, resulting in an energy output of less than 1,582 joules. This required a barrel length of 910 millimeters.
"With the new copper-cased cartridge, the gas leakage problem has been resolved. Using the same 4.85 grams of propellant and a shorter 810-millimeter barrel, the new rifle propels a 15.3-gram bullet to a muzzle velocity of 530 meters per second, generating nearly 2,149 joules of kinetic energy—a 35.8% increase over the old rifle!"
"Incredible… simply incredible…" Frederick muttered, his eyes fixed on the new Dreyse 1862 rifle, his mind still reeling. As a cavalry officer, he quickly regained his composure and posed another question to Mauser:
"I think I understand. But with such a high muzzle velocity, how does this ammunition perform in terms of lethality? Is there a risk that the bullet might pass clean through the target, causing only superficial damage?"
"Isn't this the very question you were pondering as well, my son?"
Before Paul Mauser could respond, King Wilhelm's voice rang out from not far away. Smith and Friedrich turned toward the sound to see the aging monarch, well past his sixtieth year, striding toward them with a rifle slung over his shoulder like a soldier. A faint wisp of smoke still curled from the muzzle—evidence that the king had thoroughly enjoyed himself. His flushed cheeks and lively tone were proof enough of his good spirits.
Before anyone could speak further, the old king reached the group, planted the rifle firmly on the ground, and pointed to Dreyse, who was following close behind.
"This is also a question I wanted to ask Mr. Dreyse. He mentioned a test that could demonstrate it quite clearly. Why don't we take a look together?"
Though Friedrich harbored some lingering tension with his father, this was not the moment to let familial discord show. He responded dutifully, "It would be my honor, dear father."
And so, the stage was set for Dreyse once again. Summoning the shooter who had previously demonstrated the Dreyse 1841 needle gun, Dreyse whispered instructions to him and a technician who looked like he had been brought in for the occasion. The makeshift demonstration area bustled with activity as preparations were made.
"What we are about to show you," Dreyse announced after clearing his throat, his slightly airy voice carrying over the crowd, "is the 'Soap Test.'"
Smith immediately understood what Dreyse was aiming for. Similar tests were common in modern ballistics, often using transparent gel to simulate human tissue, paired with high-speed cameras to capture the moment of impact. This allowed researchers to observe both the permanent cavity and the temporary cavity caused by a bullet.
But in 1862, transparent gel was still a thing of the future, and high-speed cameras were pure fantasy. In this nascent era of terminal ballistics, using soap for testing was cutting-edge innovation.
As Smith listened to Dreyse's explanation, he observed the technicians setting up two sets of boxes near the target area. Each set consisted of a larger and a smaller box, identical in width and height but differing in length. The smaller box was placed in front of the larger one.
"A well-nourished, healthy soldier typically has a torso thickness of about 30 centimeters," Dreyse explained. "So, we've placed a 30-centimeter-thick block of soap in the first, smaller box to simulate a human body. The larger box behind it contains a 1-meter-thick block of soap to capture the bullet after it passes through the first block."
The assembled Hohenzollerns, along with the Roon family, watched the technicians' efforts with keen interest. Soon, everything was ready. At Dreyse's command, two shooters fired nearly simultaneously. The twin gunshots rang out, followed by the sight of debris and smoke rising from the distant targets. Technicians stationed in the safety zone rushed forward, armed with saws and other tools. After some quick work, they carried the dissected targets back to the viewing area.
When the soap blocks were brought closer, Smith saw they had been carefully halved along the bullet paths, exposing the cavities left by the projectiles.
Friedrich, intrigued, picked Smith up again and approached for a closer look. The front of each soap block bore a neat entry hole, but the cross-sections revealed stark differences.
The cavity created by the Dreyse 1841 needle gun was a narrow, smooth track. Upon closer inspection, it was slightly conical, with the exit hole slightly larger than the entry. However, the difference was minimal.
The cavity from the new Dreyse 1862 rifle, on the other hand, told a vastly different story. The smaller diameter of the new bullet resulted in a tighter entry hole, but the cavity quickly widened dramatically. The rough, jagged track left behind was far more destructive, and the exit hole was as wide as a bowl. The damage was several times greater than that caused by the older rifle, obvious even without precise measurements.
At the sight, everyone with a "von" in their name let out genuine exclamations of astonishment. No one could recall how many times they had been amazed that day, as the sheer number of groundbreaking revelations was overwhelming.
"My God… what kind of devilish weapon is this?" Friedrich murmured, gently tracing the rough cavity left by the new rifle's bullet with his free hand.
"Such a small bullet… how could it cause such horrific wounds?"
"It's the shape of the bullet, Your Royal Highness," Paul Mauser explained, stepping forward with Dreyse's permission.
"The new bullet has an elongated design, with a length of 33.1 millimeters and a diameter of 8.3 millimeters, giving it a length-to-diameter ratio of nearly 4—unprecedented for rifle ammunition. According to the principles of natural science, a slender shape like this is more prone to deformation under equal material conditions. Lead, being relatively soft, deforms rapidly upon impact. Combined with the bullet's spin, this deformation causes the projectile to destabilize within the target, creating a much more erratic and destructive trajectory."
As he spoke, Mauser took an object from a technician and held it up for everyone to see.
"This is the bullet that just hit the soap block. You can see how it deformed."
Smith looked closely and saw that the bullet had bent almost 90 degrees at its midpoint. Its once-smooth surface was now pitted and misshapen, battered by the high-speed impact. Without Mauser's explanation, it would have been difficult to recognize it as a bullet at all.
"What a remarkable weapon," King Wilhelm murmured, taking the deformed bullet from Mauser. Turning to Dreyse, he said with conviction, "You've conquered me once again with your new rifle. This is exactly what I need!"