Chapter 190: Mortar Testing
The mortar test took place at the base's firing range.
The range was vast, spanning over a thousand meters, far exceeding the mortar's maximum range of 700 meters. To simulate real combat, the instructor had a trench dug about 600 meters away as the target for the training officers. Naturally, no one would be stationed inside to observe.
The artillery officers quickly took charge, stabilizing the mortars and leveling them. Based on the shell's initial velocity and the distance to the target, they calculated the necessary settings and made the appropriate adjustments, sparing the instructors some effort. Every now and then, the instructors only needed to remind them of key safety precautions.
With experience, mortar operators often learn to rely on instinct, firing and moving immediately without checking accuracy, sometimes even holding the mortar by hand rather than setting it up properly.
"Gentlemen," Dominic shouted repeatedly to emphasize, "if a shell fails to fire, do not try to extract it. Lie flat and move away! Please, remember this rule!"
The current mortar rounds weren't completely safe; occasionally, damp primers prevented the fuse from igniting. Attempting to remove a faulty round often resulted in a disastrous explosion, obliterating both operator and weapon.
A salvo of mortar shells fired, exploding near the trench with successive blasts.
One officer surveyed the impact points and shouted to Charles, who was standing nearby. "Major, the accuracy doesn't seem impressive!"
It seemed the officers preferred to direct their comments to Charles rather than the instructors.
Before Charles could respond, another artillery officer interjected, "That's because it's meant to fire 25 rounds a minute, Bertrand!"
The other officers chuckled.
Bertrand understood the implication: if one round wasn't accurate enough, sheer volume would compensate. Firing 25 rounds a minute, the target would almost certainly be obliterated by shrapnel or sheer force within that time frame.
Having understood this, Bertrand called out to Charles, "Major, can we give it a try? Twenty-five rounds a minute!"
The instructors had issued each officer only a single shell, leaving them with no more after firing.
"No, Lieutenant Colonel!" Charles replied loudly. "That's precisely what you'll be practicing this week—it's not as simple as it looks. I'd rather not see any of you 'graduate early!'"
The officers laughed, understanding the euphemism for accidents.
Bertrand, however, remained skeptical. He glanced at the mortar, puzzled. "Major, what could be so dangerous? All we need to do is drop the shell into the tube!"
"Are you certain your round has already fired?" Charles countered, raising his voice so all could hear. "Did you hear the shot? What if someone else's shot made you think yours fired? What would you do next?"
The officers froze, and one murmured, "He'd load another round, then…'graduate early.'"
This time, the officers didn't laugh, instead exchanging serious glances, including Colonel Christine. For the first time, they grasped the full significance of the training: if these mortars were simply handed to soldiers and labeled "25 rounds per minute," the resulting accidents could be catastrophic, even more dangerous than mishandling grenades.
Dominic gave Charles a look of astonishment, leaning in to whisper, "You're absolutely right, Major. I was about to cover that hazard. Did you figure it out…by intuition?"
"Yes," Charles nodded.
In fact, this was a known precaution for modern mortars. Accidents on battlefields—and even in training—had led to what was now a well-known safety rule: no "repeat loading."
"An outstanding lesson, Major," Dominic said, glancing at the officers, who were reflecting on this in the light drizzle. "You captured their interest and underscored the mortar's importance in just a few words. I never considered explaining it that way!"
"It's not hard, Colonel," Charles replied calmly. "You just have to know what's most important to your 'students'—what they care about most."
Dominic nodded thoughtfully, responding, "They care most about the battlefield and the lives of themselves and their men. What interests them are the tools that will keep them alive. So, you approached it from that angle!"
Charles smiled slightly; Dominic had a good grasp and would likely be an excellent instructor.
…
Upon returning to headquarters, Charles immediately reported to General Gallieni. "The training is going well, General. The officers agree that the front-line units need this equipment," he said, handing Gallieni a proposal and cost breakdown. "Given the current situation, I estimate that each battalion could benefit from six mortars."
This was a standard approach in modern armies: placing a mortar squad within each battalion. When required, the battalion commander could reassign mortars to provide extra firepower to particular companies.
Gallieni nodded, mainly noting that the mortars were relatively inexpensive at 700 francs each, totaling only 4,200 francs for six units. "Should every battalion have these?" he asked.
"You could follow up with the officers for feedback," Charles replied confidently. "Or we could start with a small purchase, equipping a single division for field testing before deciding to equip all units."
"Good idea!" Gallieni agreed with the second suggestion. "Let's start with one division."
Charles had anticipated this answer and promptly responded, "Seventy-two mortars would suffice, but if we'd like additional support at the regiment level, I recommend ninety-six. Add a few spares, and an even hundred mortars would be ideal."
Gallieni nodded his approval. "One hundred it is," he agreed. At a cost of only seventy thousand francs, it was a modest investment for the army.
As Gallieni was about to sign, Charles suppressed a grin, knowing the real profit would come from the mortar shells, priced at twenty francs each.
But suddenly, Gallieni paused, his pen hovering mid-air. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "I hear this mortar can fire 25 rounds a minute. Didn't you compare it to a long-range grenade?"
Charles braced himself. The general was learning quickly from previous encounters.
As expected, Gallieni looked back at the pricing sheet, tapping the price per shell. "Shouldn't this be lower than twenty francs?"
Charles put on a reluctant expression. "General, it's already as low as possible. If you're dissatisfied, perhaps you could look elsewhere to compare…"
This remark implied that no one else was producing this weapon—take it or leave it.
Gallieni raised an eyebrow. "Hand grenades cost only 1.5 francs each. If this is a long-range grenade, wouldn't three francs each be fair?"
Charles was stunned. Was this even a reasonable way to assess costs?
He countered, "If soldiers throw grenades at no cost, shouldn't mortars be free too?"
Gallieni nodded, looking entirely serious. "An excellent suggestion—it sounds perfectly reasonable!" He said this with a straight face, not the slightest hint of a smile.
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