The officer nodded slowly. 'What you say is true, though I have only lately determined that course. And I spoke of it to no one. How could you possibly know?'
'Because I feel that I know you, lieutenant. I know your pride in your ability as a cavalryman — and your unique dedication to that craft. I am now going to show you a weapon that I am sure you will appreciate. But first, might I ask you a question? Are your troops equipped with the new Sharps breechloading rifle?'
'No — but I wish they were. In spite of all the fancy talk the Army has scarcely any of them.'
'A good weapon?'
'The best. Too cumbersome to be used from horseback by cavalry, but still a fine infantry weapon. A trained soldier can get off six, maybe seven shots a minute.'
'Indeed,' McCulloch said, obviously not too impressed. He opened the box and reached inside. 'In that case, lieutenant, what would you say to a weapon that wasn't much larger than a horse pistol — and could fire more than ten shots every second ?'
The lieutenant's voice was hushed as he looked into the box. 'I would say, sir, that if such a weapon did exist, why then that warfare would be a very different thing indeed.'
McCulloch placed the steel form of the submachinegun into his hands.
'Compact, ugly, deadly,' McCulloch said. 'With the metal stock folded it is just twenty inches long. It weighs only six and half pounds. This metal box contains thirty-two rounds of ammunition. It clips into place underneath the receiver, here. Now I will demonstrate how to fire the weapon. This small knob is drawn back fully, until it clicks into place. That is all that must be done — because the gun will do all the rest. When the trigger is depressed it will fire. When the trigger is released it will stop. It will do this until the ammunition in the box is exhausted. Then it will take you only a moment to insert a new box — the soldiers will carry bandoliers of these boxes fully loaded. Now watch.'
McCulloch swung about, the gun at his waist, and depressed the trigger. It roared out, again and again, sending a hail of bullets through the trees and into the grassy bank beyond. Leaves and twigs floated down in the sunlight; a branch broke and dropped to the ground. Then the firing stopped and their heads rang with the echo of the sound. A click and the empty cartridge box dropped to the ground; click, a new one was inserted. He turned and handed the weapon to the cavalryman.
'Hold it firmly. The recoil is slight, but it will climb up and to the right. Therefore you should fire short bursts letting the muzzle drop back on your target again after each burst.'
The lieutenant reached out and took the gun, feeling the cool metal of the stock, the warmth of the short barrel. He raised it slowly to his shoulder, looked over the fixed sights, then pulled the trigger. It hammered loudly, again and again, brass shells raining to the ground, lead bullets screaming out. When the last shot had been fired he looked down at the gun — then up at McCulloch — his eyes wide with excitement.
'This — this is incredible! I never imagined anything like it. A single soldier, a mounted trooper, can have the firing power of an entire squad.'
'And he can also fire while mounted, while riding at the enemy. The sights are fixed at a hundred yards, but they aren't really needed. The gun sprays bullets like water from a hose. Just sweep it back and forth and the enemy is destroyed. This gun is called… the Victory.'
'And it will bring victory,' the lieutenant said, laughing aloud with enthusiasm. 'This will change the entire role of cavalry, turn it into the supreme striking force of a new army. It will make lightning war, hitting hard, suddenly, destructively. With this the cavalry could strike the enemy a mortal blow. They could hit and destroy — and even keep moving on while leaving the infantry to mop up. But how does it operate? How is it made? I have heard nothing of its existence before, not even a whisper of rumour.'
'That is because it is a secret known to but a few, true friends of the South. I make the guns myself, openly in my Richmond plant. The parts, when separate, do not even resemble those of a gun. They are assembled at a secret site where the cartridges are also manufactured. Without these new cartridges the Victory is just a collection of dead metal. With them — why it is the Victory!'
McCulloch pushed his thumb against the open end of one of the loaded clips and extracted a squat cartridge, passed it over. 'Short and solid. The bullet weighs one-hundred and fifteen grains, the charge of powder six. The casing is made of brass drawn to shape on a special machine that is manufactured in the British Isles. The priming cap contains fulminating powder, the same sort that you will find in the pin fire cartridge. But the resemblance ends there. This is a centre fire cartridge and does not have to be inserted and removed by hand. The firing pin always impacts in the correct place. The recoil of the gun is harnessed to extract the spent cartridge, then insert a new one in its place.'
'So simple — and so obvious when you point it out.'
McCulloch nodded agreement. 'It needed but the design. The metal working and brass drawing tools were readily available. There is no mystery to this weapon. It is just better, cheaper, faster — and deadlier. I ask you now to imagine its use in battle. Soon the Union will be sundered, our South will be a country in its own right at last. The war that will surely follow could be a short, efficient war. Or a drawn out and deadly one. To be absolutely sure that the war will end at once — what must be done?'
'Why — march on Washington City, of course. It is poorly defended, the troops there raw and untrained. They would probably fight, probably make a stand at Bull Run, that's the obvious place to draw the lines.'
'It is indeed,' McCulloch agreed, smiling to himself. 'So what would happen to these troops if you were to attack them with five thousand horsemen — each armed with a Victory?'
'What indeed! It would indeed be a victory. We would be unstoppable. We would take Washington and destroy any troops foolish enough to attempt to take it back. The war would be won and the South would be free. To take its rightful place among the nations of the world.' He spun about and seized McCulloch by the hand.
'I am your man, sir. I will get the troopers if you will supply the guns. It will be done just as you have described it! Thank you, Colonel McCulloch.'
'No, Lieutenant Stuart, I am but the instrument. All the thanks should go to you.'
J. E. B. Stuart was only half-listening; his eyes had a distant look, as though he were gazing into the future and seeing the attacking troopers, the battles and the victories that his horsemen and this Victory weapon would surely provide.
Chapter 29
It was just after six-thirty in the morning when Hicks and Yancy knocked on the front door of the Blue House hotel. They had to knock again, louder, before it was opened by Mrs Henley herself, arms bare, face flushed from the kitchen fire.
'Do you know what the hour is? What do you mean bothering honest people with all that hammering at this time of day?'
'Sorry, mam, but we came to find a Mr Shaw who's staying here. Got an urgent message from Colonel McCulloch for him.'
'It's too early for messages. Mr Shaw's asleep and I haven't even made the coffee yet.'
'Well, we don't want to bother him, not when he's still abed. I hear tell he's got a nigger with him. Where he at? I can go and get him and he can stir his master up.'
'Out back in the stable. And I don't have any more time for jawing.'
The door slammed in their faces. 'You stay here,' Hicks said. 'Make sure he don't try to sashay out the front door while we hanging around the back. I'll see to that fire-raising buck.'
Yancy settled down on the steps while Hicks got the big pistol from the holster on his saddle, then went quietly down the alleyway towards the rear of the house. Yancy pulled a piece of grass and chewed on it slowly until Hicks returned.