"What I figure also. And there's this added advantage." He pointed to the face of the breechblock. "The rifle is a single-shot, you understand. Still needs to be reloaded each time it's fired. But we can used prepared cartridges—no need for messy and clumsy powder flasks—and you see this edged blade here? It will cut the linen cartridge and expose the powder, all at the same time, which makes everything very quick. All you have to do—"
He broke off while he demonstrated the steps by which the rifle was to be loaded, ending with: "And now you simply place the percussion cap on the nipple—like . . . so—and all that's left is to cock the hammer and pull the trigger."
He extended the weapon to his superior. "Go on, try it."
Turenne fit the stock against his shoulder, cocked the hammer, and took aim at the post some twenty yards down the range. "Anything I should know?"
"Prepare to have a bruised shoulder, if you fire it enough."
Turenne frowned. "I thought it was only a half-inch bore."
"It is. What the Americans would call a .50 caliber. But it's a .50 caliber carbine, Henri. You wanted a light gun, short enough for cavalrymen to handle easily. There isn't much weight there to absorb the recoil."
"So I did—and so it is. I forgot—well, to be honest, I didn't really expect Yves could have it done in time."
He pulled the trigger, not trying for more than an indifferent aim. Then, lowered the rifle and gave it a very respectful look. "Sure enough, it kicks like a mule."
"Something else to keep the troops happy, in their grousing. But they'll love it, they surely will. This is a real cavalryman's weapon. The first gun you could properly call that in history, I think."
"Yes, it is." Seeing that Thibault had finally concluded his self-deliberations, Turenne placed the rifle back on the bench.
"I can have two thousand ready by then, Marshal. No more, I'm afraid. But training is very important if the rifle is to be used properly. So I will have twenty guns ready in two weeks, so your sergeants and officers can start learning how to use it soon enough to train the rest."
Turenne pursed his lips, while he did his own much quicker calculations. "Two thousand should be enough, I think. It means I can arm almost half—well, no need to get into the details. Intending no offense, Yves, but the enemy has spies too."
"None of my business," the gunmaker agreed pleasantly. "And now, I'll take your leave and give Francois his new marching orders."
After he was gone, du Barry turned to Turenne. "Are you sure—"
"Robert, please! I know you want to accompany the expedition, but that's just foolish. I have enough good cavalry commanders. This—right here—is where you're indispensable. Without you to serve as my watchdog, these maniacal gunsmiths would have gone in twenty different directions. You know it as well as I do. We need a real soldier in command here."
Du Barry took a breath, and blew it out loudly. "Well, so be it. Are you still planning the same campaign?"
"Basically, yes." Turenne looked back at the rifle. "But with these . . . I think I can add a nice extra touch. Send perhaps a third of the force to threaten Hesse-Kassel while I press on to the target with the rest. I'd keep all the breechloaders—what name have you picked for them, by the way?—for the main force, since they'd make up for the fewer numbers, and the diversionary force wouldn't actually need to engage in any real fighting."
Smiling slyly—and perhaps a bit ruefully—du Barry ran fingers through his hair. "Well, that's a problem, there. What to name the rifle, I mean. It depends on whether you'd prefer to taunt the enemy or instill pride in our own. If the former, then why not just call it a Sharps rifle? Let the damned Americans grind their teeth, that we have their own famous historical rifle and they have nothing but muskets."
Turenne chuckled. "Well . . . it's tempting. But not altogether wise, I think. Besides, it's not even really true. Yes, we got the design of the gun from our spies, but the key is the percussion caps. Which—"
Here, his chest swelled with genuine pride. "Resulted entirely from the genius of France."
Turenne was not a puffed-up peacock by nature, however. So, a second or two later, his chest deflated and a similar smile came to his face. Half-sly; half-rueful. "I grant you, the genius consisted mostly in hiring a German alchemy wizard, who did the actual work."
"John Rudolph Glauber." Du Barry shook his head. "It's amazing, in a way, that he could see what not even the up-timers could. They decided to abandon any quick attempt to develop percussion caps because they could only think of using fulminate of mercury." He grimaced. "Which is, indeed, very nasty stuff. We lost three men here, ourselves—and twice that many, maimed or badly injured—before Glauber came up with his alternative of using potassium chlorate, as he calls it."