The Iron Chancellor

by Radical Centrist

"Imported" guns

Author's Note:

I'm sorry for the amount of time skips in the story. It's just that I can't be bothered to write the boring stuff that happens in between events.

Bismarck stood, claws behind his back looking at the griffons he had assembled fidgetting with their new firearms. Obviously, they were unloaded as he definitely did not want to have to deal with a dead Griffin who had shot themselves whilst observing the end of the barrel. He heard several clicks, as the griffons pulled on the trigger, and attempted to replicate the noise by following the same motions, but yielding no result.

"ATTENTION!" Bismarck shouted, which attracted the curious griffons away from their newly-acquired guns.

Bismarck cleared his throat, after ensuring he had their attention, "You may be wondering why you've been chosen among many to be a part of the"

"What are we holding?" A random Griffin asked, stepping out of their lazily formulated line.

"-yes, I was just getting to that," Bismarck said, slightly annoyed that his introduction speech was interrupted. "What you are currently holding onto is what's called a bolt-action rifle."

"What is a-"

"ALL you need to know is that it functions a lot like a crossbow, except faster, stronger and more accurate." Bismarck didn't like the common soldiery knowing or questioning any further than they were instructed to. He would have to 'fix' their mindset very quickly to avoid any further interruptions or 'complications'. "There will be no further questions, I only need you all to listen and look towards me for the demonstration."

The gathered griffons looked at each other, and then to their rifles. They knew not to question authority, no matter who wielded it and scolded themselves for forgetting the one principal which kept them alive for so long.

"First! you must hold your rifle properly, for you must be ready to fire at any moment." Bismarck held his own rifle, gripping near the trigger and holding the end, displaying his actions for the assembled griffons to see.

The griffons held the rifles as instructed, however one accidentally gripped the trigger, causing an audible "click" to shamefully escape from the embarrassed griffons' rifle.

"You may have noticed that your rifles only click once. That's because your bolt has to be cocked for the trigger to work its purpose." Bismarck gripped the bolt openly for every griff to see and lifted it. "What are you waiting for?! Copy it!" Bismarck yelled at the slow, dumbstruck griffons, who promptly followed his example. "Now, pull it back like so." The griffons quickly followed. "Next, direct your attention to the gap that has now opened up on your rifle." Bismarck gestured to where the cartridge would enter, however, a few griffons began looking at the barrel instead. "I said now, so why would it be the barrel?" Bismarck tiredly groaned, the griffons who were still confused simply looked around at their fellow griffs and emulated them, finally looking at the right place.

"Alright. Grab the strip magazines and align the flat ends towards you and its sharp point towards the barrel." Bismarck couldn't demonstrate this, as his gun was already loaded, and him cycling through them would just distract the griffons and waste valuable time. He hoped that the griffons would be able to figure this one out by themselves.

Alas, all the griffons present scratched their heads in confusion, as they did not know what a "strip magazine" was, and they were too afraid to ask. Bismarck saw this and face-clawed himself.

"... They were the ones that I gave to you all alongside the rifles." Bismarck groaned out, but quickly regained his integrity when all the griffons somehow retrieved their strips from underneath their wings. Huh... Can I do that too? Bismarck thought, as he grabbed another stripper clip beside him and deposited it beneath his wings, however, he found no success.

Hett, amid the formation, noticed Bismarcks' attempt to deposit something in between his feathers but failing miserably and so-called out to him, "You're doing it wrong! It's supposed to go in between the feathers, not in the midst of it!"

Bismarck flinched in the correction and looked around to see who had called out to him. When he singled out the perpetrator, he realised it was Hett who had corrected him, the rockhead. Bismarck shook the feeling of embarrassment and followed Hetts' advice, and was able to store the cartridge safely in his wings, which surprisingly didn't shift his sensation of balance or weight.

A soft cough redirected Bismarcks' attention away from studying his own body and towards the griffons who had all aligned their cartridges correctly and we're ready to insert them. Bismarck cleared his throat and resumed, "Now, push the cartridge down into the gap. If it doesn't go in, readjust it or else you might break it." Bismarck began to imagine some brutish griffon breaking the rifle as they stubbornly tried to insert a misaligned magazine by force. Luckily, they were all able to insert them properly, as presently every griffons' guns had an empty clip above the reciever.

"Finally, push down the bolt and turn it back to place." Upon doing this, Bismarcks' rifle ejected a cartridge, however, was unnoticed by the distracted griffons who saw their clips fling into the air by the closing bolt. In Bismarcks' disbelief, many of the griffons were able to catch the clips mid-air, as their eyes locked onto the flipping clips. A predators' eyes are sharp. Especially a bird of prey. Bismarck thought emptily, as he began to wonder if he could do the same things. "Now, draw your attention to the knob on the end of your bolt." Bismarck displayed the safety mechanism by turning it off and on. "By turning it upwards you can prevent the gun from firing, and by turning it to the left you can operate its functions." The griffons all began fiddling with the safety, turning it off and on to demonstrate their understanding. "Turn the safety off and stay clear from the trigger, also all eyes on me."

Everygriff removed a claw from the trigger and looked up to see Bismarck aiming to the left of them, his gun holstered close to him, with the guns' sight running down to his squinted eyes. "If you want to hit anything, you will need to aim down the sight," Bismarck instructed, letting go of his gun briefly to point at the sight, located near the barrels. He then began surveying the surrounding for a viable target, which prompted the griffons assembled to follow his aim.

Conveniently, a bird appeared in everygriffs' view and began to perch on top of the barracks' roof. Bismarck raised his rifle and grinned softly at his 'willing' target. Everygriff present either raised a brow in confusion or leaned in closer in expectation. Only Hett covered his ears as he knew what was coming.

Meanwhile, outside the factory, Paul had gathered a team to begin transporting the newly-made uniforms to the barracks. Surprisingly, cotton was extremely common here, as it took Paul more time to redesign the uniforms (to fit a griffon) than to actually find the materials for them. Paul then peaked into the crates to marvel again at what he had created. Inside, he saw several folded German standard uniforms and several steel pickelhaubes (I will call them Pike helmet from now on as they are the English translation), he had made steel helmets instead of wool ones, but not for the reason he expected, as there was virtually no wool around-
CRACK

Everygriff except Paul flinched, they all began looking around to locate the source of the noise, but Paul already knew. Bismarck must be having fun. Paul thought.

Comments

[kaiser0kolovos]

It is very convenient that Bismark and Mauser turned into Griffins, one of a few species in this planet that can use their forelimb digits as fingers.

If they were ponies, they'd have to redesign the trigger and loading mechanism to account for hooves.

Given their birdlike telescopic vision and their natural affinity with the weather (recognizing wind currents) Griffins would be natural snipers. They could probably only need iron sights to achieve accurate shots over 1000 m.

[the_sane_maniac]

The loser realistic writer: i must write out every day the protagonists experience and justify all results with realistic plans of actions

The Chad Author: it was boring so i skipped it