Part 250: Naval Guns

After the smoke cleared and the safety whistle sounded to confirm there was no further danger of explosion, Lin Shenhe and Bai Yu poked their heads out of the bunker. Explosions were nothing new to those in the arms industry, and a burst cannon was practically a common occurrence.

The two cautiously approached the remains of the cannon. The 70mm naval cannon lay overturned on the ground, its muzzle blasted into the shape of a trumpet. Its various components were twisted and mangled, a truly miserable sight.

“The new charge has some kick,” Bai Yu remarked, squatting down to carefully examine the destroyed muzzle. The steel was twisted like a morning glory flower. It was hard to imagine that solid steel could be torn and contorted in such a way—this was the power of high explosives.

“I just don’t know if it was the fuze’s fault,” Lin Shenhe said. A cannon bursting could have many causes; it wasn’t necessarily a premature detonation from a faulty fuze. This 70mm cannon was an early product of the metallurgy and machine departments, of relatively low quality. It had been mounted on a Type 8154 for a long time, and after being removed, it had served as a test gun at the firing range. It might have had cracks they hadn’t detected.

Bai Yu said nothing more. He carefully sifted through the wreckage, then put on a pair of cotton gloves and pulled a twisted metal part from the still-hot, steaming remains of the burst barrel.

“Be careful…”

“It’s fine, the detonator already went off,” Bai Yu said, but he still placed the remnant carefully into a wicker basket.

It was the fuze. Although twisted beyond recognition by the explosion and flames, the general outcome was still discernible. A detailed analysis would have to wait for a careful disassembly in the lab.

The disassembly proved that the cause of the explosion was the premature firing of the striker due to spring failure. Although they had lost a rifled cannon, Lin Shenhe had finally gotten the result he wanted: at the very least, fuzes made with wrought iron wire could be used on low-velocity artillery like howitzers, mortars, and siege guns.

According to Lin Shenhe’s master plan, once the new fuze design was finalized, they should immediately begin upgrading their artillery, shifting from the current smoothbore system to rifled cannons—or at least a muzzle-loading rifled cannon system.

To this end, he had long ago drawn up blueprints for several new army artillery pieces and had the machine department build two experimental prototypes, which were tested in several exercises.

However, the Planning Commission was not interested. With its typical stinginess, it stated that the current smoothbore artillery system had only been established for less than two years, and many cannons had been in service for less than twelve months. To upgrade them immediately would be a tremendous waste. Therefore, they did not approve the upgrade of the Army’s existing artillery system.

Consequently, the biggest beneficiary of the new high-explosive fuze was the Navy—all current rifled cannons were naval assets. According to the plan, the cannons for the Type 854 Mod and Type 901 projects would all be rifled guns.

Zhang Bolin was dejected. “You put in so much effort, and all the benefits go to the Navy…” Although Lin Shenhe wasn’t an Army man, he had served as a company commander for a time, so he had “eaten from the same pot” as the Army. Zhang Bolin still considered him “one of us.”

“It’s alright. Once the engines are sorted out, it’ll be time to mass-produce for the Army, to build big guns,” Lin Shenhe consoled him. “How about it? Want to grab a drink at the South China Sea Cafe tonight?”

That evening, Lin Shenhe treated Zhang Bolin, Ying Yu, Bai Yu, and Xu Yingjie to drinks at the South China Sea Cafe. He invited Xu Yingjie not just because they were now colleagues, but also to comfort a rival: Xu Yingjie’s Project 0017 had met the same fate as the new artillery—it had been shelved.

The trial production of picric acid had been successful. Xu Yingjie had used phenol accumulated from coal coking and a sulfonation process to successfully produce picric acid explosive. Although the sulfonation process only required nitric and sulfuric acid, the production conditions were not harsh, and the yield was decent. However, after a comprehensive evaluation, the Planning Commission concluded that immediate production of picric acid would require building a new workshop and a complete set of production equipment.

“Under the current quasi-wartime conditions, we must first consider the continuity and convenience of production, not rush to apply new technologies and processes,” Wu De had mercilessly shot down Project 0017 at a Planning Commission meeting, declaring it a “technology reserve” to be mass-produced when “the time is right.”

From the beginning, Lin Shenhe had foreseen this outcome. Although high-density black powder was certainly inferior to picric acid in performance, its advantage was its low cost. It was obvious what choice the notoriously frugal Planning Commission would make.

The group drank haphazardly at the cafe. When they were half-drunk, Lin Shenhe quietly paid the bill and slipped out.

“Sorry, Old Xu. And you too, Bolin,” Lin Shenhe whispered. What he was about to do would surely make Zhang Bolin even more upset if he found out—tomorrow morning, he was scheduled to install the cannons on the Navy’s new warship. Zhou Ke, the project manager for the First Shipbuilding and Outfitting Plan, had asked him to come for a look tonight.

Lin Shenhe returned to his apartment. Shen Ye had already prepared his mountain bike—a personal issue for Senators. Although many preferred the “28-inch roadster,” Lin Shenhe preferred the more comfortable mountain bike.

“Be careful on the road,” his sister advised. Lin Shenhe quickly pedaled onto the road to Bopu. The small train to Bopu didn’t run at night, unless he was willing to risk a ride on a freight train. The road had gas lamps, but they were spaced far apart, barely illuminating the road surface. Still, the points of light at least marked the road’s edges, preventing him from straying off on a moonless night.

The mountain bike had a self-powered headlight, and it was by its light that Lin Shenhe could ride confidently and swiftly. Of course, there were no pedestrians or vehicles on this road at this hour. The area along the road had been upgraded to a “green zone,” so a Senator traveling alone was in no danger.

On a summer night, the cool breeze made riding very pleasant, but the headlight attracted a swarm of insects that danced around his bike, much to his annoyance.

To get there faster, Lin Shenhe bypassed Bopu town and took a side road directly to the naval base.

After passing a sentry check and riding for another ten minutes, the silhouette of the Type 854 Mod project finally appeared before him.

The 1630-class iron-ribbed, wood-hulled, clipper-bowed, steam-assisted sailing cruiser was not a massive warship. Its standard displacement was only 1,160 tons, with a length of 70 meters and a beam of 9.9 meters. In the old world, even an 18th-century fourth-rate ship-of-the-line would have had a larger displacement. But in this era, it was an undisputed behemoth. Although thousand-ton ships had appeared as early as the 15th century, they were few and far between. When its hull was launched in Lingao, it drew a huge crowd of onlookers. Even though they were used to seeing ten-thousand-ton iron ships, watching a vessel of unimaginable size being built right before their eyes was still highly dramatic.

The hull, painted a light black, was now moored quietly at the Bopu naval pier. The outfitting was mostly complete. Only the final installation of the deck guns remained.

On the pier in front of the ship, a temporary workshop was brightly lit. Under the glare of gasoline lamps, a group of Senator engineers, led by Zhou Ke, were gathered, discussing the implementation plan for the final outfitting of the 1630-class.

The armament plan for the Type 854 Mod completely abandoned the multi-deck gun arrangement. Although many were enamored with the spectacular sight of dozens of cannons firing in succession on 18th- and 19th-century ships-of-the-line, such an arrangement was unsuitable for the structure of Lingao’s hybrid-powered warships. Besides, with the technology and industrial level at the Senate’s command, there was no need to replicate the ship-of-the-line.

The 1630-class completely did away with the multi-deck gun layout, placing all cannons on the main deck. Sailing ships had a high center of gravity, and placing guns on lower decks helped with stability. Now, the weight of the steam engine, boilers, and coal bunkers provided the same stabilizing effect.

Since the guns were all on the deck, their number would be limited. Therefore, each gun had to be powerful enough not only to handle the largest European ships in naval combat and have a high rate of fire, but also to provide shore bombardment in support of the army.

To meet these requirements, none of the various smoothbore guns currently in the Navy’s arsenal—from the 12-pounder cannon to the 32-pounder carronade, including the heaviest naval gun, the 68-pounder carronade—were adequate. Rifled cannons were the ideal choice.

Rifled cannons had many advantages. Besides the high accuracy and strong penetration from their high muzzle velocity, they were also lighter and used less propellant. This held great appeal for the ever-frugal Planning Commission and the Executive Committee.

As the reactionary academic authority on old-fashioned artillery, Lin Shenhe’s proposed armament plan was to use Dahlgren rifled cannons with Minie-style projectiles. This was a muzzle-loading rifled gun, characterized by a dramatic change in the barrel’s thickness. The front part of the barrel was narrow, while it swelled significantly near the chamber, resembling a wine bottle, which earned it the nickname “bottle cannon.”

The choice of a muzzle-loader avoided the complex manufacturing problems of a breech-sealing mechanism. Compared to the Armstrong guns the machine shop had once built, the Dahlgren gun, cast using the Rodman process, had a simpler production process and could be made from cast iron. This saved a great deal on material costs and man-hours compared to the Armstrong gun. Dahlgren guns cast with the Rodman process could be made very large; the Americans manufactured and used them extensively during and after the Civil War, with some reaching calibers of 16 inches.