CH925 · Rewrite

Chapter 925: The Air Defense System

The transportation problem had a solution. The air defense problem was a different matter entirely.

Roland had been thinking about it since the first time he’d seen a Devilbeast in flight — the lazy arc of those wings, the scale of them, the way altitude transformed an enemy into something untouchable. He’d learned what aerial advantage meant from the history of his previous world: whoever owned the sky could strike from any direction, at any moment, and before the invention of radar, no one on the ground had a reliable way to even know the threat was coming until it was already arriving. He hadn’t expected the demons to move on Neverwinter this early. He hadn’t started development on ground-to-air weapons yet. The mountain defense line wasn’t finished. The telephone network was still being strung.

He’d found out, five days ago, what that gap cost.

The frontier guards hadn’t managed to hit a single Devilbeast during the attack. He wasn’t surprised — he’d made that calculation himself and known the revolving rifles weren’t the right tool. They were good work for what they were designed to do: fill the dead zones between machine guns and cannons, suppress enemy infantry at close range. But the geometry of an airborne target exposed every limitation. Low bore pressure meant short effective range. No suitable tripod. No aiming method calibrated for tracking a moving object in three dimensions. Five rounds per cartridge. The hit rate had been close to zero, and in the few moments when the demons were within range, the rifles’ arc had forced the soldiers into exposed positions on the wall.

The bolt rifles were a partial answer. More accurate at range, better sustained fire. But they weren’t ready for mass production yet. Anna couldn’t generate enough components to equip the army at scale — only the sniper units had them. The factory workers were still learning to run the new machine tools. When they could maintain quality at speed, output would rise; that was already underway. But “months from now” was not helpful against a threat that had arrived now.

There was also the tracer ammunition problem. Effective ground-to-air fire required tracers — visual feedback that let the gunner walk rounds onto a target. Complex to manufacture, and the production line was already running at capacity.

He would come back to the bolt rifles. For now, he needed something he could actually build.

The answer he arrived at was the same one that armies in his previous world had arrived at independently: volume of fire. When you couldn’t guarantee accuracy against a moving aerial target, you created enough lead in the air that the target had to fly through it. The established solution was a machine gun converted for anti-aircraft use — adjusted angle, adjustable tripod, aiming tool for aerial geometry. Not elegant. Effective enough to matter.

The Mark I heavy machine guns were already designed with this possibility in mind. He’d specified air-cooled barrels from the start, anticipating exactly this. Converting them for anti-aircraft use wouldn’t require new manufacturing — just a modified tripod and a proper aiming tool. The fire control system would be simple, mechanical, and hand-operated. A firing table and enough mathematics to use it.

That was why, after the meeting concluded, he went directly to the Arithmetic Academy rather than back to his office.

The academy occupied a building south of the Castle District, adjacent to the chemistry laboratory. It had grown quickly — more job applications than any comparable institution, though Roland suspected the chemistry lab’s reputation for periodic explosions had done some of the recruiting work by pushing candidates sideways toward a less dangerous neighbor. Most of the researchers were former members of the Astrology Association; they had been brought wholesale to the Western Region and had adapted.

Astrologer of Dispersion Star met him in the main hall, bowed, and immediately began speaking about mathematics with the velocity and warmth of a man who had recently been introduced to a lifelong love. He praised the profundity of Analytical Geometry, its capacity to describe the visible world in symbols, its implications for observational astronomy — “I can describe the arc of your hair, Your Majesty, in numbers” — until Roland stopped him.

“Have you mastered it?”

The astrologer collected himself. Most of it, he said. And in the six months since receiving it, the Association had undertaken their own project: converting all their historical star-position data into mathematical notation. They had concluded, rigorously, that the Star of Extinction — the Bloody Moon — held a fixed position in the sky. It did not move.

Roland had no particular interest in the Bloody Moon’s orbital mechanics at this point in the war. He said so politely and moved on.

“I need a practical tool for the First Army. Not a pure calculation problem — something that needs to be physically constructed and tested alongside the craftsmen.” He laid out the requirements. Two equations describing the motion of an aerial target: one for horizontal displacement, one for vertical. The output would be an aiming device for the converted machine guns — a mechanical tool that could determine a flying target’s range and its forward direction, allowing the gunner to set the correct elevation and lead angle, and then saturate that space with bullets.

It was a manually operated device. No electrical components. No precision machining beyond what the workshops could already do. The shooter needed a firing table and the arithmetic to use it.

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