August was beginning to cool in Moscow. Here it was 1931 and already was Feofan Karpov, Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko a year from graduation of the Moscow academy. They where almost twenty two, and already having the rank of colonel.
At the moment though the actions of the German advisors captivated them. General Secretary Stalin personally recommended them to witness the joint German-Soviet technical exchange. With the Versailles Treaty limiting how Germany could conduct war, they turned to a fellow outcast of the international community the Soviet Union.
German officers looked ridiculous to Feofan. All nine of them stood in the large hanger wearing tall, brimmed caps, finely tailored uniforms, and jackboots polished to a high, almost blinding shine. Of course the Soviet officers assembled wore similar attire, but to not appear backwater cousins rather then common military dress.
A German went over the basics of a rapid-fire machine pistol, something, which had no interest to Feofan, or Viktor, but Kliment, found interesting. Around the room the two- dozen or so Russian officers spoke to the Germans assembled. That was the deal, Germany gets to build whatever they like, without the French breathing down their necks, but the Russians got to peek in ever now and again.
“Question.” Kliment said. A German interpreter spoke to the foreigner holding the stubby looking gun in his hands.
“Yes Lieutenant?” The German asked.
“You speak of a high rate of fire, and also easy loading capability, but I am curious as to its durability.” Kliment stepped forward pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. The German grinned, unloading the gun, and tossing it to Kliment. The young man fumbled almost dropping it, but held it in his hands.
“This is an upgraded version of the Berreta 1918. It is the Berreta 1929, and has few parts. It still many parts, but if maintained like any normal firearm it can be kept in very good working order. It uses a 9mm cartridge, and while not having the stopping power of a rifle, it does have a rate of fire, which is to not be overlooked. The gun is made to kill, not to last forever.” The German walked over and held his hand out for the gun back, Kliment handed it over, and made a few notes walking off lost in thought.
Viktor spoke up, “How you plan to use these in a squad?”
Feofan walked to listen to another German officer, caring little for the gun. What did catch his eye was a short Officer holding up a model. He moved in for a closer look only a few other Soviets stood around. This German at least spoke Russian, a sign of class if ever Feofan saw one,
“This is part of a chassis system devised by the British. While in the last war Tanks would frequently fall victim to a trench, this system corrects that problem. Granting the ability of higher speed, and more maneuverability.”
Feofan eyed the model with interest, “ How fast does it go?”
“Twenty one miles an hour was the fastest I have since this go, and that was on a five ton tank. With better engines a larger tank could move at the same speed, or a five ton tank may get up to fifty kilometers an hour.” The foreigner advisor said. He looked smart and sharp, a potential communist if Feofan ever saw one.
“Did you observe the movements on dirt roads, open fields, or something else Comrade?”
“Hygerthorp, Lieutenant Hygerthorp. The system was used by the British, on a flat field reaching the top speed of eighteen kilometers per hour, and on a paved road going twenty one.” Feofan stepped back to let others speak, a very evil thought occurring in his head.
Western Europe was full of paved roads, and flat fields.