The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 739 - 354: Police Intelligence Department Ghost Squad _3

Chapter 739: Chapter 354: Police Intelligence Department Ghost Squad _3

Plunkett’s eyes widened as he looked at the rifle and then at Arthur before skeptically picking up the gun.

He first checked if the gun was loaded with powder, then raised the barrel and peered into the muzzle, "Rifled gun? Just like the Baker Rifle I used before. The advantage of this kind of gun is its high accuracy, but the downside is that it takes longer to load than a standard smoothbore gun, and it’s also trouble to clean. If it’s not cleaned regularly, the grooves in the barrel can get clogged with dirt, and the bullets won’t sit right, which can easily lead to a burst barrel." freewebnσvel.cøm

Arthur, with his wine glass in hand, leaned against the corner of his desk and asked, "Then if it were up to you, would you prefer a rifled gun or a smoothbore gun?"

Plunkett almost blurted out, "Still a rifled gun. If it’s not clean, that’s not the gun’s problem, it’s the person’s problem. Take, for example, the Baker Rifles equipped by our 95th Regiment compared to the Brown Bess Smoothbore Guns widely issued to other units of the Army.

If I used a Brown Bess, I couldn’t guarantee accuracy beyond 100 yards. But give me a Baker, sir, and I’m not bragging, within 200 yards, I could hit any target, including cavalry on the run. Although 300 yards is slightly more challenging than 200, it’s not a big problem.

It is only at distances between 400 and 500 yards that I find the greatest challenge. At that range, I’d only shoot at targets of sufficient value, and to hit them, I would need good weather, no strong winds, and enough sunlight for clarity. Also, my shooting target had better be stationary and facing me directly."

The fact that he could articulate the shooting difficulty of targets at various distances so clearly was enough to demonstrate Plunkett’s ability.

Moreover, his words were not just hot air—he really had taken out moving cavalry from a distance of 300 yards, and they were cavalry officers, no less.

Arthur spoke up, "Of course, the Baker is an exceptional firearm, but compared to the gun you have in your hands, how do you think they stack up against each other?"

Plunkett cradled the gun, disassembling and reassembling the hammer, and after a long while, he shook his head, "Sir, to be frank, I don’t think this gun compares to the Baker. Although I haven’t tested this gun yet, I’ve never seen a cylinder drum fitted on a rifle; I guess its sealing is certainly not very good, which makes it prone to bursting, and such a design would also affect its shooting stability."

More importantly, as a fully developed firearm, the Baker has many detachable accessories, like adjustable sights and so on. Back then, almost all the brothers in our 95th Regiment fitted accessories according to their habits. You may think these trinkets are not very useful, but to me, without these accessories, I couldn’t possibly hit an enemy at such distances."

On hearing this, Arthur nodded slightly, "No, Thomas, your point is very valid. I’m now somewhat glad that I discussed these matters with you today, after all, you are the real sharpshooter who has seen combat, not something that can be learned from others’ mouths."

Plunkett scratched his head, "That being said, sir, what exactly are you up to with all these firearms? The Home Office is so strict about our Scotland Yard’s guns. From last year to this year, a total of only three hundred have been approved, and those are all old models retired from the Army. Even if you get all of this gun stuff right, they’re not going to approve Scotland Yard’s own firearms research, are they?"

Arthur waved his hand lightly, "Thomas, it’s not a plan for Scotland Yard, but a little something I’ve been tinkering with on my own. And I’m not expecting the Home Office to approve a large-scale armament for Scotland Yard; I just want to set up a special department within the Police Intelligence Department to handle some tricky police situations."

"A special department?"

Plunkett took a deep breath, "Do you mean to say, this department will be assigned guns on a large scale?"

"Not assigned on a large scale, but all members will be armed," Arthur said with a smile. "For special situations, we’ll use the long-range rifled rifles, and for ordinary situations, this one at my waist is enough."

With that, Arthur also took out the Colt M-1831 Hastings-type revolver from his holster and handed it to Plunkett.

Plunkett’s eyes just latched onto the gun and he couldn’t move on, "You mean to say, a gun like this... one for each person? My God! The hammer is gold-plated, isn’t it? How much does such a gun cost?"

Arthur replied with a smile, "It’s not particularly expensive, and the Police Intelligence Department has always been generous towards our detectives, just a custom revolver for twenty pounds each."

"Twenty pounds?"

At that price, Plunkett’s head spun; it was more than half a year’s wages for an ordinary police officer.

Arthur said, "Thomas, don’t be surprised, we provide sharpshooters like you with such high-spec equipment not because the Intelligence Department is generous, but because you are worth the price."

"A repeater sharpshooter like us?"

Upon hearing this, Plunkett couldn’t help but feel his blood heat up, and at the same time he was even somewhat moved.

It was the first time in his life he had received such treatment.

In the face of the enemy, these repeater sharpshooters often found themselves pierced by bayonets because everyone believed that repeater sharpshooters had no right to ask for a decent way to die.

And when dealing with those friendly forces, mockery and ridicule were simply part of their daily bread.

It was because he couldn’t bear this that he had chosen to retire, and when Scotland Yard was established, those with far fewer achievements and credits than them could rightfully occupy a Police Superintendent position in Scotland Yard.

And a legendary repeater sharpshooter like him could only secure a chief of police position.

The great Plunkett himself was like this, let alone the other brothers who had retired from the repeater shooters company.

"You... you mean... if I’m not mistaken, you want us to serve the Police Intelligence Department?"

"Not ’want,’ but ’invite.’" Arthur said with a smile, "You have the right to refuse, but for the sake of the citizens of Greater London, I still hope you and the other sharpshooters will agree to serve Division Eight of the Police Intelligence Department. At the same time, I hope you can assist in the improvement of the rifle in your hands, as after all, it will be the weapon you use in the future."

"Division Eight?" Plunkett hesitated, "But I remember there are only seven divisions in the Police Intelligence Department, right?"

Arthur and Plunkett gently clinked glasses, "Officially, that’s correct. Division Eight does not exist, so your posts and ranks will also be affiliated with the other seven divisions. However, precisely because it does not exist, I prefer to call Division Eight ’Ghost’—it does not exist, yet it is omnipresent. At least, when we need it, it should exist."

"Ghost Squad?"

Plunkett savored the idea for a moment, but before he could gather his thoughts, he heard Arthur speaking again.

"Thomas, are you willing to take on the responsibility of leading the Ghost Squad?"

Plunkett didn’t hesitate for a second. He stood at attention, saluting with excitement, "I... sir, I am willing! But I have one more question!"

"What’s the question?"

Plunkett pondered for a moment and then suddenly said, "I want to know, what are your requirements for us?"

"Requirements? In most cases, you’ll need to cooperate with the actions of Division Five."

Arthur swirled his glass, "For this matter, you go and coordinate with Division Five’s Chief, Ledley King. He will tell you the details."

Plunkett nodded and then asked again, "And what about special situations?"

"Special situations?" Arthur chuckled softly, pointing to the scar at the corner of his eye, "I hope you can be at least a bit more professional than this."

Arthur thought Plunkett would hesitate, but the sharpshooter was not only unafraid but even grinned broadly, saying arrogantly, "Sir, if it’s just this, then rest assured. The 95th Regiment’s motto is stealth, precision, and efficiency. For this job, we’re not just professionals, we’re experts."