The incessant droning of machinery created an auditory cocoon, submerging all other sounds as diligent workers filed and shaped lethal instruments. Amidst the symphony of industry, they meticulously carved shapes and components from partially cast moulds, relying on a colossal array of machinery to aid their craft. Every step in this intricate dance was closely monitored by the workers, ensuring that the machinery wouldn't falter or cut erroneously. The air was filled with perfection as each weapon took form, each detail perfectly maintained.

Amid this mountain of pistols lay a piece of history, a silent witness to countless battles. A weapon wielded by warriors from several corners of the globe. Yet, in the present moment... it was just Factory Standard.

Seated at their desks, like orchestrators of a deadly symphony, several figures meticulously inspected each piece before assembling the pistols with surgical precision. The factory's racks brimmed with hundreds and hundreds of these lethal instruments, awaiting their turn in the theatre of war.

Amid this arsenal, days later, a man entered the room. Clad in a pristine ensemble of khaki, he held a hat under his arm in a display of military formality. "So these are those downright incredible pistols I've been hearing talked about?" he inquired.

Another voice replied, "Ah yes, General, this is just a fraction of what we are waiting to send off to the 28th."

With a deliberate and curious hand, the General plucked one of the pistols off the shelf. "I heard you do this..." he remarked, manipulating the mechanics by racking the slide as the hammer came back, "That's darn incredible, John Browning is a wonder of a man."

The second voice nodded in agreement, "That he is, Sir."

The General, intrigued, pressed a button as the magazine gracefully fell out, and he inquired, "Can I test one?"

The worker hesitated, glancing to the side, "Uh... I'm not sure..."

The General grinned, dismissing the concern, "Oh, you worry too much, Mr Odel. I have a few .45 right here!" With a fumbling finger, he started loading the magazine, sliding the rounds in, "This is a bit of a pain."

Mr Odel, acknowledging the General's comment, nodded, "Yes, sir. But we've noticed it's going to be much more efficient than using a revolver." He observed intently as the General loaded the magazine into the M1911.

The General pointed the pistol toward the ceiling as he strolled out of the factory. Facing a nearby river, he aimed towards the water. Mr Odel trailed behind him. The General pulled the trigger, and there was only a clicking sound. He paused, waiting, and observed that the hammer had moved, but nothing had fired.

He looked back, his expression shifting to disbelief, "What the fuck!"

Odel nodded, taking the pistol, "Ah, I see. Well, Sir, let me explain. You cocked the weapon before you had any rounds. So, no bullets were put into the chamber, which is..." he paused, pulling the slide back as it locked in place, pointing to the aperture at the front of the open working parts where no bullets were present, "Here."

Letting the slide fall forwards, he handed the pistol back to the General, "So it's ready to fire now?" The worker nodded.

Aiming, the General pulled the trigger, and the slide flew back as a loud bang echoed in the atmosphere. The casing was ejected out as the slide fell forward. He stopped, turning back, "That was incredible! Do I have to cock it?"

Odel shook his head, "No Sir, when the slide came forward again, it brought another bullet into the chamber. The chamber fired again and again until the slide locked back. The General was grinning ear to ear, "Incredible, just incredible." He handed the worker back the M1911 as he moved the lever down, and the slide fell forward.

"Thank you, Sir. Are you going now?" The worker asked.

The General walked to the road where a waiting wagon stood, "That I am. Thank you for the tour, Mr. Odel. My boys at the 28th are going to be very happy with those."

The wagon rode away as Mr. Odel exhaled, "Thank God."

He walked into the factory, smiling. Part of him hoped that these pistols would see action while he was alive. As he gripped it in his hand, he had one thought, 'God Bless America.'

***

1918

Western Front, France

An American Officer gripped his pistol as he stood next to the ladder, the thunderous boom of artillery landing on the enemy's side of the battlefield. He pulled the whistle closer to his face, checking his watch with a sense of urgency. Looking from soldier to soldier, he saw the fear in their eyes, understanding that they had to go over; otherwise, the Germans would take Paris.

The seconds ticked past as he stepped onto the ladder, suddenly, whistles blew across the trench as weapons were cocked. The officer pulled back his pistol's slide as he blew his whistle. Yells erupted over the side as the cacophony of machine gun fire started.

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Then something soared overhead. A flying machine, no more than 50 metres off the ground. Objects started to fall off the side, landing in the German trench as explosions filled the line. The American troops charged across no man's land as the Officer watched the soaring creature. About halfway into its structure, the officer thought he saw a head, but on closer inspection, he noticed a pattern on the wing—a target symbol with the colours blue, white, and then red. It must be friendly.

He turned forward, yelling, "Forward!"

Soldiers dropped around him as he fired his pistol. Picking up a rifle from one of the fallen, he fired on the Germans, dropping one then another. Cycling the bolt, he fired again, knocking German after German down. He tossed the rifle to the side as he jumped to the floor, dodging a hail of machine gun fire. The gunfire came from behind him as riflemen fired on the enemy machine gun nest.

The Officer stood up, firing his pistol twice more before the slide locked back. Switching the magazine, two soldiers lay in the hole next to him, "Sir! What do we do?"

The officer crouched down, "Have any grenades, kid?" The soldier nodded, pulling two grenades from his pouches. The officer took one. Using a mirror, he looked over the top, "Twenty metres..."

He saw several Germans peeking their heads up and firing in a line. Crouching, he placed the mirror down. With all his strength, he hurled it. Then the second. Then he got two more from the other one. Throwing them too, they all landed perfectly.

The gunfire suddenly stopped as several screams were silenced. He darted up, charging the trench line. Jumping in, he fired twice more. The soldiers also jumped in behind him as they fired. One pulled a trench broom, and he slam-fired it down the line. The officer picked up a bolt-action rifle and fired it at a German who hit the ground. Darting forward, he jumped into a bunker. Firing twice, two Germans dropped. Turning to a third, they reached for their Luger. The American fired once as the man collapsed.

Quickly looking through the room, he found something lying on a table: a weird-looking rifle with a sideward magazine and a drum on the side. Picking it up, he walked outside. A group of five men watched the trench, hiding behind crates and dirt piles.

He found the cocking handle, opened the bolt, pulled it as far back as he could, then let it go forward. He looked at it... it seemed to have a spring in it. No weapon he'd seen before.

He indicated for two soldiers to follow him as they went deeper into the trench system. The officer heard the chugging of an enemy machine gun as they stopped at a corner. Crossing the corner, his barrel was no more than an inch from a German's body. Pulling the trigger, he held it down as the weapon opened fire. But instead of firing once, it kept going. Spraying into the machine gunner's nest, several soldiers dropped as the officer removed his finger from the trigger, "What in the good Lord's name?"

He looked at the other soldier who was just as dumbfounded. Suddenly, a round struck next to him as he noticed a rifleman down another line in the trench. The rifleman chambered another round as the officer turned to him. Aiming, he pulled the trigger again. A short burst of three bullets struck the enemy as they dropped.

The other American riflemen watched the trench as the officer walked down. The group covering each other moved deeper, trying to clear as much as they could. They dropped German after German.

Until they encountered possibly ten, maybe 20 in a cluster.

The officer dived into cover, "What the!"

Suddenly, he felt something on his shoulder, a severe pain came over him as he looked down. Blood was seeping into his clothes. He looked at his troops as they hid, "Take the automatic." He threw the submachine gun at them as they nodded, "Get back to the main group... I'll cover your escape."

The American officer reloaded his M1911, pulling it to his side. Clenching it...

Looking down, he heard gunfire all around him, then he looked up nodding. Giving a silent countdown with his fingers. As he reached zero fingers, he darted out of cover. Firing twice, two enemies dropped. Climbing onto one of the crates, he fired again, dropping multiple more, and disappearing into cover. A magazine hit the ground as he darted out again. Dodging a bullet, it passed no more than an inch from his face. He dumped the final pistol magazine into the group as several soldiers fell. Still, two left. Pulling back with all his might, he tossed the pistol. Seeing it hit his mark, he reached into one of his pouches, pulling a knife. Suddenly, he felt a force hit his chest. But he kept on moving. Diving on the one he didn't hit with the blade, he planted his blade deep into the man's forehead. Drawing out all his aggression, he yelled, "ARGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

Slicing the other German's neck, the German dropped his weapon as blood gushed out of his throat, mixing with the mud. The officer grabbed the soldier by the collar as he watched the man bleed out. Putting his blade through the man's skull, he saw the light fade from his eyes as his body fell limp.

The officer dropped it as he fell backwards. He grabbed his stomach as he felt the red liquid trickle down his side. His vision started to fade to black as he looked up, wondering where he would go next.

Then his vision went completely black as his eyelids shut.

The M1911 lay no more than a metre from the site where the officer fell. An officer who protected his men, who allowed them to escape and create a breakthrough with enough force. To fully take the trench. And that they did.

It would be a few days before the lone American's body was found amidst the horde of German corpses. They would move the dead but leave their weapons. The M1911 would be hidden, slowly covered by dirt. It would remain like that for the next month until a voice spoke near it, "So why are we here?" inquired in a British accent.

Another Briton retorted, "We're resting, idiot." He paused, sitting down, "We're behind friendly lines, in this brilliantly dug trench."

A third voice chimed in, "Well put, lad." Another figure walked behind the two as they stood upright, "To answer your question, we are resting as the third line of defence. We will move to the front in 7 days. Get some good kip, your friend here will wake you when the mess carriage arrives."

The Briton walked further into the trench as he noticed something hidden in the dirt... a pistol. Picking it up, he thought it looked odd. He pondered for a second, "This was one of those Yankee weapons?"

The other soldiers stood up as they walked over, examining the peculiar pistol, "Uh, I think I saw an American officer carrying one of those when we were in Paris."

The Officer nodded, "I see... might make a good souvenir."

He looked down the trench, not noticing any superiors watching, "You two... didn't see anything."

One of the soldiers shrugged, "See what?"

The Officer patted him on the back, "Good man."

Walking off, he left the two soldiers idling in their trench.