Please don't miss and hit a man

"I went just a'fore Ware did, Sarn't," Allen said, "But I'd be more than willin' t' go again. If only t' show Ware how it's done prop'ly."

He chuckled and glanced at Ware, adding, "Ah I'm just teasin' you. I have t' admit that was a pretty good shot."

"So you were," Quinn said, waving Allen back and looking along the line. "Who else has yet to fire, then?"

Joyse stepped forward, his musket ported. "I ain't, Sar'nt," he said, and Quinn nodded, stepping back to allow the Marine to aim at the new bottle hanging from the yard.

He made ready, pulling the butt into his shoulder and leaning into it, taking his time before pulling the trigger. The bottle shattered, the remains dancing wildly on the end of the spun-yarn.

This lot were like school-boys, Johnson thought as he watched them. Squabbling stupidly over who could put the most cracks into the bottle or some whatever foolishness. What mattered was being able to hit what you were aiming at.

Johnson shook his head slightly when Joyse's shot landed solidly home. That, there, was the true point of this drill. Hitting what you were aiming at. When Joyse stepped back, Johnson moved one pace forward, deciding he might as well take his own turn before another of these upstarts preempted him.

Load, take steady aim, breathe, fire. The tinkle of breaking glass was nearly lost in the echo of the sound of his shot. Johnson, his round face expressionless, stepped back and leaned on his musket.

Oxley couldn't hang around too close to the Marines doing target practice or Corporal Johnson would detail him for extra duties or something. But watching them was interesting. He wasn't sure whether he'd want to swap his drum for a musket, but he'd like to have a go with a musket just to see what it was like.

They were good, though. Most of them had hit their targets, and Ware had managed to hit the spun-yarn holding it, which was really impressive.