Training Day - Rifle Competition

Hagman was a bit surprised to see Sharpe come over to them, though of course he had been watching his Riflemen. "Thanks, Lieutenant. 'ave ta show them how some propper shootin's done, don't we".
Leaving Carty to Harris', Cotton's and Sharpe's praise, Dan turned to Perkins. "Let's see how Harris'll do an' if the 95th can show all o'em what they are worth. Bu' I still don't see why ya do not compete yaself." He shook his head in slight confusion, though a smile was still playing 'round his lips. He led them a bit away from the firing line to find a place to watch the next round.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll do my best." He saw Sharpe's expression as he looked at the lad, and smiled inwardly. "I would hope to uphold the good name of the 95th, at least."

"I'm sure you will, Harris," Sharpe said. "You ain't such a bad shot yoursel', you know." There wasn't any shame in losing to the man who beat Hagman, though, if that eventuality occurred.

Carty was feeling much happier now, and he was beginning to feel excited for the next match. "Good luck, Harris," he said, looking up with a grin. At least in the last one they had been sure of a victor from the 95th - this one was sure to be more tense.

"Good luck, Harris!" Perkins said, echoing the other well-wishers. He smiled sheepishly back at Hagman and gave a melodramatic cringe. "Not me. I'd be too nervous with all them people watching me. It ain't so bad during battle. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if all the people were firing back!" he joked.

At that the old Rifleman had to laugh heartily. "Aye, bu' then it wouldn't be a fair competition, eh?" He continued to chuckle, still wondering at the lad's shyness when he could be a right cheeky bastard at times - especially when in company of Harris, making fun of his age.

Vereker turned to his companion, Major Grimes: "Do you want to referee this one?" he asked. "It isn't difficult, unless you actually have to measure them - in which case this may be useful..." He handed over a pair of dividers.

Grimes smiled as he took the dividers. "All right. I see you didn't get shot, at least. Here's hoping I'll come out unscathed as well." He looked around for the next pair of riflemen.

Harris stepped forward, his eyes on the target. No need to look at Cotton, who would be entering his own world, just as he did. Or at Carty, who would be offering prayers...

He breathed in, and said: "Rifleman Harris, Sir. 95th"

Cotton had done all the preparation he could. He stepped forwards, saluted and said, "Rifleman Cotton, sir, 5th Battalion 60th Rifles."

Grimes smiled at the men, recognizing both from the skirmishing earlier. "Harris, Cotton. We'll flip a coin to see who goes first. Cotton, what will you call?"

"Um, head, sir." He felt a bit nervous at doing this in front of so many people - and half the Staff as well.

He flipped a shilling and caught it. "Tails. Very well, Harris, who goes first?"

"I'll let Gabe - Rifleman Cotton - go first." Harris wiped his hand on the side of his tunic and held it out. "Good luck, Gabe."

The major nodded before moving aside. "Good luck to you both! Cotton, when you're ready."

Cotton shook Harris' hand. "Good luck to you as well, Harris," he said, and stepped up to the line to load.

The motions were as familiar to him as to any of the soldiers watching, but they faded into insignificance as he concentrated on the task at hand. Bite, prime, pour, ram...

He knelt - his best position for this sort of thing - and took his time to aim before squeezing the trigger.

"Well done, Gable!" Maggie cheered, jumping with excitement.

Harris glanced over towards the enthusiastic Maggie, and resumed concentration. The taste of the powder, the smell of it, and the need to do everything in accordance with the book...

He withdrew the ramrod, and replaced it, before dropping to one knee, and focussing his gaze and steadying his breathing. The recoil and the smoke brought him back and he looked down the range at the target.

The major crossed to the target and examined it, surprised by the accuracy of both shots. Both were extremely close to the center. He decided to use the dividers to judge the difference between them - if there was any.

He turned to face the riflemen, shaking his head with a smile. "Both shots are equal. I can't judge any difference between the distances at all. Well done, riflemen!" He cast an impressed glance to Vereker as he moved aside. Such an interesting demonstration!

Perkins let out a nervous sigh as he applauded. He grinned at Carty and Hagman beside him and felt glad, again, that it wasn't him competing out there.

There was no time to exult in it. He pulled a second cartridge out and reloaded methodically, forcing the ball down and returning the ramrod. Loading when kneeling was harder, but possible, with a Baker, where it wasn't with a musket. He could hear cheers and catcalls but drowned them out as he brought the rifle back up for his second shot.

He squeezed the trigger, careful not to snatch it and jolt the rifle.

Hagman had craned his neck to see where the shots had landed, but wasn't able to really make it out. At hearing that they were even he slapped his own thigh, laughing. "Told ya, Ben, that Harris is good!" he cheered. "Well done, mates!"

Harris glanced across at Cotton with a wry smile. That was not a bad start.

He checked the next cartridge, half wishing he had chosen to go first.

Perkins laughed, but then turned around to hush the other spectators as Harris prepared his next shot.

Another deep breath, and a glance down at his hands - surprisingly steady, considering.

The bite, the powder into the priming pan and the rest down the barrel followed by ball and cartridge. Ram it home, and take out the ram rod.

He dropped back to one knee, and waited just a moment before pulling the trigger.