Training Day - Rifle Competition

Carty watched his mentor nervously, willing him to do as well as he knew he could.

Grimes glanced back at the riflemen before crossing to the targets. This time the difference was more obvious. Close, but he did not need the dividers to see that one round had shot away the center of the target with a perfectly round hole.

"This time Rifleman Cotton has hit dead center. Well done!"

He smiled at the applause his words produced. A noisy little woman at the front of the crowd was particularly vocal in her enthusiasm.

Harris released the breath he did not know he had been holding. Cotton was good - Hagman had said so, and he had known that it would be a competition he might lose. But he had lost to Dan often enough. He managed another smile at Cotton, and then a glance at Carty, to reassure him. He wasn't done yet.

Ahead... but there were still three rounds left to fire and Harris could still win this. He fought down the bubbling excitement and nerves to take a third cartridge, loading with as much care as ever. He was unaware of the fact that he was demonstrating perfectly how to load while kneeling, or that his position was at all unorthodox to the watching redcoats.

A pinch of powder in the pan, the frizzen pulled back and the rifle turned about so the rest of the powder could go down the barrel, followed by the wadded-up cartridge containing the ball. Ramrod out, ram it all hard down and take the ramrod out to return it to the brass pipes under the barrel.

Butt into the shoulder. He calmed his breathing, watching the foresight move against the target. Let a breath out, hold it and squeeze the trigger again.

Hagman flinched dramatically at the result, though more in show than in earnest. "Ah... though it was close. Harris, just keep it up, mate!" It wasn't that he did mind Cotton winning. But Harriy was from the 95th after all.

"Come on, come on," Maggie whispered as she watched Cotton load and prepare his shot. She released a sigh after he fired, and she turned expectantly to watch Harris.

Harris watched Cotton load and fire, leaning on his rifle. Stiffen the sinews, he thought, and went through the motions again. There was no hurry, not like a battlefield, but the routine steadied any nervousness, and when he withdrew the ramrod he was ready to take aim again, hold the rifle while his breathing slowed and fired.

Three shots... Even if Cotton won this, all was not lost.

"So interesting to see them load and fire like that - kneeling, sitting..." Grimes murmurred to Vereker. "Strange."

He found himself feeling a nervous excitement for both of the riflemen. Again he crossed over to the targets and examined them, frowning and examining them again, then again. After trying with the dividers, he turned and announced,

"The same again - both are equal. Obviously you two men are well matched!"

Again Hagman cheered. Harris was good! "see, told ya he was not goin' ta make it easy fa Cotton!" he said to Perkins and Carty.

Cotton glanced over at Harris. The man wasn't a Chosen Man for nothing - he was just as good as Hagman was.

He reached for a fourth cartridge to reload, taking as much care as he'd done with the first one, though it needed a bit more force to push the bullet to the bottom of the barrel. Ramrod out and returned 'home' and rifle butt into the shoulder again.

Breathe, breathe... squeeze the trigger gently.... And again the rifle kicked, firing with a cloud of white smoke. He paused, waiting for Harris, and then for the Major's ruling, surprised to find his palms were damp.

It was surprisingly warm for May. Harris removed his hat, and wiped his brow, catching Hagman's eye. He would like to beat Cotton, of course, but that would pit him against Hagman. From Hagman he looked down at Carty, and smiled. The next shot might settle it... Or might not. There was no time now to worry about it.

As soon as Cotton had fired he prepared - powder in the pan, and then in the barrel, ball and paper rammed down. He waited for a second before bringing the stock to his shoulder and sighting along the barrel. Hold your breath, and fire.

Carty had cheered - "Bullaí fir, Harris!" - but now fell silent again as Harris readied his next shot, and directed a prayer and an imploring look at the sky on his behalf.

Major Grimes looked closely at the targets. Both shots were in the first ring out from the center, the white ring around the black circle in the middle. But one was closer than the other.

"The fourth round goes to Rifleman Cotton! But we will have one fifth and final shot."

Harris felt himself relax. He had not disgraced himself, or Mr Sharpe, but now the fifth shot would not decide the match - two clear wins to Cotton gave him the victory. He threw a quick but genuine smile in the direction of the other man, and drew out his last cartridge.

"Damn!" Hagman cursed. He really would have wanted Harris to win this.

"He won. That means he won, right?" Maggie asked Newbury, beaming but contained in her happiness. "And then he'll have to face Hagman, and... oh, he'll win, I know it!"

Two shots to him, two equal... He was good all right, Harris was. But then, like Cotton, he was a Rifleman. And it had been close.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and pulled out a fifth cartridge. Loading again as before, he took up position, adjusting it minutely until his rifle was pointing naturally at the target without him straining anything. Pulling the flint back to full-cock, he breathed, out, in, out, and paused to squeeze the trigger.

Perkins watched mesmerized as Cotton fired his last shot. Then he gave Hagman a little sly smile. "What's the matter, don't want to face Cotton again in the final round?"

Harris took his time - no need to let everyone know that he was disappointed. He could do no better than he had done: he had equalled Cotton on two shots. For the 95th, he steadied himself once the ball was rammed home - tighter now: he'd give the rifle an extra special clean after this.

He eased the trigger back, and fired.

"Oi, don't ya get all cheeky again, boy!" he said to Perkins. He wanted Harris to win because he was his mate and a 95th Chosen Man... Well, he had lost to Cotton once, but that didn't mean it would be always like that... would it?!
"I don' mind facing Cotton again... I'll teach that lad what a real Chosen Man is!" He added with a oh so confident smirk.

Perkins laughed. "Course you will, Dan!" Then he turned back to watching the major as he examined the targets. What was taking him so long to decide?

Grimes studied the targets carefully. Both shots were overlapping previous ones, both were in the center black circle. Cotton had already effectively won, but it was the final shot of the match, and he wanted to make sure.

He turned back to face the competitors, shaking his head a little and smiling. "Well done, riflemen. Again - yes, again, the two shots are equal. Very well done, both of you! And the overall winner of this match is Rifleman Cotton."

Harris could not prevent a smile of relief crossing his face, as he straightened up, and stepped over to offer his hand to Cotton. "That was pretty fair shooting - for someone from the 60th," he said. "I'm not sure whether to bet on you or Dan, in the final."

Well, he knew he'd won after the fourth shot. He stood up and took Harris' proffered hand.

"Thanks, mate. You don't make it easy, your lads, y'know. You lads are fine shots, all of you. Ain't got any worries about the Frogs sneakin' up on us with the likes of you on picquet. That was good shootin', mate, real good shootin'."

"Thank you. Or your lads. We've shown the Line what the rifles can do, anyway."