Training Day - Rifle Competition

"Thank'ee, Dan," Cotton said, and stepped up to the mark.

He took a breath and then pulled a cartridge out of his pouch to load the first shot of the final round. Again, the crowd seemed to vanish as he world shrank to himself, his rifle and the target.

He primed, poured the rest of the powder down the barrel, squeezed the cartridge and rammed it down, then knelt to aim. He took a breath, let it out and slowly pulled the trigger.

Watching Cotton do the so familiar process of loading was a delight. The lad truely knew what he was doing! And a fine shot that was too.

After a few seconds, Hagman took his place at the firing line. While looking at the target he took out a catridge and bit off the top with the bullet. He shifted his gaze to his rifle and poured some pouder into the pan, then the rest down te barrel. He spat the bulett into it and took the ramrod out to thrust it down with the wadding.
He took his position standing and brought the rifle to his shoulder. "Again just ya an' me, lass" he wispered and took a short breath, and while holding it he squeezed the trigger.

The two shots sounded and the voices in the crowd started up again, as the Major walked to the targets and studied both. Not perfect yet, but no doubt they would get their eye in. The hole in the right hand target was a shade further from the centre, easily judged by eye. He patted his pocket, however, to confirm that Grimes had given him back his dividers. He turned and called out, loudly. "First round - the shot by Rifleman Hagman was closer to the centre of his target. Well done, both of you, though. Good shots."

Cotton nodded. Hagman was good, no doubt of it. Still kneeling, he took a second cartridge from his pouch to reload, taking just as much care as ever.

His motions smooth and practised, he primed, loaded and rammed, returning the ramrod to its place beneath the rifle barrel.

He raised the rifle, settling the butt into his shoulder and adjusting his position a little until he was comfortable. He aimed and carefully drew the trigger back.

Hagman smiled at the result. He knew that Cotton wouldn't make it easy for him.
Again he stepped up after the lad had fired his second shot. The routine of loading came easy to him. The pan was primed, the bullet thrusted savely home... he stood, with his lass at his shoulder, aiming. Just a short intake of breath and the bullet was on its way.

Vereker walked across. The two riflemen had matched each other again, but this time, it was the left hand target which was the further from the centre. "Second round, and the shot by Rifleman Cotton is closer. One round each, gentlemen."

Harris clenched his hands round the barrel. Hagman and Cotton were too well matched. He looked across at the other Chosen Man and nodded. "This is just warming up, Dan."

So far, this was playing out as their earlier competition had in Lisbon.

He took a third bullet and loaded again, still kneeling, ignoring the damp patch on his right trouser-leg where his knee was in the grass.

Bite, prime, pour, ram, return ramrod... He spat a little powder out as he raised the rifle butt. That stuff was foul.

Again, he controlled his breathing before squeezing the trigger.

Dan just shrugged his shoulders at the result. Well, it was only the second shot... and Cotton was good! He had to think on their first competition. It had just started like that... though he didn't follow this thought any further now.

Stepping up he took out another cartridge. Ever the same motions: bite, prime, pour, spit, ram... When the butt was pressed again firmly against his shoulder he aimed even more carefully this time and send the bullet towards the targt again.

There was a quick buzz of conversation following Hagman's shot, and then the spectators fell silent as Major Vereker walked back to the targets. One of the shots had touched the central point: the other was just slightly further out. Cotton's ball had been the closer.

He raised a hand over the righthand target and called down the range. "Third round. Rifleman Cotton, of the 3/60th has put his ball closer to the centre. Rifleman Cotton has this round too. But well done, both of you. Very, very good shooting."

Maggie hopped up and down. "Yes! Gable!" She hugged Jenny next to her, feeling happy and nervous at the same time.

Hagman was good. He was one of the best Cotton had ever fired against, and worthy of the title he bore - one of the 95th's Chosen Men.

Again, Cotton took a cartridge and went through the loading procedure, careful as ever. He slid the ramrod home and again raised the rifle, settling the butt into his shoulder to aim. One breath, two... and he gently squeezed the trigger.

Perkins exhaled as Cotton fired his round, and then he turned with eager anxiety to watch Hagman's shot. "Come on, Dan, come on..." he muttered.

This was getting tense. Sharpe knew that Hagman was the best shot among his men, but Cotton seemed to be every bit as good. He found himself leaning forward, urging Hagman on, though he said nothing - as if he could be heard over the voices of the men around him anyway.

Harris glanced down at the two boys, and their excitement. There had been little chance for this kind of competition since they had left the army, and their excitement was understandable. But Dan Hagman had taught him, as he was teaching young Carty. "Come on, Dan."

"Damn!" Hagman swore under his breath. He didn't like to admit it but this lad was getting the better of him again... or so it seamed. He was completely absorbed in the competition now, so he could not make out who was watching him. 'Just 'ave ta make the next shot count' he told himself.

This time he led some more moments pass before he stepped up to the line. But when he loaded again, his movements were as smooth as ever and no trace of nervousness could be seen. "Make it count, lass" he whispered again, then taking a steadying breath pulled the trigger.

Cotton was good, Vickery knew that. He had maybe not realised how good, despite hearing rumours about their informal competition, back in Lisbon. Or maybe it was simply that he hadn't realised just how good Cotton's opponent was.

The older man with the long hair seemed to be a natural at this, and Vickery wondered if Cotton had realised what he'd let himself in for in Lisbon. He was a worthy opponent, at any rate.

Edrington stood with two of the General's staff officers among the other spectators. He was, of course, quite neutral between the two companies of riflemen, and having seen both of them shoot in the earlier round, had been unable to decide which was better. Now he watched with interest as Hagman prepared for the fourth shot.

*********

Major Vereker approached the two targets, and thought that with his own men, the musketeers of the 62nd, he would not have dared stand in such a dangerous position. He had to get out the dividers this time, each shot only a fraction of an inch off centre. Eventually he turned, and raised his voice in the sudden, almost total hush. "This time, there is nothing to choose between them. I declare the fourth round a draw."

Two rounds to Cotton, one to Hagman. All would depend on the last shot.

Perkins breathed in a gasp, and then let out a ragged sigh, exchanging glances with Harris. This was far more nerve-wracking than a battle!

Maggie realized that her fingers were buried in her hair, wrapped around her curls as if to pull them out by the roots. She lowered her hands, but immediately clasped them up in front of her almost as if she were praying.

"It's going to be close," Sanders murmured to Hunter, who was also standing with Edrington. "Damn close!"

This was... this was panning out the same as their informal competition in Lisbon. It couldn't be any closer than this, could it?

He had to wipe his suddenly-damp hands on his trousers before taking the last cartridge. He took a steadying breath before beginning to load his final round.

A pinch of powder in the pan, pull the frizzen back to cover it, turn the rifle about... he ran through the instructions in his head as he did it, to calm himself. There was no need to hurry this, after all.

Powder down the barrel, cartridge paper and ball down the barrel, ram them hom and return the ramrod. Bring the butt up into the shoulder and tuck it in, nice and tight. Cock back all the way till it clicked... aim straight... and squeeze the trigger.

Well Gabe had finished his part. Maggie almost wanted to sob. What would Hagman do?

"Come on, Dan," Ben whispered through clenched teeth, grasping Carty's arm and shaking it. "Come on, come on, come on, come on."

"Very close," Edrington agreed, softly. "But I think my riflemen are really showing their mettle today."