Read A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 27

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  “Let’s try it again sir,” ordered a kind and patient voice with a hint of a Highland accent, “but this time try to not blow yourself up.”

  “Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed, my Lord. But you’re lucky, you get to learn without being hunted through the heather by a horde of murderous Redcoats.”

  “I don’t see why I have to learn how to shoot this old relic, I don’t plan on fighting any redcoats.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. You practice so that you’re ready when the plan falls apart. Besides, this old relic was advanced technology at one time and a good reason why Bonaparte was defeated.”

  Pierce nodded and began the process again of loading, priming, aiming, and firing a Napoleonic era Baker rifle. The process was slow for an expert, being able to fire three rounds a minute in good conditions. Pierce was averaging one round every five minutes, twice forgetting to load the ball and the last time leaving the ramrod in the barrel. However this time he was able to get a shot off in his best time, remembering all of the correct steps.

  “Very good!” exclaimed his tutor slapping his back, “now all you need to do is hit the target.” Following the pointing finger, Pierce observed that the past hour of target practice had left the target miraculously unharmed. In fact, judging from the pock marks on the opposite wall and the black sooted appearance of himself and his tutor, the target was probably the safest place to be in the room. Remembering Schell’s description of the Colonel’s bent duelling pistols; Pierce hefted his rifle up and stared down the length, searching for any inconsistencies.

  “You won’t find anything wrong with that barrel lad,” observed MacDuff, apparently clairvoyant. “A solid piece of craftsmanship that. Why compared to the muskets I learned on and used on the battlefield…”

  “Understood Duffy,” said Pierce, stopping him with a raised hand.

  “Well, since I believe we’ve exhausted the use of black powder weapons for today, shall we turn to the use of more modern pieces?” Taking the Baker rifle from Pierce he turned and handed it to one of the assistants for return to the armoury. He then ushered Pierce through the door of the practice range out into a hall filled with tables, weapons, wrestling mats, and combat dummies. They were once more in the Brown Packs training facility.

  Upon reaching the far end of the room they entered an adjoined hall, this one containing multiple doors facing each other. They walked to the second door on the right and entered into a modern firing range, complete with firing lanes and mechanical targets at the far end. As he had for the past two days, Pierce walked over to a stall with his name inscribed above and opened it. He took out a pair of safety glasses and ear plugs, but hesitated before putting them in.

  “Why wasn’t I wearing these before?” Inquired Pierce to his tutor.

  “You didn’t ask,” replied Duffy, “plus you don’t really need them if you only fire once every half hour.”

  Ignoring the good natured jibe, Pierce donned the protective gear and walked up to the first firing lane. A 9mm semi-automatic pistol was sitting on a small shelf at the firing line, along with a group of filled magazines. He got to them and started his safety check, then loading the gun as he had been taught.

  He slowly raised the weapon to eye level, concentrating on the sights and the target beyond them. He scarcely heard the instructions calmly emanating from behind him; “remember your breathing”, “squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it”, “aim past the sights”…

  The pistol jerked in his hands as he let off his first shot, maintaining control, and aiming again as it automatically reloaded. A second shot then fired, immediately followed by a third. A brief pause was followed by another secession of three shots. This routine continued until the pistol locked open, denoting the end to the supply of bullets. Pierce lowered the pistol to a safe position as the target made its way to him along a small overhead track.

  “Well done, my lord,” came the voice from behind him. “Significant improvement from yesterday, look at your groupings.” He pointed to the clustering of the holes throughout the target. “You’re starting to feel the weapon, not just shoot it.”

  “It just seemed so much easier after using that old rifle.”

  “Now who could have foreseen that?”

  “How many of these little tricks do you have?”

  “Tricks? I don’t use tricks my Lord,” replied MacDuff indignantly, quickly followed by a knowing grin.

  “You don’t? Then pray tell me what you would call the incident at our initial meeting, if not a trick?”

  “So you caught on did you? I figured you for a clever lad. That was not a trick, just a well timed lesson. For everyone involved in fact.”

  “How did you know what the outcome would be? Nobody in their right mind would have bet on me against Sean.”

  “That’s exactly why the lesson worked so well. Plus I followed one of my most important rules: I cheated. Mr. Drummond had shown me your dossier when I was given the title of your Whip. So I knew you were an expert with a blade. Now reload and let’s try this again. This time try and keep your eyes open when you fire. You’ll find that significantly improves your chances at hitting the target.”