Alexander looked up with a determined smirk.
"Speak of the devil…"
The three men stepped out of the office, where a marine on sentry duty greeted them.
"Sirs, her Majesty's trucks are here."
He pointed to the gates, where three trucks rumbled onto the parade grounds.
Alexander turned to Klaus, who was still holding the prototype rifle.
"Gather the men, tell 'em their birthday just came early."
— — —
Ten minutes later the men were gathered around the trucks.
Elizabeth's personnel unloaded them, stacking up long crates and boxes of ammunition.
Alexander had one of the crates set aside, opening it with a crowbar.
Inside were eight, nicely nestled rifles surrounded by straw.
He reached in, picking one up and showing it to the Marines.
"This is what separates us from our enemies! And you will learn every aspect of it!"
Alexander ejected the empty magazine, sniffing it.
It was empty, with enough space for ten rounds.
"I want you to familiarize yourself with this weapon because today you will learn its function, and tomorrow you will fire it, understood?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Outstanding! Now I want you to pass these weapons along so that you can get a feel for them."
He pressed the empty magazine back inside with a click, handing it to a random recruit.
As the recruit accepted the rifle, Alexander reached to hand out another one.
— — —
Soon wooden lids littered the grounds as each recruit examined their brand new rifles.
Even the veterans, who had held muskets before this, stared at the rifles in awe.
Alexander watched with a grin, before he was pulled aside by one of Elizabeth's personnel.
It was one of her engineers, a woman with deep blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Sir, it's imperative that we instruct these men for a week before you give them the ammunition. It's standard procedure… at least in Amburian boot camp. Of course, that's after a week of learning the–"
Alexander smiled softly, causing the woman to pause with a blush.
He couldn't help but notice how passionate Amburians were about protocol.
"My apologies, I'll let you instruct these men, but you have two days, not weeks."
The woman held up a finger in protest.
"But–"
Klaus stood behind Alexander, narrowing his eyes but saying nothing.
The woman frowned, then sighed.
"Fine, fine, I suppose I could skim out on a few details."
Alexander gestured towards Hans, "Talk with him when you're ready to begin instructing them."
The engineer nodded, walking over towards Hans.
Alexander turned towards Klaus.
"It's time to go into overdrive."
— — —
Over the next couple of days, the men were instructed about their new rifles in a makeshift classroom.
They learned to take them apart.
Put them together.
Load and unload the magazine.
Adjusting the sights…
All under the watchful eyes of Klaus and Hans.
At lunch, the men would eat with their rifles.
And at night, they would sleep with them.
By the time the rushed lesson was over, the men had a basic understanding of their new weapons.
During their training, Alexander had a shooting range constructed.
It was simple.
With two rows of ten man-sized targets.
One at 100 meters.
And another at 300.
The Marines lined up with their targets with their rifles in hand.
"First squadron, step forward!"
Klaus called loudly.
Ten men stepped forward, their rifles resting on their shoulders.
"Today's task is simple! You will fire five rounds at the 100-meter target. And another five at the 300-meter target. You fire on my order, and you will stop on my order, is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
Klaus raised a hand.
"Present, arms!"
The ten men planted one foot back, firmly in the dirt.
"Ready, arms!"
The men raised their rifles to their shoulders, pressing their cheeks against the stock.
"Aim!"
Then men lined up their sights with their targets.
And everyone watched in silence.
Klaus threw down his hand, "Fire!"
A deafening crack tore through the afternoon air, a sound far sharper than any musket.
BANG-CRACK-POP!
The simultaneous sound of ten rounds crashing against targets and dirt.
Most of the recruits flinched at the recoil, some even held their eyes shut.
"Cycle, arms!"
The men fumbled slightly, pulling back on their bolts to eject the brass casings.
"Port, arms!"
Klaus scowled as he watched them men tremble, approaching them.
"What's the matter? Afraid of a little sound?! Does the recoil hurt your shoulder?! Well, that's too damn bad!"
Hans turned to look at the 100-meter targets.
Most of them were hit in the chest area.
But a few missed entirely, kicking up dirt.
The engineer from earlier shook her head, like she knew this would happen.
"Now prepare to fire again!"
The men went through the same motions, firing their remaining rounds.
When all was said and done, most of them had hit their 100-meter target ⅗ times.
But when it came to the 300 meters… the results were disastrous.
The best only had a score of ⅕.
Barely nipping the edge.
The targets were switched out, and the next squad stepped forward.
They performed even worse, fearing the recoil before even experiencing it.
Squad after squad the men cycled through, until finally the last squad of eight stepped forward.
They went through the motions and fired.
At first, there was nothing notable, some men hit their target.
And some didn't.
It wasn't until they began firing on the 300-meter target, Alexander noticed something unusual about one of the recruits.
"Aim!"
As the order was given, one of them began controlling their breathing.
"Fire!"
BANG-CRACK-POP!
The man squeezed the trigger, smashing a bullet into the dirt.
Inches away from his target.
But the man didn't flinch.
He cycled through the motions and fired.
Hitting the lower center of his target.
Klaus noticed it, but said nothing.
The recruits cycled through the motions and fired again.
And just like last time, the man hit the target.
This time just a little higher.
This was the same for the next two shots.
He only missed the last one after attempting a headshot.
It whizzed right over the target and smashed into the dirt.
Hans, Alexander, and the engineer immediately pulled out their monoculars.
Klaus barked the order to cease fire.
The last squadron lowered their rifles, ejecting their spent casings.
The trio lowered their monoculars, practically sprinting to the man.
They stopped directly in front of him, with Alexander resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Recruit."
The man snapped to attention, his expression calm.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's your name?"
"Private Erich, sir!"
"Erich… that's a powerful name, and you did some powerful shooting."
Klaus let out something akin to a sigh.
Even Hans seemed to know where this was going, indicated by his glance at Reinhardt.
"Thank you, sir."
"What was your profession before this?"
"This private was a watchmaker's assistant before the war, sir. After the war, I took up hunting with my father's Aum-field (a lever-action rifle.)"
Alexander nodded.
"Well, you know what you are now? Erich?"
"No, sir."
"You're a sharpshooter, specialist Erich!"
Erich blinked, the statement hanging in the air as it registered.
He then smiled.
"Thank you, sir!"
"You report directly to Lieutenant Hans, and you'll be assisted by Elodie."
He gestured to the engineer.
In the back of the formation, one of the veterans grumbled to the other.
"There he goes, handing out designations like candy."
Alexander's head snapped in the direction of the voice.
"Who said that?"
The range fell silent.
Everyone held their breath as they exchanged glances with Alexander and the veterans.
Klaus's jaw tightened as he stepped behind Alexander.
This was a critical moment.
A challenge to the commander could not be taken lightly.
Alexander narrowed his golden eyes, and for the first time, the men saw him with a visible scowl.
"Who? The. Hell. Said that."