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Chapter Ten - Kurt

Kurt glanced over the top of his rifle, the sound of blood roared in his ears. He closed one eye and tried to line his rifle up to the centre of the target which sat several yards ahead of him. He could hear Johannes beside him, breathing heavily and shuffling his body until he was in a more comfortable position. A thick blanket fell over the men, smothering all sounds except for the deep breathing of the soldiers as they readied their rifles. Not even the birds tweeting could break through.

The Hauptmann blew his whistle, the sound sending several birds scattering from the trees. Kurt exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled against his shoulder as the shots rang out. Around him, the other men fired their rifles, sending the last of the birds flying into the sky and leaving Kurt with a slight ringing in his ears. Despite all their training at the rifle range, he still couldn't stand the sound of the guns being fired. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

"Clear!" the Hauptmann yelled once the ringing had stopped and the dust had settled.

"I don't think I hit the target," Wilhelm said, sitting up. "It didn't look like it."

"We're about to find out."

Kurt pushed himself up to his knees and swung his rifle onto his shoulder. Sanding up, he and Wilhelm crossed the rifle range with the other men to get a closer look at their targets. Every man held their breath until they reached the targets. The fear that they might have missed gripped them like a vice. The Hauptmann had threatened them with a six-mile run that afternoon if a single man failed to hit the target. No one wanted to be that person.

Wilhelm let out a sign of relief. "I must have imagined it. I could have sworn I was a little short on that one."

"You almost got it dead centre." Kurt nodded towards the mark on Wilhelm's target.

"How do you do it?" Wilhelm turned to Kurt's target, pointing at the mark in the centre ring. "I don't think you've missed one shot. Right in the middle, every time."

"Father used to take me out to practise all the time, you know that. I suppose all that hard work must have paid off."

"You can say that again; you're the best shot here."

"Well done, Soldat Schäfer," the Hauptmann said as he walked the length of the targets to see if anyone had missed. "That's the sort of shot we want to see in this regiment."

"Thank you, sir."

The Hauptmann nodded and continued to make his way down the line, checking every target to ensure it had been hit. From where Kurt stood, it didn't look like any of them had missed their mark, but some had hit the very edge of the target. Otto's bullet had only just hit the corner of the target and Kurt didn't expect it to be good enough for them to avoid the run. After two months in training, they were expected to hit the target, but many of the men still struggled with what Kurt thought to be a simple task.

He had excelled in training. From the physical aspect like the mile long runs and hand-to-hand combat, to the target practice and bayonet drills, Kurt had mastered it all. He felt at home in training, as though he had found the thing he was supposed to be doing. Even though he felt like he had found his place in the army, Kurt knew that most of the discipline he had learnt from home. The farm work had improved his strength and agility whilst his father often took him out shooting.

His farmwork had been instrumental in getting Kurt to the level the army expected from him.

"I think I'm going to end up winning this bet," Wilhelm said under his breath.

"Well, we'll have to see."

"I'm winning, Kurt. Those three Marks are mine."

The Hauptmann blew his whistle.