Marksmanship

With the indigo dye acquired and my curiosity piqued, we went to take a peek at what the Coronel was doing. Impressively, Vicente was able to follow the gunshots, and with his increasing skill at driving, got the carriage to traverse a tight, narrow trail until we ended up on the shore.

Maximo and his men were easy to spot with their bright white uniforms. I counted about fifty young men and recognized a few familiar faces. Those whose turn it was to fire lined themselves parallel to the shoreline. Tin cans placed on driftwood logs served as the targets.

Colonel Abad noticed us as soon as we emerged onto the beach, but we stayed at a safe distance until the soldiers stopped firing. They released a few more volleys, from which I learned a couple of things. They were using breechloaders and black powder cartridges. They were also horrible shots, with 90% of their bullets hitting nothing but air and water, and Abad was not doing anything to correct them.

"Don Martin, how nice of you to stop by?" the Coronel greeted us as we approached, removing his hat.

The soldiers, if not happy, were at least amused to see us there.

"I see our soldiers are struggling with their marksmanship," I said with a chuckle, hoping to blunt the comment.

The colonel chuckled in response. "Yes, they do. Fortunately, the Americans are much larger than these tins."

His comment garnered some laughter, including from Teniente Triviño. I only offered a tight-lipped smile. He must have noticed a hint of disapproval from me because a moment later, he gave what sounded like an explanation. "We can't waste too many bullets on marksmanship training. We'll need all we have if we are to fight a war."

"I disagree, Colonel," I said bluntly, and I was quite aware that I was behaving differently than what was expected of the mellow Martin. But the U.S. Army Captain in me was pumped up. "Poor marksmanship in battle will lose you more bullets. Without proper training, you will be firing blindly and startled, and all you'll hit is the air and the ground, which have done you no wrong."

What I said and how I said it left everyone speechless, including Maximo, who only grunted in response. Teniente Triviño was staring at me wide-eyed as if I were another man. Isabela was scowling, disapproving of what I suspected was rude behavior toward her.

"Give me another volley," I said to the soldiers in the firing line.

They hesitated, looking at each other. Technically, as the politico-military governor of the island, I had authority over these soldiers. But this was something I had never exerted until that moment. There was also the fact that, according to the military hierarchy of the Revolutionary Army, these soldiers answered to Abad, and Abad answered to General Trias. My authority was civilian-military, whereas theirs was strictly military, placing my jurisdiction in an awkward spot.

So, for a moment, they did not know what to do with my order. They only started reloading when they saw a nod from the Coronel.

They gave me another volley, which yielded the same results. No tin had been overthrown from its wooden seat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… there it is… you are jerking the trigger. You are firing the rifle like scared little girls," I said, and once again, I knew how unhinged I must sound. Martin had never involved myself in military matters, and they knew him only as the rich don of the town, not as someone who should know anything about rifles.

"Give me the rifle," I asked the nearest soldier, and he reluctantly did.

I knew the gun as soon as I got a closer look at it. It was a Remington Rolling Block Rifle, my favorite single-shot rifle in my collection. It was sleek and simple and as reliable as a gun could be. Although, being single-shot, it was not a good thing to bring on a hunt.

As I raised the rifle to aim, the gun welcomed me like a lost friend. It had been years since I last shot a rolling block, but it was a straightforward rifle with no moving parts and a flat trajectory. I stepped my left foot slightly forward, slightly bent my knees, and leaned forward to counteract the recoil right before I smoothly squeezed the trigger.

My shoulder squarely absorbed the recoil, and with full confidence in my shot, I was not at all surprised to see the tin can get punched by the heavy, large bullet right in the middle.

"Another bullet," I said as I rolled the block, and the empty cartridge popped out even before the gunshot faded in the background.

I proceeded to knock down every tin can on the log with single shots. I would be lying if I said I had no intention of showboating, but I primarily did it to establish my expertise.

"Why can an old man like me do something, on the first try, that the ten of you can't, even in ten tries?" I asked.

They were still speechless, but there was a different look on their faces. From flustered, they now looked amused and impressed. This included Colonel Abad, who had a wide smile on his face. My display of marksmanship seemed to have done its job.

"It is because I know what I am doing. I treat the rifle as a friend, not a strange, scary foreign thing," I said as I walked in front of the soldiers in a line, scanning their faces, including those standing on the side. "Now… are you willing to learn?"

A sincere and powerful chorus answered. "Opo, Gobernador!"

"Will you let me, Coronel?" I pivoted my head in the direction of Colonel Abad.

"Of course, Martin! We all are at your disposal. If only I knew you had the knowledge, I would have sought your help much earlier," Maximo jogged towards me with the widest smile I had ever seen on his mustached face.

Help. Indeed, I was now actively helping them prepare for a war I fervently prayed would not happen, against Americans I desperately hoped I would not have to raise arms against. But perhaps, it was all right to be ready for the worst, even as I hoped for the best.

"All right then, recruits. We will be starting with your bellies on the ground."