With that single command, five soldiers in camouflaged green raised and poised their SAR21s in anticipation of their next few shots. The lance corporal in lane nine however had bigger stakes riding on this very shoot.
His uniform was already soaked in sweat, skin pasty and cold, his every breath shortened with each inhale. He tightened his grip, looked through the scope, tunnel vision already kicking in as he tried to hold steady his aim.
As the first of the targets whipped up, shots went echoing through the chamber. The board that had served as the enemy promptly snapped down for lane nine.
"You can do this!" he muttered to himself as the chamber safety officer confirmed the hit. "Left, double, right." Reassuring himself of the order of which the targets will be appearing.
This time, two targets came up. With a rapid motion, the lance corporal fired off two shots. Feeling triumphant, he looked up from his scope only to discover that both targets were still up; he had missed them both.
And with that, it signalled the end of his trial. He had failed to obtain the necessary shots to obtain the marksman grade. The past two days and last twenty hours have gone to waste. He had failed.
There's no worse than the feeling of being inadequate; to give your best and still end up short.
-Zarae.BestedAndBeaten
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