Chapter 55: Clever
The month of February in the year 1899 arrived on a Wednesday. And once again, I found myself on the beach, conducting a marksmanship lesson.
Yesterday, after our first lecture, I issued rifles to the cadets. I had considered using some of the Mauser rifles from my escolta for training, but eventually decided to go with the Remington rolling blocks.
While Mausers would perform astronomically better in actual battle, the Remington was the superior training rifle. Its slow reload—while a serious disadvantage in combat—encouraged deliberate aiming on the training grounds, making it ideal for teaching fundamentals. Not to mention, it was simpler for beginners to handle, easier to maintain, and more durable and replaceable.
Yesterday, I taught them the basics of rifle handling—cleaning, maintenance, assembly, and disassembly. Today, they received their first lesson in marksmanship.
They were more excited than I had ever seen them. Roque and Nepomuceno, in particular, wouldn’t stop fawning over their rifles, polishing them to a gleam every other minute. For these young men, it was their first close encounter with a firearm—understandable, given the strict Spanish gun control policies.
When I told them they would be firing live ammunition, their faces lit up and their eyes sparkled.
Gunshots rang out, one after another. The lieutenants and cadets stood in a line facing the shore, firing in succession at tin cans set up as targets.
I sighed as I watched from the side. The results were just as I expected.
Vicente got nearly everything right, landing an almost-hit. That wasn’t surprising; he had been present when I first trained Abad’s men and, although he didn’t directly participate, he must have picked up a thing or two.
Ronaldo had the posture down and didn’t flinch at the shot, but he yanked the trigger and sent his bullet far off target.
The four cadets performed like the absolute beginners they were.