“Your aim was about an inch too high,” Bernard said yesterday.
That line had hit home for Marc. When he did some target practice with a pistol, musket, crossbar, or bow, his shots always landed an inch or two high. That meant little when the target was a man, but an inch could mean missing the hare entirely.
Marc controlled his breathing as his finger slid onto the trigger. When he was ready, he took a breath and held it as he squeezed the trigger. First there came a spark as the flint struck the pan, followed by a flash to the side and out the barrel. When he released his breath, he was enveloped in a large grey cloud, and the presence of brimstone burned his nostrils.
As the smoke dissipated, along with the ringing in his ears, Marc spotted the lifeless hare. Brimming with pride, he smiled as he went to claim his prize. As he picked up his meal, Marc remembered a detail. I don’t have a blade with me…
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.