The Marines Have Landed Part 17

"Well, if I don't git one of them little bronzes at the end of my next enlistment, I'll be givin' all the rest o' me medals to ye, and ye can melt 'em up into copper pennies; but if I do git it, I'll string the hull lot of them across me chest at the first inspection what comes along."

And midst much laughter from the group surrounding them, Dorlan and Richard shook hands on the "bargain."

Ten days later the "galley yarns" came true, as they sometimes do, and the _Denver_ steamed through the narrow entrance and into the wonderful, green bordered, blue waters of Guantanamo Bay, where she anch.o.r.ed for an indefinite stay.

Upon the first opportunity, Sergeant Dougla.s.s took the entire guard ash.o.r.e for a view of the historic battlefields. Landing at Fisherman's Point, they climbed the steep slopes of McCalla Hill, where stands the monument erected in memory of the heroes who lost their lives in the memorable engagement. But it was Corporal Michael Dorlan who explained to the interested men every phase of the landing and the attack; who showed them the hill from which the intrepid Quick had signalled so calmly oblivious of personal danger, and finally he took them through the dusty cactus and chaparral to the old well, the destruction of which forced the Spanish troops to evacuate and leave the field to the st.u.r.dy soldiers of the sea.

At a later date, the boys in company with Dorlan and others made a week-end "liberty" to Santiago, where the winning battles of the war were fought on land and water. They saw the exact spot where Hobson and his brave crew blew up the _Merrimac_ in the harbor entrance; they scaled the walls of Morro Castle, which withstood with hardly a scar the fierce bombardment of our fleet; and they rode out to San Juan Hill, where the gallant soldiers of Shafter's army fought so valiantly and successfully.

These little trips to old battlefields resulted in a great demand for books dealing with the wars of that period, and the crew's library of the _Denver_ was more popular than it had been for months.

CHAPTER X

WINNING HIS FIRST MEDAL

Overhead the sun shone mercilessly from a cloudless sky. Hardly a breath of air stirred the stubby gra.s.s and scrubby bushes which covered abrupt little hillocks of piled-up coral lightly spread with clinging bits of sandy soil. From the floor-like level of the baked sand flats, covered with white streaks where the sun's rays had gathered up the water and left small deposits of salt, the heat-waves rose, bubbling and boiling, a snare to the unwary or unknowing riflemen, who, from various ranges and positions, were sending little pellets of lead encased in steel jackets at rows of paper targets surmounting the earth and concrete parapets, known as the "b.u.t.ts."

It was a busy and interesting scene of action. Marines in khaki and sailors in white were sprinkled over the vast plain, all intent on watching the bobbing rectangles of brownish paper with black, round, bull's eyes whereon was marked each shot-hole caused by the bullets in their flight.

For days the preliminary drill had been under way. To the men who never before had fired there seemed to be much useless labor and time wasted.

Position and aiming drills are monotonous at best, and to stand at long intervals raising the rifle from the hip-position of "load" to a certain height, then bringing it to rest against the right shoulder, bending the head and squinting over the sights at small round black pasters an inch in diameter stuck to a bulkhead or wall and finally snapping the trigger, seemed the height of folly. When, however, the sighting drills progressed to their making tiny triangles by getting points on a piece of white paper twenty feet distant from the rifle sights and connecting these with straight lines, followed by explanations why certain triangles were good and if a bullet had actually travelled along the indicated path, excellent or poor scores would have resulted, then the drills held more interest for Richard and Henry.

Each day Sergeant Battiste, one of the famous shots of the Corps and attached to the _Denver_, gave lectures on rifle shooting. A celebrated coach, member of many winning teams in the National Rifle meets, holder of the coveted Distinguished Marksman Medal, and Military Rifle Champion of America for two consecutive years, he was well fitted for his task.

Marines are ent.i.tled to fire the regular record practise for qualification under the Small Arms Firing Manual of the United States Army once during each target year; but those men who made the grade of Expert Rifleman were not required to fire again during their current enlistment and for that time received each month the extra pay which is a reward for their merit. Naturally all hands were anxious to make the score necessary to acquire these benefits and Sergeant Battiste left no stone unturned to help them in their desires. Each step had been carefully rehea.r.s.ed, instruction practise completed and to-day the record firing would decide their final merit.

"I've already told you," said Battiste, the men being gathered around him on arrival at the 200-yard firing point, "not to get excited and to take your time. Get your rear sight in perfect alignment with the front sight and the 'bull' sitting oh top; fill your lungs--then, the moment you are ready to fire hold your breath for that instant and squeeze the trigger--don't pull or jerk it, first take up the 'creep,' and by now every one of you should know just when that little additional pressure will be sufficient to release the firing-pin. We've a perfect day for shooting, and if you don't make good scores it's your own fault. As we go back to the longer ranges the wind will come up, but it will blow steadily from the left or nine o'clock,[#] if I know anything about this range and the action of the wind here, and I claim I do. We shall have to watch out for mirage. Your targets have been a.s.signed. Each man knows the number he will fire at and there is no excuse for shooting on the wrong target. To do so would possibly spoil another fellow's score, and it means you will receive a 'goose egg'[#] for your own shot, and goose eggs mean low qualifications."

[#] When facing the target the range is supposed to represent the face of a clock. Twelve o'clock is at the target; six, at the firing point; three, to the right, and nine, to the left. The direction of the wind is easily designated by reference to any hour of the clock dial. A clock-face is also imagined on the target-face; twelve at the top and six at the bottom, facing the firer.

[#] A Zero on the score.

"Are we permitted to blacken our sights on record practise, Sergeant?"

inquired d.i.c.k, as Battiste paused for a moment.

"Yes, you may blacken both front and rear sights. I'd suggest the use of camphor, and I should also smoke the barrel well, as this sun makes the blued metal glare badly. The red flag is up in the pits, so the 'sand rats'[#] are ready for us to begin. Get on the line, men, and begin firing when your target comes up. Each shot will be marked. If you fail to hit the target a red flag will be waved across its face, indicating a miss; the white disk placed over the shot hole means a bull's-eye, or five; the red disk, four; the black and white disk a three and the black a two. If any of you wish to challenge the marking, Mr. Gardiner, who is the Range Officer, will call up Mr. Thorp in the b.u.t.ts and have the target gone over carefully. Remember to keep your own score in your book and see that it corresponds with the marking and with the scorekeepers' records."

[#] Men who operate the targets and signal the hits from the b.u.t.ts.

"How many shots do we fire?" called out Private Jones, the most inattentive man of the guard, but also the one always spotlessly clean, which reputation had gained for him the position of one of Commander Bentley's cabin orderlies.

"This is slow fire at 200 yards," answered the coach, who seldom lost his temper and had the patience of Job. "Each man will fire two strings of five shots each from the standing position, then we shall move back to 300 yards, and fire the same number of shots from either the sitting or kneeling position. No sighting shots allowed at either of these ranges. The targets are up, men! Commence firing!"

Immediately following the command came the crack of rifles all along the line--the record practise was under way.

Neither Richard nor Henry, before this week on the range at Guantanamo Bay, knew anything of rifle shooting, though both, one in the New England woods, the other along the bayous of the Mississippi, had spent many happy hours with dog and shotgun. Practise with the high-powered military rifle was a decidedly different proposition, but they took to it as a duck does to water, and during instruction practise they agreeably surprised Sergeant Battiste with work that was excellent for beginners.

d.i.c.k, having more patience and being more cool-headed, strong and nerveless, was without doubt the better of the two. Henry's one failing was his impatience to "get the shot off." In case he failed to bring his sights in perfect alignment on the bull's eye with a steady hand, he would fall back on the quick "fly shot" so necessary to the hunter armed with a fowling piece, but disastrous to one who aspires to perfection with the military weapon.

"Five o'clock three for you, Cabell," sang out the coach; "must have pulled down on your gun at the last moment. Remember my caution--take your time and squeeze the trigger. Good work, Drummer Comstock; you've found the bull first shot. It's nipping in at twelve o'clock.[#] It pays to be calm and deliberate."

"I'm way off to the right, Sergeant," called out Jones irritably; "all three of my shots have gone in the same place--twos at three o'clock, and you said there wasn't any wind blowing."

[#] "Nipping in at twelve o'clock"--A rifleman's term for a bull's-eye just barely cutting the black at the top.

"Not a bit of wind, Jones, and if you would only remember to set your wind gauge properly those twos would have been bulls, every one. You have almost three points of right wind on, and you shouldn't have any.

Apply your quarter-point rule. Each quarter-point on your wind gauge at 200 yards moves your shot how many inches on the target?"

"It moves it two inches, and three times two is six inches," said Jones smugly. "My shots are about two feet from the center of the bull, so there must be wind blowing from the left."

"Your arithmetic needs a little oiling, Jones. There are four quarters in every full point and that makes twelve quarters altogether for your three points. Each quarter point moves you two inches, making twenty-four inches in all. You see, that is the two feet that your shots are out, which is what I said in the beginning."

Jones sheepishly corrected his sight, and the next shot on his target was marked a "pinwheel."

Thus it was the coach went up and down the firing line, offering the advice of long and successful experience.

At the completion of the firing at 200 yards the line of riflemen moved back to the 300-yard point, and taking the sitting or kneeling position, began the next stage of the course. A "possible" or perfect score of ten shots would mean fifty points towards the three hundred points necessary to qualify the men as marksmen, and this they would have to get in order to be permitted to shoot the sharpshooter's course. The firing at 200 yards was the hardest in d.i.c.k's estimation, and though he had started off with a bull's-eye, or five, as already stated, he did not continue to see the little white marker or spotter in the black s.p.a.ce as he hoped would be the case. His first and last shots were fives and the rest fours, making his total score forty-two. Henry was six points below centers, or thirty-four.

Three hundred yards was an easy range for d.i.c.k and he surprised himself with the high score at that stage--forty-seven points, all bulls but three, which fell close outside in the four-ring. Henry had made one over centers, or a score of forty-one.

"Now we will go back to five and six hundred yards," said Battiste.

"Each man must fire two sighting shots at both those ranges before he can count his shots for record. The firing will be the same as it was in instruction--from the p.r.o.ne position. I expect every man to average up his score at the 500-yard range, for the bull looks as big as a barn-door, and you can't miss it. You know we change the size of the targets now and use the mid-range or B-target, and the bull's-eye is twenty inches in diameter. In the short-range or A-target it is but eight inches, and in the long-range or C-target it is thirty-six inches.

For this reason B-target at 500 yards and C-target at 800 yards are what we call 'easy marks.'"

"Supposing we fire the twelve shots and the first ten are bulls but the last two goose eggs, would the latter count against you?" asked Henry, as he rearranged the leather sling on his rifle around his left arm before lying down.

"It's your last ten shots which count," replied the coach. "Firing regulations require you to take the two sighting shots, and you can't juggle them around to suit yourself; they've got to be the first two fired. The mirage is no longer boiling straight up,[#] but it's moving off to the right a bit, so I'd advise you all to take your sighting shots, make your own deductions and then wait for me to see how nearly correct you are."

[#] Mirage--Heat waves near the earth, visible on some days to the naked eye, but more clearly seen through a telescope. It is really the air travelling on the range, and the best guide for windage, as it is the actual air through which the bullet travels. When there is no movement to left or right the wind is either still for a moment or carrying the mirage directly towards or from the target. It appears to rise and is said to be "boiling."

The moment d.i.c.k's target appeared he lay flat on his stomach with his body at an angle of about forty-five degrees to the firing line, feet spread apart with the heels turned inwards. His leather sling was fastened tightly about the upper part of his left arm, and the left hand was well under the rifle, bearing against the lower swivel, which held one end of the sling. The b.u.t.t of the rifle was placed, with the aid of his right hand, against the right shoulder, both elbows on the ground, the right hand grasping the small of the stock with the forefinger curling around the trigger. His cheek was against the left side of the stock and his right eye so near the rear of the c.o.c.king-piece that to one uninitiated it would appear dangerous. But it was the safest position he could a.s.sume, and the rifle in his grasp was steady as a rock.

Crack! Crack! The first shots sped on their way to the b.u.t.ts, as d.i.c.k and the man on his right fired almost simultaneously.

Nothing followed! d.i.c.k's target screen did not move. He was certain his position, his aim, his pull, were all perfect. The shot must have gone through the black paper in the center or one of the black annular rings and was not seen by the "sand rat" in charge.