For the fifth time, the c***k of the rifle rang out across the firing range, the bullet slapping unerringly into the centre of the target. Cole was prone, a model 1843 Luttich Carbine in his grip. Arnoldson told him it was owned by Major Knowles, who had personally entrusted it into Cole’s capable hands. Such a decision seemed well-proven. The first shot had wandered to the left, meaning Cole had to readjust the sights. Now, with everything set up successfully, the subsequent shots were perfect. He’d increased the range every time, and now, with the target placed at eight hundred paces, the bullet hit the target directly in the centre.
“Dead-eye,” muttered Arnoldson, who was viewing each shot through a set of German-made binoculars. As Cole got up from his position, Arnoldson handed him t
