But As I lay with the taste of salt in my mouth, something in me changed. I walk away and go back to the tent, and ponder it all as the soft lead flies in the distance.

Physical training is in many ways worse than combat training. Whoever is last to get dressed and leave the change room gets a beating by the Captain. Regardless of how quick the last person is.

The next week we are given live ammo on the shooting range. I can only think about shooting the Captain, since he beat me the day before. I wonder if it is worth facing a firing squad just to shoot him. The one rule of the shooting range is that when you are retrieving your targets, the chamber of the gun must be empty. I shoot my ten shots before the others, and load the eleventh bullet into the chamber. Once the others finnish shooting, I walk to the targets briskly and I am the first back to the rifles. Now its just the Captain and me, and the eleventh bullet, waiting in my gun. I stare at him, and he looks at me. Does he know what I am thinking? Do I care enough for this strife?

Its eternity before the others return, and the opportunity seems lost. Will I regret this chance in later life? I may never know that. I wait for the first volley of shots to be fired before I take aim at the target. At the last moment, I lift my gun. Its an old world war one rifle with a wooden shoulder rest. I still have a chance.