Chapter 17: Huge Profit
The news of the marksmanship competition between Rhys Parks and Shifty Powers attracted every brother in Easy Company.
Even Lieutenant Winters and Captain Sobel knew about it, but neither planned to intervene. Winters didn't stop it because he saw it as a healthy activity for the men, a bit of fun after training that wouldn't affect the unity of the company. Captain Sobel, on the other hand, hoped the contest would motivate the men to take their training more seriously, perhaps even sparking a new wave of competition throughout Easy. But that was just his own thinking.
The firing range was already surrounded by people. Everyone was eagerly waiting to watch the two men.
"Shifty, no matter who wins, they should buy the brothers a drink," Rhys said with a joke. He knew that even though it was a bet, a loss could damage Shifty's confidence, which would not be a good thing on the battlefield.
"Of course," Shifty said with a somewhat shy smile. He had been pushed into this by the men of First Platoon, but since it was a bet, there was nothing to complain about. He just had to treat it like another game of darts. He tried to comfort himself with this thought, but his heart was beating a little faster than usual.
"Eight rounds," Guarnere said, handing ammunition to both men.
"Do good work!" the range instructor, who was standing nearby, shouted at Rhys. He had also placed a bet. In his experience, while Shifty was a very good shot, he was still a bit inexperienced. That man Parks, however, was a natural-born killer—calm, decisive, and he fired without hesitation. Why would he pass up an opportunity to make some money on a sure thing?
The rules were simple: eight rounds, one target, no time limit to start, and only one requirement—hit the bullseye and be the first to finish shooting.
'CRACK!' A shell casing tumbled through the air and landed on the ground. Shifty was very satisfied with his first shot. It was a confidence-booster, a dead-center hit. A small smile touched his lips.
"Whoa!" A wave of gasps and applause swept through the crowd.
Shifty didn't hesitate. He raised his rifle again and fired a second shot. Another bullseye. Although it was off by a fraction, it still demonstrated his excellent marksmanship.
"Ooooh—Shifty, that was amazing!" The cheers for Shifty, mostly from First Platoon, echoed across the range. His shooting was so good that even the men of Second Platoon, who had almost all bet on Rhys, began to feel a little anxious. They had wagered $50 each. To make matters worse, Rhys hadn't even raised his rifle yet.
"Parks, are you scared? Show some courage! Don't let Shifty intimidate you! You can do it too!" Guarnere shouted. Although he had always had faith in Rhys, the current situation was making him nervous.
Shifty looked at Rhys confidently and saw that he was smiling back at him. But this wasn't the look of a man who was scared; it was a smile of pure self-assurance.
'CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!'
One shot after another. Though there was a slight pause between them, he fired the next four rounds in a single, fluid motion. All four hit the bullseye. The men of First Platoon erupted in cheers. It seemed now that Shifty had this in the bag.
"Oh, damn it!" White was getting antsy now too. "Parks, hurry up!" he yelled.
Rhys nodded at him with a slight smile, then raised his rifle.
The target was right in front of him. In his vision, it rapidly shrank, then magnified infinitely. This was an act of will, just like the life-or-death struggles in the fire and blood of his past life. The noise of the outside world gradually faded away until his entire world consisted of only a rifle, a target, and the bullets waiting in the chamber.
'CRACK—'
It was a sound that seemed to release a long-suppressed tension, the crisp report of a bullet tearing through the air.
Eight rounds produced eight sharp cracks.
'PING—' The empty en bloc clip ejected, somersaulted through the air, and landed in the sand of the training ground.
Rhys lowered his rifle and looked at Shifty with a smile.
"WHOA—" A collective gasp went through the entire crowd, followed by a storm of applause.
All eight bullets had passed through the bullseye, hitting the exact same spot. And from the first shot to the last, it had taken only six seconds. This was the theoretical maximum rate of fire for an M1 Garand.
The one timing him was the range instructor. His mouth was slightly agape as he sucked in a sharp breath. What kind of monster was this? To have this level of accuracy and speed... if he wasn't a freak of nature, he must have started learning to shoot in his mother's womb. Of course, the instructor had no way of knowing that Rhys had, in fact, been shooting for many years in his past life, and the rate of fire of modern weapons was far beyond what the M1 could achieve.
"I lose," Shifty said, without a trace of disappointment. "Who could possibly beat a monster like Parks? So…" He shrugged.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me, Parks!" Buck Compton groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I thought you just got lucky when you beat me at darts. You monster! You made me lose another fifty bucks!"
But while the men of First Platoon grumbled, they were good sports. They paid up their lost bets.
"Sorry, I couldn't win," Shifty said, a little embarrassed.
Buck Compton clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "We know you did your best. Who knew Parks was a monster?" A wave of laughter went through the crowd.
Rhys walked over and extended his hand to Shifty. The two men shook. "Shifty, you're also one of the best shots I've ever seen," Rhys said, and he meant it sincerely.
Shifty smiled bashfully. "You're better."
"If you knew how many years I've been practicing, you wouldn't be so surprised. It's nothing," Rhys said. While his words were partly meant to be comforting, they were also the absolute truth. It was only through hellish practice in his past life that he had achieved his current skill.
***
With this competition, Rhys's reputation as a "godly marksman" echoed throughout the entire 506th Regiment. Not only did the brothers of Second Platoon make a huge profit, but Rhys himself was also unintentionally the biggest winner.
"This is yours, Parks," Guarnere said, walking into the barracks holding a thick stack of cash.
"Oh—Parks, you're making me so jealous!" Cobb, who was polishing his boots, exclaimed dramatically. That stack of cash had to be over a thousand dollars.
"It's certainly something to be jealous of," White said with a smile, looking at the money with a bit of envy. He then turned to Cobb. "Cobb, didn't you win a hundred dollars? What are you complaining about? It's enough for you to have some fun in town."
"That's because I had foresight," Cobb said, not the least bit embarrassed. "I'm glad I didn't fall into your trap before. Me, compete against Parks? People would think I was crazy."
"How much is it?" Rhys asked, taking the cash.
"Five thousand dollars," Guarnere said with a grin, licking his lips. "A huge sum, isn't it?"
It was indeed a huge sum. The few men in the barracks all sucked in a breath. Their current monthly salary of soldiers was only fifty dollars. This was equivalent to one hundred months of pay—more than eight years' salary combined.
"You're rich!" Cobb said. Although he had said he wasn't jealous, his words now carried a sour tang. This was enough to make anyone mad with jealousy.
"Why so much?" Rhys asked, looking at Guarnere in confusion.
"Heh, you know, almost the whole 506th got in on it in the end. They didn't know how good you were. They just wanted to see the guy who wanted to change the training methods get embarrassed," Guarnere said with a smug smile. "What they didn't expect was that our Parks is full of surprises."
"Thanks," Rhys said with a smile.
"No problem. I won a lot too," Guarnere chuckled.
"Brothers, this weekend, the beer at the town bar is on me!" Rhys announced happily, waving the cash in his hand.
"That's great!" White jumped up and was about to hug Rhys, but he dodged away.
"Hey, hey, White, I'm not a girl," Rhys laughed. "Of course, I can buy the beer, but finding a girl is not included. So you'd better bring your own wallet, or else be prepared to get stripped naked and thrown out."
The barracks immediately erupted in loud laughter.
The brothers of Easy Company were always this cheerful, always finding ways to have fun even amidst the tense training. The officers, including Winters, Sobel, and Horton, had all taken notice of Rhys.
An outstanding soldier of the 506th who could not only improve training methods but was also a master marksman was an invaluable asset to the team. But Rhys himself didn't seem to care about the impact of that day's competition. That weekend, he and some of the brothers from Easy Company went to town. They wanted to relax, drink some beer, and maybe find a girl.