Missed

This, thought Hannibal, is the weirdest weapons training session I've ever led.

"Fire!" he yelled, and slapped his hands over his ears as Face and BA blazed away. When their ammo ran out, Hannibal wandered over to the target, a scarecrow-like dummy he'd decided to name 'Lynch'. The sandbags behind the dummy were pouring their contents onto the ground from multiple holes. The dummy stood untouched, the marker pen smile on its pillowcase face radiating smugness.

"How'd we do, Colonel?" Face shouted from the cover of nearby bushes.

"You missed! Well done, guys."

And he started to laugh, at the absurdity of it all. The army spent hundred of hours training them to shoot, to shoot to kill. Now he was training them to shoot to intimidate, to annoy, and above all, to miss.

Then he pulled himself together and started thinking about the next challenge; missing a moving target.

end