"Alright, you teach him how to shoot, and he teaches you how to write. That's a good deal. You must help each other, okay?" Commissar Martin was also very pleased. Having a knowledgeable young man newly join the revolutionary ranks was a great boost. You have to know, most people in the army were illiterate, unable even to write their own names. In the entire regiment headquarters, there were only a dozen or so people who could hold a pen. Doing ideological work would take half a day, requiring both talking and gesturing to be understood, which seriously affected work. All of this was the hardship of lacking education.

"Go, you all head to the supply office and get twenty rounds of ammunition from Director Bolton, and go practice." Commissar Martin was in a great mood today because of the repaired radio. Compared to a precious radio that could receive the Party's voice, twenty bullets were clearly less important.

"Wow, that's great!"

"Twenty rounds of ammo, we're rich!"

Paul Martin and Charles Dean hugged each other in excitement, shouting and cheering. Ammunition was extremely scarce when fighting the Japanese devils. Normally, a soldier would get at most ten rounds per battle, and after firing them, they'd have to resort to bayonets. Together, Paul Martin and Charles Dean only had about five rounds between them, and they usually couldn't bear to use them. Now, Commissar Martin was giving them twenty rounds at once—it was like a gold ingot falling from the sky.

"Twenty rounds." William Thompson wasn't surprised. To him, twenty rounds was just half a magazine for an AK47, emptied in two seconds.

"Let's go get the ammo. I'll take you to try a couple of shots first." Paul Martin and Charles Dean dragged William Thompson along as they left.

"I'm coming too!" Hearing about shooting, the young girl Julia Brooks's eyes lit up. It was rare to have a chance to shoot freely and safely—such opportunities were truly scarce.

Watching the four young people walk away, Zachary Martin stroked his chin and shook his head, saying, "Hey, these young folks, learning more skills is the only way to protect themselves in these troubled times."

After receiving the twenty shiny yellow bullets, Paul Martin and Charles Dean carefully wrapped them in a small oilcloth bag and kept them close, then cheered as they went to find a deserted spot to use as a shooting range. Only the supply chief behind them looked pained, while the passing soldiers looked on with envy—so wealthy!

Along the way, Paul Martin and Charles Dean kept sharing their shooting experience with William Thompson. Although they'd only fired about a hundred rounds in total so far, every single bullet was used with their full concentration—no one dared waste a single shot.

Paul Martin even stole glances at the little girl Julia Brooks, boasting about his shooting skills as he went.

William Thompson nodded repeatedly. Before, he had read plenty of theoretical shooting materials in books and on the Internet, but real combat experience like Paul Martin's was much rarer.

Section Nine

Charles Dean generously handed his Zhongzheng rifle to William Thompson, earnestly instructing him on shooting posture. These were all lessons learned from real combat, and William Thompson benefited greatly. In these war-torn times, mastering weapon use and combat skills was essential for survival.

Although Paul Martin and Charles Dean's guns were very old, there were no M16s, Desert Eagles, or even AK47s yet. The weapons they had were already quite advanced for the time.

Swoosh—

A bullet left the barrel with a deafening whistle, kicking up dirt and sand at the edge of the target on the slope, but missing the bullseye.

William Thompson's shoulder was left numb and sore from the recoil of the Zhongzheng rifle. The shot had gone wide—his first time firing, and he had underestimated the recoil of this old-style rifle. Compared to modern, ergonomically designed small-caliber rifles, the recoil of the old rifle was clearly much greater.

"That's progress!" The three—Paul Martin and the others—nodded happily. Although it hurt a bit to lose that bullet, for a first shot, being only three fingers away from the target was already quite good.

"A miss is a miss, but the sound sure is loud." William Thompson curled his lips. His first shot was a failure, wasting a bullet for nothing.

He pulled the bolt, and a smoking shell casing popped out with a crisp sound. The clerk Julia Brooks, not caring about burning her hand, quickly picked up the casing and stuffed it into a small pouch. When the casing fell into the pouch, it made a clear clinking sound with the other contents—seems there were quite a few similar casings inside.

During the War of Resistance, the Eighth Route Army was extremely short on supplies. All spent shell casings had to be collected, re-primed, refilled with powder, and fitted with new bullets. Unlike modern warfare, where spent casings litter the ground and no one wants them.

Paul Martin and Charles Dean both eyed Julia Brooks's haul with envy. By the rules, whoever grabbed it first got to keep it.

William Thompson carefully recalled the feeling after pulling the trigger. This was a habit he had developed during his school days—summarizing experience. When he fired, the recoil jolted his shoulder back and the muzzle jumped, causing the shot to go wide.

William Thompson examined the Zhongzheng rifle closely. The barrel was already somewhat worn, which affected shooting accuracy, and the front sight was slightly misaligned. It seemed that Charles Dean didn't aim using the three-point alignment of the sights, but shot entirely by feel. The front sight was basically unused, and on the battlefield, situations changed so quickly that there was no time to aim carefully, so it hadn't been adjusted much. A certain amount of deviation was normal.

After readjusting the sights and his posture, preparing the strength of each part of his body before firing, William Thompson half-squinted and gently squeezed the trigger.

Swoosh—

With a puff of smoke from the muzzle and dirt flying, although he still didn't hit the bullseye, it was much better than before—he was already within the target ring.