John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“I’ll let you take a look at the other bows as the tests progress. What we’re going to do is take a shot at the target marked with the seventy-five. That is at seventy-five meters.”

He took the longbow and drew an arrow from the barrel, nocking the bow and raising it.

“Note that I bring the arrow to my cheek and push the bow away from me,” he said. “And also, notice that I’m aiming well above the target.” He let fly with the arrow and it sunk deeply into the target on the right of the bullseye near the edge of the target.

“These arrows could be considered a test in themselves,” he said grimly. “They’re the first output of our apprentice fletchers and quite lousy. But all you have to do is get the arrow to the distance of the target. If you can do that, we’ll do some more testing. Those that can’t draw the bow, or even hold it off the ground, will be passed on to the next phase of testing.”

“Can I ask a question?” Herzer said.

“Please.”

“I take it that anyone who passes the test becomes an archer?”

“Both tests. This test and there will be a timed test. You have to draw and fire fifty arrows in ten minutes. If no one can do that, then we’ll back off of the requirement.”

“Can you?” Deann challenged.

In response Malcolm removed ten arrows and thrust them into the ground in a semicircle around him. Then he drew and fired all ten, driving each into the target, several close to or into the bullseye.

“I need to find out which ones were on,” Malcolm commented dryly. “Those apprentices made decent arrows.”

“What if you don’t want to be an archer?” Herzer asked.

“We need archers,” Malcolm answered. “Just about anyone can swing a sword. Archers are practically born, not raised . If you can be an archer, you’re going to be an archer. You can quit but you can’t choose not to be an archer.”

Herzer opened his mouth to protest but then closed it with a clop.

“You start,” Malcolm said, handing him the bow.

Herzer examined it for a moment and then took up a glove that more or less fit and a bracer.

“I used him as a demonstration for a reason,” Malcolm noted. “If you don’t use a glove at first, you’ll turn your fingers into mush. And you’ll never get over the need for a bracer. The bowstring slaps against the inside of your arm with each shot. In fact, metal bracers are arguably necessary for combat archery, although they should have something on the inner side to shield the bowstring.”

“How many shots?” Herzer asked, pulling at the string to get a feel for the draw. He could feel his latissimus dorsae muscle protesting already; he was seriously out of shape. Despite that, he knew he could pass the initial test and probably the “combat shooting” test. But if he did, he’d be stuck as an archer.

“At least one,” Malcolm said from behind him.

“I’d like five,” Herzer replied. “And one ranging shot to get the feel of the bow.”

“Okay.”

Herzer could feel the eyes of the group on him as he drew the first arrow. He raised it to more or less the same angle as Malcolm and pushed the bow away from him, letting fly when the arrow was in-line to the target. It flew past and into the distance.

“Now we realize why I used apprentice arrows instead of good ones,” Malcolm said, dryly. “We’re going to lose a good few today.”

Herzer didn’t comment but simply picked up the next arrow and lowered the angle. He hadn’t considered, before, that he was taller than Malcolm and, apparently, had a longer reach. He drew the bow and fired and the arrow, wobbling badly from poor manufacture, thumped into the lower left quadrant of the target. He drew and fired the next four in succession, if not as fast as Malcolm then with nearly the same success.

“The boy does know how to shoot,” Malcolm said, accepting the bow from Herzer. “Take a break while I run the rest through.”

Herzer got some water and watched the others fire for a bit and then picked up the composite bow and a couple of arrows and went down a ways to another lane. Malcolm’s composite, not too surprisingly, had a slightly higher draw than Alyssa’s but not too terrible. He drove a few of the horrible arrows into the butt and then actually examined one. They had been inexpertly fletched and the shafts were rarely straight. After a moment he realized that he had no idea how to make one, so he wasn’t exactly the person to be criticizing.

He watched as Deann’s turn came up and, sure enough, the bow was far too long for her. She tried to fire it but the bottom kept hitting the ground and one of the recoils from the strike nearly slapped her in the face. After a few aborted shots she gave it over to Malcolm with bad grace and stomped off.

Finally the whole group had finished shooting and Malcolm called a break.

“Okay, Herzer, Rosio, Ngan, Earnest and Maskell, you stay here. The rest fall back until we complete this test.”

“I really don’t want to be an archer,” Herzer said quietly as the others were milling around.

“Why?” Malcolm asked, drawing him aside. “Herzer, damnit, we need archers! You’re trained . And you’ve got the build for it. What do you want to be, cavalry?”

“No, I want to be line infantry,” Herzer said just as quietly. “I can just fail the test. You know that.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” D’Erle asked, furiously.

“No, I’m going to pass the damned thing. And then be a pain in the ass until you send me over to infantry.”

“Do that and I’ll boot you all the way out,” D’Erle warned.

“No you won’t,” Herzer replied, stubbornly. “Because you’re going to need good line infantry, too. Just let me walk.”

“Take the test,” Malcolm said after a moment. “Then we’ll talk.” He raised his head and looked over at the others. “Time to spread out.”

A group of workers came out and laid out boxes with arrows along the lanes, and another archer came out with more bows.

“Rather than have each of you wait on the others, we’re going to run all of you at once. You have to fire fifty arrows and you have to complete the course of fire in ten minutes. Pace yourself. You’re going to get tired. Initially try for twelve arrows per minute. I’ll call the minutes and you’ll have a person handing you the arrows and doing the count. All that you have to do is manipulate the bow.”

“Is that realistic?” Herzer asked. “I mean, in combat are we going to have someone handing us arrows?”

“Most of the time,” Malcolm said with a nod. “An archer is simply the most important member of a team . He’s just there to feed the bow. Others handle the logistics. Each archery team will have at least three people on it, one of whom is just there to feed the archer who in turn feeds the bow.”

“Oh.”

“This is a test of firing fifty arrows in ten minutes so that they at least make it to the ground at seventy-five meters. A fully trained archer will put out two hundred and fifty arrows in an hour at two hundred yards, hard enough to go through plate armor. This is baby steps, boys. Take your positions.”

“I’ll hand them to you steady, sir,” the boy by the arrows said. “And I’ll keep the count. There’s fifty-three in here in case some get dropped or broken.”

“Okay,” Herzer said. “What’s your name?”

“Trenton, sir,” the boy said.

“Just feed me, Trenton,” he said with a grin.

“Prepare to fire,” Malcolm called, lifting a sand-glass.

Herzer took the first arrow and a deep breath.