At Twenty Yards, Turn and Fire

A duel to first blood with a twist.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This short story is presented for personal entertainment only. Commercial and all other use is expressly prohibited.

(c) 2009-2019 Robert Horseman, All rights reserved.

Last night was bad. It’s hard to sleep when you drink too much and you have a duel in the morning. Today, honor will be satisfied, even if it kills me. OK, that’s a bad joke, and I don’t feel like laughing. I stand in a small clearing, and my best friend and “second” for the duel, James, stands next to me. His careworn face shows concern. He says, “Dammit man, this is ludicrous. This is too risky, even for you. Hell, I didn’t know you even had honor.” Tilting my head at the tall man with the narrow face standing across the clearing, I say, “I didn’t know I had honor either until I lost it to that boor Montgomery Samuels over there. Did you hear what he called my Anna?” James scowls at me. “Benjamin, he was drunk. We both know that.” “Somebody needs to teach him a lesson, James, and today is that day.” I pull off my tunic, exposing my bare chest to the cool morning air. “Damn, but its chilly this morning.” James turns to me and asks, “Why the bare chest? Certainly you don’t expect to impress anyone.” “Of course not. But if I’m hit it’s cleaner without the cloth in the way.” Looking across the clearing I see that Montgomery and his second are ready. “Let’s go.” James and I march across the clearing to the other men. Wordlessly James presents and opens a felt wrapped box, displaying my one-shot dueling pistols. “Both pieces are identical and loaded, gentlemen. Please make your choice.” Montgomery’s second, and thin wiry man named Jonathan, examines the pieces and selects one. He hefts it and aims downrange. Satisfied, he hands it to Montgomery. Montgomery takes the piece, examines it for himself and scowls. “Not as nice as my set, but it appears that it will get the job done. Any last words Benjamin?” With a stony face, I turn to James. “The rules?” James clears his throat and says “Yes the rules. As agreed to last night by both parties, the duel will be to first blood. One shot each, no more. Starting with your backs together, you will each take ten paces in step with my cadence call. At the count of ten you may turn and fire. Are there any questions?” Jonathan, Montgomery’s second, asks, “Have you made arrangements for the, ah, cleanup?” James smirks and replies, “Of course.” Gesturing to the middle of the clearing, he says, “If you’re ready, gentlemen?” With trepidation and a sour feeling in my stomach, I walk to the middle and turn my back to Montgomery. A moment later I feel his back against mine. James asks, “Gentlemen, are you both sure you wish to proceed with this…idiocy?” I nod and stand there stiffly, awaiting the count. Apparently Montgomery acceded as well since James barks, “Ready then!” I hold the pistol in my right hand at shoulder level, pointed at the sky. My heart is thundering in my chest. “One!” I take a long step. “Two!” Another step. “Three!” “Four!” “Five!” Each step seems to take longer than the last, until at the count of nine time has slowed to a crawl. “Ten!” I whirl and turn my side to my opponent, the better to reduce my body’s target area. Montgomery was quicker than I though, and I hear a crack and feel the projectile whizz past my left ear. I smile, take deliberate aim, and squeeze the trigger. The shot flies true and hits Montgomery’s turned body below his raised right arm. A perfect heart shot. He falls backward and lands in a heap. I rush over and look down at him, a satisfied smile on my lips. Montgomery lies there with a red splotch on his field jacket, his eyes registering shock. He looks up at me and says, “Damn that stings. How much pressure was in that bottle?” I grin. “Oh, the usual 800 psi. Standard high pressure. Come on Monty, it’s just a paintball.” “You got me in a tender spot I guess. Sorry I shot so close to your head; I was just excited. Jimmy, you got the wet towel?” “Ah, you mean the cleanup. Here you go.” Monty sits in the dirt and cleans the paint off his jacket. Looking up at me he asks, “So are we good now; is your honor satisfied?” I chuckle. “OK, maybe Anna is, in fact, a hottie, but you didn’t have to inform the entire bar last night. And yes, in the grand tradition of dueling, my honor is now satisfied.”

•••••The End •••••