"Bang bang bang bang bang—!"
At the edge of a forest bursting with spring, smoke billowed across a clearing that had been deliberately cleared out. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the fresh scent of grass and trees, creating a peculiar battlefield atmosphere.
Ten matchlock riflemen had just completed a somewhat disorderly but thunderous volley.
The echoes of gunfire still reverberated through the woods when Squad Leader Otto's rough, stern roar exploded after them: "Clear the touchholes! Check for misfires! Move! Don't dawdle like a bunch of women! Reload and prepare for the next volley!"
The ten militiamen did not dare slack off. They immediately followed the Drill Manual and began repeating the cumbersome loading procedure, tense but orderly.
They quickly removed the still-smoldering matchcords from the serpentine clamps and wound them around their fingers to keep them from going out. Then they began clearing away any gunpowder residue that might have remained in the touchholes, preventing accidental ignition.
Otto's eyes swept over each of his men like a hawk's. His mouth barked out standardized commands in rapid succession, ensuring that everyone's movements were as synchronized as possible:
"Shoulder arms!"
The ten heavy matchlock rifles were raised upright in unison, their stocks striking the ground.
"Take the powder flask!"
The soldiers pulled a standard small horn powder flask from the leather ammunition pouches at their waists.
"Pour the powder!"
They poured the standard measure of Black Powder from the flasks into the muzzles.
"Open the ball pouch! Load!"
They tore open another small pouch and pushed the lead ball wrapped in linen cloth into the muzzle.
"Draw the ramrods!"
Ten ramrods were pulled from beneath the barrels.
"Ram!"
The ramrods were thrust forcefully into the barrels, compacting the powder and lead balls with muffled "puff puff" sounds.
"Return the