Rifles

The rifleman tensed, waiting

 

He snapped the rifle up, seeking targets

 

Rifle shots cracked in the distance

 

They held their empty rifles like clubs

 

The riflemen advanced, bayonets at the ready

 

He set his bayonet for the charge

 

He slammed the bolt home and squeezed the trigger

 

The bolt-action rifle was old, but still knew how to kill

 

The hunting rifle would shoot him a new kind of meat‌—‌the human kind

 

Metal glinted in the sunlight a second before the rifle shot rang out

 

He eased the door open with the business end of his rifle

 

The muskets roared, booming balls of death toward the enemy line

 

From the ridge, a range-rider sniped at him

 

A rifle bullet burned along his ribs

 

The rifle round ripped through the air

 

The rifle roared in his hands

 

The rifle rounds pinged and whined off the rocks

 

He caved in her teeth with the rifle stock

 

He slung the rifle over his shoulder in relief

 

The rifle stock kicked against his shoulder