Sharpshooter

The story I'm about to tell, you'll think is mighty strange,

About a young P.W., who was shooting on the range.

The targets were all dangling, from the clips out on the rope,

Recruit dreams of the Cross and Crown, were her only hope.

The first stage had been fired, her timing slightly out,

Some rounds were not expended, as her target turned about.

So she made herself get ready, for the second stage to start,

Determined to get faster, feet shoulder width apart.

Then darkness fell upon the range, the night shoot had begun,

Where is the target, I can't see, the bullets for my gun.

The cylinder had now been filled, revolver set to go,

Then holstering the weapon next, get ready for the show.

The seconds flashed by quickly, gun loaded by her side,

She was ready for this business, the targets could not hide.

The silhouette was barely lit, her concentration hot,

Who could know what happened next, she heard a single shot.

Jenny Brooks, PC 1510, of the current training class,

Had just removed a line of flesh, right below her ass.

With one shot joins the folklore, a legend in her time,

Now she is immortalized, in this little rhyme.

The best thing in this story, you were not badly hurt,

Soon you'll be back shooting too, we all will stay alert.

We wish you quick recovery, that your wound will heal post haste,

Next time you go out shooting, wear your vest around your waist.

PC 664 T.J. Gowdyk 90-11-23 (83)