Three men all faced their respective targets, and waited for their signal. In the middle of the trio was Illya Kuryakin, who was a patient man. The two men either side of him were also patient, but they lacked the ability to be a still as the Russian. It was a skill he had learned at a very young age; one which had served him well.
To Illya’s right stood his partner, Napoleon Solo. The fingers of the American’s right hand were twitching in readiness. It was an affectation he had picked up from watching too many cowboy movies. To Illya’s write was U.N.C.L.E.’s British agent, Mark Slate. He too was almost perfectly still, apart from a slight tapping of his left thumb against his leg.
Behind the men April Dancer stood. She had refused outright to take part in what she’d termed an ‘ego driven pissing contest’. It had started out as a bit of friendly banter about who was the best shot. This had quickly escalated in to a full blown war. Napoleon had suggested a competition and April had been persuaded to adjudicate. To make it harder, they had to go from a holstered start. So far, they had all won three rounds each. Growing bored, April had insisted that the tenth round be the final and deciding round.
Taking a deep breath, April blew her whistle. The three men each snatched their weapons and emptied them into the human shaped targets. When they finished they put the guns away and April walked over to inspect the damaged.
“It’s a tie,” she declared.
“Oh, come on love,” Mark beseeched. “You could at least side with your partner.”
“Check them for yourselves,” she told him.
Mark, Napoleon, and Illya all inspected the targets and had to conclude that she was right. None of them wanted to, but they had to admit that they were equal in this respect.
“I still think you should have joined in,” Mark said. “Even just to show us what you’ve got.”
“I’ll show you what I’ve got,” she replied, reaching into the canary yellow purse, which contrasted her pale yellow dress.
Pulling out her gun, she fired every bullet, before blowing the end of the barrel and slipping the weapon back into her purse.
“See you later boys,”
As she swept out of the firing range, the three men turned back to target and mentally crossed their legs. Where they had aimed for the head and the heart, April’s shots had left a gaping hole in the target’s groin area.