American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

With a push of his thumb, Fett unfastened the snap on the leather case and pulled out the M1911.

The diamond-patterned walnut wood on the grip has a rough yet solid feel, filling the gaps in the palm of your hand just right.

His index finger rested on the cold trigger guard, and the heavy, weighty feel of it inexplicably excited him.

Although that silver Colt Python revolver looks cooler.

But for Fett now, he can't hold a gun with both hands.

The Colt Python's violent recoil is so strong that it's probably impossible to control with one hand; one shot could send the muzzle soaring into the sky.

Although the M1911 is a .45 caliber, its recoil is gentler and more controllable due to the cushioning design of the slide.

Although I am confident in my enhanced body, it's better to be cautious.

Fett pulled a box of bright yellow .45 ACP bullets from the locked metal cabinet by the wall and put it in his pocket.

The two walked out of the house, around the side of the house piled with firewood, and came to the backyard.

To the left is a small greenhouse that's been around for a while, with a layer of white frost on its plastic sheeting.

An old tractor was parked nearby.

To the right is the firewood processing area, with wood chips and half-split logs scattered all over the ground.

At the edge of the distant fir forest, there was a small earthen mound less than a person's height.

Several wooden stakes stood in the distance in front of the earthen slope, with a few tattered targets nailed to them, and many spent shell casings were scattered on the ground.

That was a shooting range that old Frank had specially cleared out; it was both safe and secluded.

Lyra skillfully loaded the bullets one by one into the magazine, pushed it into the handle, chambered it with a "click," and then handed the heavy M1911 to Fett.

"Let's begin."

Fett took the gun, took a deep breath, adjusted his posture, turned slightly to the side, held the gun horizontally with one hand, and aimed at the target in front of him.

"No, the center of gravity is too far back."

Lyra stood behind Fett, her tone serious and earnest.

She pressed herself against him, one hand on Fett's waist, and helped press him down a little:

Then, she gently supported Fett's injured right wrist with her other hand:

"Don't lock your elbows; leave a little bend for cushioning."

"Don't be nervous, I'm here to support you."

The two were extremely close; her full breasts were almost pressed against Fett's back.

Fett could even feel the softness of her chest brushing against his back.

Warm breath sprayed behind my ears, carrying a faint milky fragrance, like orchids and musk.

"call……"

Fett took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the erotic thoughts in his heart, closed his left eye, tensed the muscles in his arm, aligned his three points, aimed at the broken target on the wooden stake, tried his best to hold on, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The gun barrel jerked violently, and the immense recoil traveled back up to my wrist!

Fett's enhanced arm muscles locked the gun tightly, controlling the upward movement of the muzzle.

But the bullet went way off target, not even touching the edge of the target paper, and exploded into a cloud of dust on the earthen slope a few meters away.

"Tsk."

Fett awkwardly put his gun away.

Although I have enough strength, the stability of holding the gun with one hand is still too poor, and the crosshair shakes badly.

"It's okay, it's normal to miss the first time."

"Again!"

Leila suppressed a laugh, gently rested her chin on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear:

"Relax your arm, don't try too hard to aim. Shooting is not about keeping your arm firmly still."

"Just keep the shaking within a general range!"

Take a deep breath and exhale completely.

"Then, feel your heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump..."

"The interval between two heartbeats is when your body is most stable and at its calmest."

"Pull the trigger the instant the crosshair just wobbles onto the target."

She released Fett's wrist, placed her right hand on the back of Fett's hand, and gently guided him:

"Don't pull the trigger suddenly. The most common mistake beginners make is pulling it all the way down at once. Pulling the trigger suddenly will affect your previous aim."

Imagine your index finger is pressing on something soft.

"Apply pressure slowly, gently, and continuously until—"

"Bang!"

"You should be surprised even if you were the one who fired the shot."

"Only in this way will your muscles not tense up prematurely due to anticipating the recoil."

As Lyra pressed closer, a few stray hairs playfully slipped into Fett's collar, tickling his neck.

The soft material clung completely to Fet's back, deformed from the pressure.

A warm and elastic sensation came from his back, making him restless and his mind wander.

"Gulp."

Fett glanced at the jade-like hand pressed against the back of his own hand and swallowed hard.

I forcibly shifted my gaze away from that hand and looked back at the target in front of me.

Stay calm.

You must remain calm.

Fett struggled to control his rapidly escalating attention, following Lyra's instructions to take deep breaths, exhale, feel his thunderous heartbeat, and search for the target in the gaps between breaths.

Slowly press your fingers down.

"Bang!"

A burst of fire shot out from the muzzle of the gun.

In the distance, the target on the far right suddenly shuddered, a cloud of wood chips exploded from its edge, leaving a dark bullet hole.

"Yes! You hit the target!"

Leila cheered excitedly, practically clinging to Fett's back:

"Fett, you're awesome! I knew you'd learn fast! Let's do it again!"

Fett forced a smile, put away his gun, but felt nothing inside; he even felt a little like crying.

Only he knew that he had clearly aimed at the bullseye of the target next to him.

It was off by at least a meter.

Enveloped in softness and fragrance.

No wonder you can't hit it accurately!

"Cough... Layla."

Fett finally couldn't hold back any longer, turned his head, and said with a hint of helplessness:

"Could you please let go of me first? Let me find my footing?"

"what?"

Leila was stunned for a moment, then looked down following Fett's gaze and realized just how tightly she had been pressed against him, almost hanging on him.

"oh oh!"

She jerked away as if electrocuted, scrambling to the side, her face as red as a ripe apple, head bowed as she pretended to kick a pebble on the ground.

With the interference from behind gone, Federer breathed a sigh of relief, and the burning sensation finally subsided considerably.

He raised his gun again, took a deep breath, focused, and aimed.

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out again.

This time, the bullet went straight into the target. Although it was still a bit far from the bullseye, at least it didn't go off to the side.

"Bang!"

Another shot. The bullet impact point moved a little closer to the center.

"Bang! Bang!"

As the pace quickened, Fett gradually got a feel for it, and his control over the gun became increasingly clear.

"Bang!"

The last bullet was fired.

The slide was empty and the gun barrel was hanging in place, with a wisp of smoke rising from the muzzle.

In the distance, a dark bullet hole appeared on the red bullseye circle in the very center of the target.