Gerard Bryar: A Short Story

“I’m Kenneth Franklin.” He said introducing himself.
“Gerard Bryar.” I said while shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, where are you from?” He asked.
“Elora, Ontario.” I replied. “What about you?”
“Fergus. It’s just up the river.” He responded.
Small talk continued in our tent and soon we were all acquainted with each other. A sergeant opened the door to our tent and commanded us to go to dinner. We were marched over to eat.
This had been the most intense couple days of my life. It changed everything and all I knew from home was gone. I had a hard time grasping the situation. After my training was done and I was sent to where the allies needed support, my life could end at any second. I told myself to be strong so I could defend my country but that’s easier said than done.
Days passed on base and my basic military qualifications were being earned by the hour. By the end of September I could load and shoot a rifle, effectively stab a bayonet, eat a meal in under five minutes, perform an advancement

“Yes, sir.” I responded.
“You have been recognized as a very skilled marksman. Your target scores are outstanding even among some of the best on the base. Tomorrow morning you will be transported to CFB Connaught just outside Ottawa. You will be trained as a sniper on the specialised ranges in Connaught. Pack up all your kit and see me after breakfast tomorrow.” He said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I replied. “Thank you.”
The starting meal of the day had finished on January the 9th. I talked to the Captain and he instructed me into truck with all my kit. We drove for about two hours south-east before we arrived in Connaught. It was much smaller and was only for the best of the best at shooting. At Connaught the rank “Private” was replaced with “Rifleman”. I went through a similar routine with being issued kit and placed in a semi-permanent