Chapter One: Recoil

At a cabin Russia Yassen Gregorovich teaches Alex Rider how to shoot.

Ever since he had come to Russia he had been waiting. He had shot every single gun the considerable armory Yassen had stored here with increasing proficiency.

Except the sniper rifles.

Alex wasn't stupid. Objectively he knew what accepting Yassen's offer would mean. Yassen was an assassin, he would train Alex to be one too. It still hadn't stopped the wince that had come when he had first seen them. It made it more real. Shooting one would only make it worse but there was no going back.

He had thought they would have been one of the first things the man would put in his hands but instead they had started with side arms and hunting rifles. Alex was familiar with them and had enough experience with those to be comfortable. Ian had made sure of that. He had taken him to his first gun range on his tenth birthday after hours of lecture about safe handling and many of the same discussions on safety and cleaning that Yassen had put him through again. Alex hadn't dared tell Yassen about that though, the man could probably tell he had some experience but with his luck there would be something Ian had left out that Yassen would hold him responsible for.

The massive text the assassin had given him filled in a lot of holes but there were some things that the book didn't cover, things that only came with years of experience handling firearms in a variety of conditions. Like how the early editions of the Sig Sauer P320, a common gun for American police and Army didn't include a mechanical disconnect which made it prone to drop fires or that the P229 Enhanced Elites failed to expel the spent brass and would jam, or that the Glock 17 was the preferred handgun in weather under -20C (which he hoped he would never be in but, depending on how long he was in Russia, he might not have a choice). They were small things but they could save his life one day. For Yassen to know them they had probably been hard earned lessons.

He learned about the sniper rifles just as he did everything else. Lectures, then disassembling and cleaning, then demonstrations by Yassen, but they hadn't moved on to live firing yet. He had waited for the day to come for a month now. A month of diligently taking notes while Yassen explained every piece and part and how to repair and clean it. A month of hours disassembling and reassembling until he swore he could do it in his sleep. Maybe unconscious too. A month of cleaning it religiously every night along with the rest of the armory. A month of watching Yassen practice while explaining positioning and grip and how to take in external factors.

But never once firing a shot.

Today changed that.

Yassen had silently handed him an SR 25, bringing a second rifle along for himself. Alex found himself relieved, even a little excited. He looked for confirmation and while he was still trying to learn to read the Russian he seemed to radiate something akin to satisfaction.

They went out to the long range. It was a swath of trees that had been largely cleared before Alex arrived but they had made progress clearing more. Chopping down a tree with an axe provided a good workout and wood for the coming winter. It was just as efficient and pragmatic as he expected from Yassen. Their other workouts, outside of close combat training, were similarly situated to the surroundings - hikes, runs, chopping firewood and transporting stacks of it a kilometer back to the cabin, even clearing the rocky and rough soil with a push plow. The plow was the worst. It was nothing short of brutal. Yassen usually reserved it for the end of the day and even then only when Alex was filled with restless energy or had not performed quite up to standard.

They checked the guns thoroughly, he had never quite been able to shake the tension that the man would find something wrong - some part he had missed or a spot he had failed to fully clean. It had happened at first but it had been a while, Alex would prefer it to never happen again. Yassen appeared satisfied because he moved to assembling and Alex followed suit. He set up the gun with practiced motions from hours of handling it but Yassen's was already on the ground waiting long before he finished. He laid prone and placed the butt up against his shoulder and extended his elbows to the sides as close to the angles that a Yassen had corrected the last time he had been allowed to handle the weapon. Still there were small adjustments to be made - a gentle kick to his right ankle widened his stance, a nudge to his left elbow moved it up and he adjusted that hand's grip noticing that the prior position had strained him by comparison. The man crouched and shifted the butt of the gun just a millimeter or two to the left. He tried to internalize the feelings of the new positions so he could recreate them the next time.

Satisfied, the Russian laid down next to him. And passed him a magazine. Alex checked it over then slotted it in with a satisfying click. Finally. He looked over for permission.

"200 meters. One round." The man hadn't even looked away from his own scope. His voice was the soft, calm murmur he took on whenever his cheek was pressed up against the butt of a rifle.

Alex didn't bother nodding, just turned back to the scope and found the designated target taped to a mound of earth and rock they had built up for precisely this purpose. He tried to relax the tension in each muscle. Clenching then unclenching from his feet to his face. Using the time to even out his breathing. He stilled. Then with a slight pressure, pulled the trigger. The gun kicked back into his shoulder but it wasn't as painful as he had expected. He found the target in his scope.

Nothing.

He missed.

No, wait he had hit it but only barely, just a small indentation on the corner of the paper target was the only proof that he even fired beside the spent casing. Not even in the rings.

He hesitantly looked over, expecting disappointment but there was none. Just a neutral expression but with the air of patience that Alex had come to recognize as his 'teacher face'.

"You over anticipated the recoil."

He had. Had seen the way the gun had jerked Yassen's shoulder every time he fired and expected it to be far worse for him. Yassen had more experience and strength than him but he didn't tense with it, just let it happen. It made sense, recoil would happen regardless of experience.

Alex nodded.

"You have felt it now, there is nothing to fear. Again." He ordered.

Alex ran through his exercise again, calming the fear of a second failure as best he could and then focused on the target. He took a steadying breath and pulled the trigger again. The gun kicked but he barely noticed it with his entire focus on the target. This time he made it in the second ring. He was prevented from looking over for approval by two more magazines being stacked next to him. It was as much praise as he would get.

"Again."