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It didn't matter.
Closer, and closer still.
Properly speaking, rifle grenades weren't launched from a normal firing position. Given their recoil, The Book called for them to be fired only with the rifle's butt firmly grounded. Chan Tesh knew that, but he didn't really care. Not this time.
He nestled the brass buttplate into his shoulder, tracking the incoming dragon steadily, waiting.
One of the Marines fired. The grenade missed, and the dragons swept closer. Another Marine fired and missed.
Chan Tesh and the other three waited. Waited.
"Larkima!" Hundred Geyrsof barked.
The dragon belched its dingy death seed.
All three of chan Tesh's remaining Marines launched their grenades. One of them missed completely. Of the other two, one struck a wing membrane and punched clear through without ever exploding. The third slammed into the dragon's left foreleg and exploded, blowing a huge, gaping wound into the limb.
But Balkar chan Tesh waited just a moment longer. Waited even as he watched the growing breath weapon streaking towards him. Waited for the dragon to come just that little bit closer. And then, as it opened its mouth in a bellow of pain, he launched his own grenade.