Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) (15 page)

           
“So, four hundred or five,” Tyler asked doing the same with his rifle.

           
“Want to try for six?” Mark asked.

           
Tyler looked down at the rifle he was carrying with his one hand.

           
“Easy enough, no wind, the centrifugal force might be a bit odd,” Tyler said.

           
“Perfectionist,” Mark said. His brother was the best shot that he had ever seen, but he was also damned picky with making sure everything was juuuust right for him to take a shot.

           
The firing lines were simple segregated areas; each was about four people big to allow room for a variety of weapons to be shot.

           
They got magazines as they entered the range and spread down the sections' lanes.

           
“We'll have a familiarization shoot first of all. Choose your target range, load and fire in your own time.” Mark and Tyler were next to one another. Mark used the panel of his lane to change the distance of his target, it didn't actually move further away, but it got smaller so it appeared to be further away.

           
He slapped his magazine into the bull-pup rifle, and pulled the bolt under the weapons configurable sight to the rear, he lay down, focusing on his breathing, rolling his shoulders as he dug his elbows into the little rise in the floor, rotated his shoulder to pinch the rifle more and tilted his leg to make breathing easier.

           
Guns chattered up and down the range, repulsors sounded like the universes loudest and fastest nailgun, simulated grenade launchers thumped and cracked, shaking the floor.

           
Mark squeezed the firing stud, the gun surprising him as it went off. He continued plinking away at the target, aiming at the white splotch of skin that was his targets neck.

           
Other people were blowing their mags off on full auto at close range.

           
Mark moved through his target methodically, changing from the neck to the target's left elbow, then groin, then knees and up the other side and into what was supposed to be its visor.

           
His bolt stayed open as his implant told him to reload in red capital letters.

           
Mark ejected the magazine and inserted a new one in a few moments.

           
“On this firing line we don't load until we're told to,” Pullo said with a reproving tone.

           
Mark pulled out his magazine, irked by the need for him to wait for commands.

           
It's reload or die on a battlefield. Being used to taking my time with reloading is idiotic.

           
“They're done finally,” Pullo said, apparently Mark and Tyler were the last two firing. The virtual target appeared in front of the stalls not even a meter away.

           
Gupta came down, looking at Tyler's while Pullo looked over Mark's.

           
Pullo looked at the collection of rounds which were less than ten centimeters apart on all of the vital areas.

           
“Looks like you missed some,” Pullo said, looking at the large holes at the center of the weak areas.

           
“I don't think I did Sergeant,” Mark said.

           
Pullo quirked an eyebrow and looked to the screen which Mark had used to set the target.

           
He made a thoughtful noise as he walked out of his stall and into Tyler's. He and Gupta moved to the rear of the firing line having a quiet but serious talk. Everyone shot glances at them, wondering what they were talking about.

           
Gupta and Pullo finished their talk and came back to Mark and Tyler.

           
“What gang were you two with?” Gupta asked.

           
“Westerly-Three-complex.” Tyler said proudly. Neither Gupta nor Pullo looked impressed.

            “
Who taught you how to shoot?” Pullo asked.

           
“Our boss, though you may know him as Captain Richter,” Mark said. This made Gupta and Pullo look at one another with interest.

           
“Bald dude with a lot of scars?” Gupta asked.

           
“Yeah,” Mark said.

           
Gupta looked to Pullo.

           
“Well it looks like Richter screwed us,” Gupta said.

           
Pullo sighed.

           
“What are we going to do?” Gupta asked.

           
“Nothing we can do, these things are recorded and stuck to a person's file as good as your ident chip is buried in your skin,” Pullo said.

           
“Is something wrong Sergeant?” Mark asked, confused by Gupta and Pullo's talk.

           
“With scores that you two just pulled our section's stats are going to rise above the BM which is going to make us get pushed to take on harder and shittier missions.”

           
“BM Sergeant?”

           
“Bare Minimum, doing anything more than the requirements will get you two flagged right off, then cause your squads overall stats to become higher. The officers only see a group with ratings, a group with low ratings can be really good, but they keep their stats low so they don't get picked for the shitty missions that they might have a chance of completing. Just try to miss a few shots, pick a place on the wall and hit that instead of the target,” Pullo said, sounding resigned. Gupta shook his head and walked back down the line.

           
“Alright let's get through these firing tests BM style,” Gupta said as he walked back down the firing line.

           
Mark and Tyler looked to one another, shrugging and turning back to their targets. Pullo told them what to do, whether it was running or doing push ups and then shooting at the targets, quietly reminding them to hit the wall when they fell into the practice of hitting their target too many times.

           
Then they moved onto Launchers, they clipped under the E-12's barrel which looked like a long flare gun. The rounds looked like tall hockey pucks rounded at one end and were packed in three round magazines that went into the hand-grip.

           
These rounds were duds with the firing lane simulating the rounds going off.

           
“Remember, in real-life those explosives will blow a damned hole in most unarmored walls and a few armored ones too. They might seem like weird pop-guns but they pack one hell of a punch. So remember to keep out of the blast area,” Pullo said, his eyes falling on Mark and Tyler.

           
Next came the repulsor.

           
Mark never thought he had so much fun, the weapon had two barrels’ side by side, they could be pulled apart to make them two weapons, but the two-barrel system lived up to its name as ripper.

           
It had a selectable rate of fire from ten thousand rounds per minute, to one hundred and fifty thousand rounds per minute.

           
Ammunition boxes and their electronic belt feeders were slapped into place on either side of the turret, their whirring wasn't even close to audible as rounds spat out of the front end of the machine gun, the barrels recoiling and moving pack into position like pistons.

           
Even with that massive rate of fire they were decently accurate, if someone was firing bursts then they could get a good amount of rounds around the target.

           
When Mark found out that they could be fired by a single person on the move with four hundred thousand rounds on their back, he was in love.

           
“Alright to the rooms. Have a quick shower and grab some food, good work today people, tomorrow we'll do some PT to work out the kinks and hopefully set up some games with other sections. Once we're done with dinner get yourself checked over by the medics and you're on your own time.” Mark and Tyler tagged along, getting shunned to the back of the line.

           
“Brown nosing idiots,” Dolche said, his green eyes pulled together in annoyance.

           
A few others made noises of agreement.

           
Mark looked over them like he looked over people who weren't in the W3C, it was a cold and clinical stare that weighed what they might be capable of and watching in case they did anything.

           
“Dolche,” Pullo's tone was warning as Dolche turned to more interesting things, not acknowledging that Pullo had told him to stand down.

           
Dinner wasn't like breakfast, instead of trying to get a feel for the new people, most of them seemed to have found out the quality of Mark and Tyler, thinking of them as both assholes that were going to get them some shitty assignment.

           
Tyler wasn't his usual chipper self, instead staying quiet and sharing glances with Mark. They didn't need words to pass on what they were thinking.

           
What a bunch of fucks, so what if we did good, that's what you need to do in order to fucking survive.

           
“Pit?' Mark said as he finished his food, wanting to get away from the poisonous atmosphere as soon as possible.

           
“Yeah,” Tyler said scooping up the remains of a broth with some bread.

           
“Sergeant can't we get them transferred, at least one of them?” Mark heard Gupta say, he stopped himself from hunching his shoulders but he felt new anger tighten his jaw.

           
He slammed his tray into the conveyor, sending it through the flap with a lot more force than was necessary.

           
“I think you almost took out a kitchen lady,” Tyler said getting back some of his humor. Mark let out a snort, feeling the stares of the mess on his back.

           
The 'pit' had been the training areas of the tower, there had been running areas, places to workout, ranges, everything that someone could use to tone up their skills.

           
Though most of the people referred to the pit as the sparring and physical training areas.

           
Mark and Tyler put some laps in, and ran the weights. Their extra nine months after training, that they’d been conscious had paid off in leaps and bounds. Food whenever they wanted it, regimented sleep and work schedule as well as enough learning data from a few centuries of documented exercises and they were stronger and more flexible than ever.

The intervening thirty-three years of cryo-sleep had built up their bodies to withstand two of Earth’s gravities, the spine gradually increasing gravities so when they stepped out they didn’t even realize everything was two times as heavy.

           
Mark forgot about the issues with his squad by the time they got to sparring.

           
Mark was stronger and slower, he preferred striking with his arms, but if he landed a kick then they were devastating. Tyler was faster and nimbler; he could whip kicks out at a furious speed. His fists worked quickly to turn Mark's jabs and try to use any opening they could.

           
Tyler was better at hand-to-hand combat, but Mark was good with blades, any kind of blade and he could put someone down in seconds.

           
A few hours later and they were sweating and out of breath. It hurt to move a little, but that didn’t stop them from laughing the entire time. They went back to the mess grab drinks and food.

           
Alexis found them in the mess.

           
“Looks like you two had fun making puddles in the gym,” she said looking them over. They'd become close in the time they'd spent awake; it was hard not to when you were three of only a few handfuls of people awake.

           
There was a short kid with her that looked like he would be heavyset as soon as he got enough food into him.

           
“Mark, Tyler, this is Pablo, he's the new guy in my section with me,” she said, Pablo grinned.

           
“Hey, are you the two sharpshooters on the range?” Pablo asked.

           
Just when I thought I had pushed that to the back of my mind.

           
“I think so,” Tyler said, not sounding too pleased.

           
“Unfortunately,” Mark added, leaning against his seat and drinking a strawberry smoothie. The tasty drink wasn't enough to pull him from his dark thoughts.

           
“What's wrong?” Alexis asked, taking a seat, Pablo following suit.