The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history

by James S. Peet

  “Um, set it either seven or eight clicks.”

  “Yep. I recommend going with seven, and we’ll see how it works out at 200 meters, and adjust from there.”

  He then told Bill how to adjust his scope by removing the bezel covers on the top and right side, and turning the bezels a certain number of clicks. “Each click you’ll feel is point 1 milliradians, so you want to move it seven clicks to the right and six clicks down.”

  As Bill turned the top bezel, he could feel, more than hear, the click as the bezel briefly locked into a slot before moving on to the next. He finished with the windage and then adjusted for the elevation.

  “Load up three more rounds and let’s see how she shoots,” the instructor said.

  Bill did so and repeated the fire sequence. This time all three rounds wound up in the center of the target.

  “Looking good,” the instructor said. “Now, load up three more rounds and take a shot at the 200-meter target. You might want to adjust the scope power for that for optimal sighting,” he suggested.

  Bill increased the scope’s power to the maximum of five, ejected and reloaded the magazine, and inserted it back into the rifle.

  “Ready when you are,” the instructor said.

  This time Bill took a bit more time and care in shooting.

  Instead of using binoculars, the instructor set a shooting scope on the bench and looked through it. Bill could see on the side of the scope that the power range was 20 to 60.

  “Good shooting. Take a look,” the instructor told Bill.

  Looking through the scope, Bill could see that all three rounds were in the center circle of the bullseye, all grouping within what looked like two centimeters, and just a hair under the exact center.

  “Looks like you’re good to go. Go ahead and fire the remainder of the rounds. We’ll do more after everyone gets sighted in. Make sure you put your rifle on the bench with the bolt open once you’re done shooting.”

  The instructor moved on to the next Probie in line while Bill fired the remaining two rounds. He reloaded the magazine, this time with five rounds, and commenced firing. He did this until he ran out of ammunition, which wasn’t too long, considering he had started with only twenty rounds. Once done, he retracted the bipod legs, cracked open the bolt of his rifle, and set it down on the shooting bench table. Then he decided to stand up and stretch a bit, stepping behind the red safety line.

  With nothing better to do, he struck up a conversation with Kim. Bill wasn’t surprised to hear that she had grown up with firearms. Doesn’t everyone in Texas have multiple guns? he thought. She was having as much fun as he was, and was looking for more firearms practice.

  “This is a lot more fun than spending all day at a desk,” she said.

  Soon the sound of shooting faded away until there was only silence from the firing range, along with the heavy scent of burnt cordite. All the Probies stood behind the red line.

  A voice announced over the speakers, “The line is now cold. I say again, the line is now cold. Everyone should be standing behind the red safety line at this time with rifles on the benches and bolts open. Do not, I repeat, do not touch a firearm. Instructors, check the range.”

  Several of the instructors came walking by, making sure everyone complied.

  “All Probies report to the classroom for further instruction. Leave your rifles on the bench. I say again, leave your rifles on the bench,” announced the speaker.

  Once more the Probies filed in. They sat at the same tables they had before, where they’d left their packs.

  Gerrup came in just as the last of the Probies were filing in, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Now that you’re all sighted in, it’s time to start the advanced training,” he began. “How many of you have ever shot a bolt-action rifle before?” He asked. Bill, Kim, and a few others raised their hands. “Well, whatever you knew about shooting bolt actions, forget it! Today’s lesson is on how to reload in the presence of dangerous critters.”

  Gerrup then unslung the rifle and turned to his left, holding the rifle at the ready. Everyone could easily see the rifle and action. He rapidly cycled the action, making sure there was no cartridge in the chamber or magazine in the magazine well. He then put the rifle up to his shoulder, aiming at the wall. “Let’s say you’ve got to shoot something,” he said, squeezing the trigger. Everyone could hear the firing pin ‘click’ as it slammed forward onto an empty chamber.

  “Now, most of you probably do this,” he continued, grasping the bolt and working the action, all while keeping the rifle aimed at the wall. Once complete, he lowered the rifle and looked at the classroom full of Probies. “I don’t ever wanna see you do that Hollywood bullshit again. You’re not snipers in some hero action flick. Here’s how you do it from now on.”

  Raising his rifle again to aim it at the wall, he squeezed the trigger, then dropped the rifle down to the ready position and cycled the bolt. Bill could tell that the bolt cycling was much more forceful than what he was used to.

  Once the bolt was cycled, the rifle went back up to the shoulder, Gerrup squeezed the trigger again, shooting the imaginary animal, and repeated the bolt cycling operation, dropping the rifle to the ready position and being forceful with the cycle.

  “Anyone know why I do it that way?” he posed to the class.

  Silence greeted his question.

  “It’s real simple. If I keep the rifle up like this,” he explained, raising the rifle to his shoulder, “then I lose a lot of visibility. Note how the barrel and scope occupy my field of vision?” He gestured to the objects with his right hand.

  “By dropping the rifle, I can see more. Remember, some predators hunt in pairs or packs. If you can’t see what’s around you, then you can’t react. If you can’t react, you’re dead. It’s that simple.

  “Now, when I’m charging the rifle, notice how I use a fair amount of force to pull the bolt back. Don’t be afraid to do that. The rifle’s stronger than you. Just yank that bad boy up and back. You’ll see the brass fly. Take a quick glance down at the chamber as you’re forcing the bolt forward just to make sure you’re loading a cartridge. Remember, close that bolt with authority!

  “Let me tell you, the last and loudest sound you’ll ever hear if you screw up is this,” he said, squeezing the trigger. The ‘click’ the firing pin made coming down on the empty chamber sent chills running up and down Bill’s spine.

  “Everyone got that?” Gerrup asked. All nodded, even if he wasn’t looking directly at them. “Great. From now on, you charge your rifle like that every single time. No exceptions.

  “All right. For now, head over to the ammo depot and pick up a can of ammo. I’ll want you to fill all your magazines. You’re going to be shooting off the entire box today, working on the various shooting positions. By the end of the day, you should be hitting the dead zone at 200 meters.

  “If you need to use the restroom or drink some water, do so now. Once you’ve picked up your ammo, head back to the shooting line and await word from the instructors. Since everyone here’s done most of this before it shouldn’t be much different, other than the actual rifle handling.

  “That’s it, take five, then get your ammo and get on the line. I’m gonna show you the safest way to reload when you’re in the field.”

  Bill didn’t need to use the restroom. He had partially drained his canteen after shooting, so he took advantage of the break to fill it and take a few more sips of water.

  At the depot, they lined up at the Dutch door. As each approached it, they were handed several targets and small metal ammo can containing 220 rounds of ammunition. Having hunted deer and elk, Bill was interested in what size bullets were being issued: 165 grain. I guess that’s just about big enough for anything up to an elk. I wonder how well they work on lions or smilodons?

  Back at his shooting lane, Bill stood behind the red line filling up all four magazines. Then he stood waiting and chatting with Kim until they were told to place targets in
the 100, 200, and 300 meter stands. An instructor came by with large staplers and handed them out to several of the Probies, telling them to share. Kim was one that received a stapler, so Bill joined her on the walk down the shooting lane.

  Soon all the targets were set in place and the Probies back on the shooting line, ready to “kill” the many pieces of harmless paper.

  The rest of the afternoon centered on shooting from prone, kneeling, sitting and standing positions. Most of the standing position shots were offhand. This meant that the shooter just shot the rifle from their shoulder without using any type of support, such as a bipod or shooting stick. As one instructor explained, “You’re most likely to be attacked by a big predator when you’re walking along, so little chance to get into a more stable position.”

  The only time the Probies had a chance to use the bipods was in the prone position. Other than that, all shooting was done supporting arms on legs or knees, or not supporting the arms at all. And every time the Probies charged their rifles they did it the way Gerrup had taught them. After the first 100 rounds, it practically became natural, although Bill knew from martial arts training that it would take at least 3,000 actions before it became part of his muscle memory.

  Bill’s shoulder was starting to hurt at the end of the day, and his sense of smell had been deadened from all the cordite, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was also quite pleased to see how well he was doing. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the instructors were spending time with each Probie giving them individual instruction. Bill could see the improvement from his first few shots to the last few, and it was impressive. Even at 200 meters, just about every round was hitting in the kill zone, even standing and shooting offhand.

  Finally, the day was winding down, and the Probies were told to gather their gear and replace their empty ammo cans with full ones.

  “From now on,” Gerrup announced, “you’ll carry full magazines. The spare ammo in the can is what you get to shoot each day. You should have 65 rounds of ammo on you at all times.

  “All right, see you tomorrow,” he said.

  As the Probies left the rifle range they intersected the Probies leaving the airfield. The latter were easily identifiable by the fact that they were wearing flight suits instead of the traditional Explorer uniform. Just as Bill was wondering if he’d see Meri, he spotted her in the merging crowd. She was looking his way; he waved and caught her attention.

  Bill caught up to Meri, who was waiting for him.

  “That doesn’t look like any GIS I’m familiar with,” she said with a smile, looking at his rifle.

  “Yeah, well, if you’d been at lunch you would have found out that they were sending us out to the range in the afternoons. Guess they don’t want us getting all cooped up.”

  “So, you gonna be out here tomorrow?” she asked.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Great. That means we can eat lunch together! The cafe’s not the best out here, but it’s better than walking a half hour. So, how’d the shooting go?”

  “Great. They do a fantastic job getting you familiar with your rifle, and I actually managed to improve my offhand shooting. Tomorrow we begin advanced rifle handling, whatever that is. What’d you do today?”

  “More manual and simulator time, mostly on failures, and then a couple of laps around Mt. Tahoma,” she said. “You should see the west side—totally green, unlike the dry stuff around here. Quite the contrast.”

  Bill thought back to his days at UW, which was only nine weeks ago but seemed longer, with a bit of nostalgia. “Yeah, in a way, I miss living on that side. Even on Earth it was always green and didn’t scorch your brains. I wonder what it looks like here?”

  “We’ve got a three-day weekend coming up soon. Want to go over and do some salmon fishing?” Meri asked. “Our family’s got a fishing cabin right on the Nisqually River with easy access to the Salish Sea and the sockeye are just starting to run.”

  Bill couldn’t believe his luck. Here he was, being asked by a beautiful woman to spend the weekend together, fishing.

  He stammered, “Yeah. Sure, that sounds great.”

  “Great. I’ll talk to Dad, then, and see if we can add you to the trip.”

  “Dad?” Bill asked.

  “Yeah, silly. Did you think I’d be spending a weekend alone with a guy I barely know?” She grinned and punched him in the arm.

  Bill didn’t flinch, but he was certainly impressed with the punch and had a hard time not reaching up to massage his arm.

  “I guess you’re right,” Bill said with chagrin. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Well, I certainly do,” she laughed.

  Bill, feeling his face flush, immediately changed the subject. “So what’s your training schedule look like with the birds?”

  “Well, first we’ll finish the transition with the ‘bous, then on to the Providers, then the 415s, and finally wrap up with the Monarchs. They expect to spend at least two to four days on each bird, not including book time. Naturally, that’s only for a co-pilot rating. We won’t really transition to pilot for a year or two.”

  “Looks like we’re both doing book time in the morning and fun stuff in the afternoon,” Bill said.

  “When we come out to the airfield in the morning, I’ve seen others going to the range, so I guess they’re staggering us.”

  As they approached the living part of the base, Bill asked, “Join me for supper?”

  “I thought you’d never ask after I scared you off with my dad.”

  “Ah, not scared, just cautious. After all, I’m sure he’s got a gun or two.”

  “Ha, more than one or two,” Meri interrupted.

  “Like I said, not scared, just cautious.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Anyhow, back to supper,” Bill said. “If you don’t mind, I want to drop this gear off and take a shower, so meet you in about a half hour?”

  Meri agreed, so the two went their separate ways.

  At his cabin, Bill put his rifle and ammunition in the gun safe, stripped, showered, and dressed in civvies. His roommates joined him on the way out, and the four of them made it to the cafeteria just before the rush. Bill didn’t see Meri sitting inside, so he waited outside in the heat for her, wishing he was inside.

  Meri soon arrived, and the two of them joined the other. Nicole had already arrived and was seated next to Matt.

  After supper Meri excused herself. “Lots of reading to do if I want to get transitioned.”

  “Me, too,” Matt said.

  “Me, three,” chimed in Nicole.

  As the three co-pilots in training left, Bill, Thep, and Jordan looked at each other with a what do we do now look.

  “Well, I’m gonna get a beer at the Cave Bear,” Jordan said. Bill and Thep thought that was a pretty good idea, so they joined him.

  The next day came around early, but Bill was ready. The trio hadn’t stayed out late, and nobody got even mildly tipsy, so everyone was feeling pretty good as they made their way to breakfast, where they were joined by Nicole and Meri.

  Bill’s next several days were spent with mornings in the classroom learning the particulars of the Corps remote sensing platforms and software, including how to troubleshoot some of the problems that might develop with the hardware. Afternoons were spent at the range.

  Bill found the former fun, but the latter even more fun. He had always enjoyed shooting, so the afternoons for him were like time spent in a candy store for a kid.

  The advanced rifle training was unlike anything Bill had ever experienced. While he had hunted, it had usually been while holding a rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. This training emphasized the fact that if he was out in the boonies for an extended period of time, especially if he were trekking, then he wasn’t expected to have a rifle in his hands. Rather, he was trained to go from walking with his rifle in a sling over his shoulder (while wearing his pack and all his other gear) to a shooting position
rapidly. This didn’t mean the rifle was on his back rather, the sling was one that kept the rifle in front of him, across his middle with the barrel pointed downward and at a slight angle away from him. This method made the rifle easily accessible at all time. It was a matter of grasping the rifle and bringing it on target rapidly. Bill managed to master this in a couple of days, and several more after that he had become competent at shooting at oncoming targets, most of which were large predator cats.

  He also got to spend some time with his PDW. Because of his experience with the PDW-3 in BMT, the transition to the PDW issued by the Corps, the PDW-1, went well. But it took him a while to get used to the fact that the PDW-1 was a semi-automatic instead of a three-shot burst variety. When he asked one of the instructors why it was only a semi-auto, he was told that it was because it was for survival, not killing people. “You want to be able to eat what you shoot,” the instructor said, “not blast it full of holes. We’re going for a killing shot that saves ammunition, not a ‘spray and pray’ scenario.”

  Soon Bill had mastered all the GIS and remote sensing aspects of his job, so he began his flight training. He still had to show up with all his equipment, but he was happy he didn’t have to bring his flight survival kit. “We save that for the real surveys,” one of his instructors told him. “Besides, every craft here has spare kits on board, just because of the training. Don’t make sense to have Probies lugging all their equipment out to the airfield every day.”

  12

  At last, it was time for the three-day trip to Cascadia.

  The trip over the mountains was via a high-speed magnetic levitation train into the city of Tahoma. Meri explained that most short distance routes were simple maglevs, but the longer ones, particularly cross-continent, were E-tubes: supersonic trains operating in evacuated tubes.

  Just like in Milton, Bill didn’t see any major highways and asked about that.

  “Most people use mass transit, such as the skytrain or jitneys in cities, or the maglevs and E-tubes between larger cities. Most cargo is carried in maglevs or the E-tubes, with smaller trucks used for intra-urban transport. I guess you could say we’re not as automobile-centric as Earth. Although, those who live in the country usually have some form of mechanical transport, be it a Willy’s, a Kenji, or a flitter.” During his time on Hayek Bill had come to learn that the aircar he had seen on his first day was colloquially known as a flitter.