The remainder of the morning went on like this, with the four men sitting, listening, and taking notes, occasionally asking questions, and Williams and Ross lecturing them on history, culture, and societies.
At the end of the morning, the four Explorers were given several books to read.
“You don’t need to memorize them, but be sure you read them thoroughly. Your life might depend on what you know or don’t know when you cross over,” Ross said, after handing out the books.
Lunch was a brief affair, taken at the base cafeteria near the Corps Headquarters. Compared to when a cohort of Probies was in training, the cafeteria seemed empty, occupied mainly by those who worked at the headquarters or nearby.
Once seated, the three friends learned a bit more about Lane.
“Well, I migrated to Hayek about five years ago, straight out of college,” he nodded to the others, “sort of like you. I grew up all over the place as a diplomat’s son, living in Thailand, Germany, and Switzerland. That’s where I learned German. I’m fluent, and I’ve been told I sound more like somebody from Basel, Switzerland than I do an American. I graduated high school from the International School Bangkok, got my bachelor’s in biochemical technology at Montreat College in North Carolina, and wrapped up with a master’s in anthropology from the University of North Carolina. I’ve been pretty much in the Cultural Survey Section ever since coming over.”
Bill was glad when Meri, carrying Jack and accompanied by Nicole Andrews, joined the four of them.
After being introduced to Lane, Meri asked, “So, how goes the training?”
“A bit overwhelming,” Bill replied, making funny faces at his infant son. “Sorta like when I first crossed over to Hayek. Lots to learn.”
“Make sure you pay attention,” Meri said. The unstated comment was that she wanted Bill coming home alive.
As promised, the afternoon’s training session was a lot different from the morning session. The Commandant hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted the four trained in close-quarters combat using local weaponry.
The email outlining their training schedule had them reporting to one of the rifle ranges near Bowman Field. The nearly mile-long walk was actually pleasant, with the temperature being just cool enough to keep them comfortable despite the distance.
When they arrived, they found the range master waiting for them outside the classroom building.
“Bill, John Fairbanks,” the range master said, extending his hand. Bill had gotten used to everyone knowing who he was, being a minor celebrity in the Corps. Had he thought a bit more about it, he would have eliminated the word “minor,” as he, Meri, and Karen had become major celebrities.
Taking his hand, Bill introduced him to the other three.
“Okay. Let’s get started. The Commandant wants you learning about the weaponry you’ll encounter on Discordia, so we managed to get a few local samples, and based on some research, managed to manufacture a few that appear to be common.
“Lucky for us, John Browning existed on this timeline, so we didn’t have to reinvent the wheel when it came to copying firearms. You’ll find a lot of similar firearms, including the 1911 and the Ma Deuce.” The former referred to the venerable .45 caliber pistol used by the U.S. Army for over a century, and the latter to the .50 caliber M-2 machine gun, made famous in World War II and beyond. “Most are made in Deseret and exported, but there’s also some competition abroad, mainly from Germany and Great Britain, as you can imagine.
“Here’s a brief run-down on the common firearms. You don’t need to really know most of ‘em, but they’re still interesting.”
Along a table was set up a number of pistols, revolvers, shotguns, and rifles. The pistols, for the most part, were mostly clones of Browning’s 1911, including the Browning Hi-Power, with some design differences. There were also German-designed Lugers. Of note to Bill was the fact that there were no polymer-framed weapons in sight.
“It’s actually pretty amazing that there are a bunch of identical firearms. I think this mostly relates to the fact that most of the inventors were born and raised in the same locations as on Earth.”
“No H&Ks?” Lane asked, looking at the weapons.
“Doesn’t appear to be so. Far as I can tell, Heckler and Koch was founded by a bunch of engineers after World War II, when their German arms factory for the Nazis was shut down. Since World War II never took place here, it appears the connection between the engineers never took place.” John shrugged. “No AKs or ARs, either. I’m thinking Kalashnikov was probably killed by the Germans before he could invent the AK-47 or grew up to do something else, and Stoner probably never left Indiana. And, without the U.S. military need for a small, lightweight medium-range combat rifle, the AR-15 and M-16 were never needed or developed.
“We still haven’t figured out why Browning invented the 1911 yet, as the pistol was originally developed to fight Moros in the Philippine Insurrection of 1899, an event that didn’t happen on this timeline. Heck, he even invented the Ma Deuce and BAR, despite no real World War I.” The Browning Automatic Rifle, commonly referred to by its initials, BAR, was a 23-pound fully-automatic light machine gun that could be carried and fired by one soldier.
“It seems most of the firearms we’re looking at are pretty much less-advanced than Earth’s. Mostly wood and metal, and more basic designs. As a matter of fact, revolvers seem more common than pistols. I think that’s a factor of there being no real wars, just brush wars.
“You can imagine, both World Wars led to some massive weapons development, taking infantry from bolt-action rifles to selective-fire rifles, among other things. Without the wars to push development, it appears most firearms development we saw on Earth never took place.”
“So, it must be a pretty peaceful society,” Lane said with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Not from what I hear,” John said. The four could hear the dry sarcasm, much like a puff of dust on the tongue. “Dueling’s still legal in most parts, like the CSA. But I have to admit, I only know the firearms stuff. You’ll have to ask the cultural group about what the society is like.”
Bill filed it away to ask Tania and Mike about this in the morning.
“What about polymers, like Glocks and such?” Matt asked.
“Ain’t none. From what I’ve been told, Discordia’s at about the Bakelite level when it comes to plastics.”
“Bakelite?”
“Yeah, one of the first plastics. If you’ve ever seen an old phone, and I mean pre-1940s, it was made from Bakelite. Well, let’s get started.”
For the next hour, John walked the group through familiarization with all the weapons, including the BAR and an unfamiliar design of submachine gun.
After this, they moved out to the range, taking a number of pistols and revolvers with them. John also issued them earplugs and safety glasses.
“Odds are, if you’re gonna use a gun, it’ll be one of these,” John said as they set up at the shooting tables.
He gave them basic instructions on how to hold, aim, and fire each weapon.
“Remember, don’t cross your thumb over your gripping hand when shooting an automatic — good way to get some skin ripped off.”
For the next several hours they worked with the pistols and revolvers, shooting them and then cleaning them. They also trained on the use of various holsters, including shoulder rigs, ankle holsters, hip holsters, and in-the-waistband holsters, or IWBs as Bill soon learned they were called.
By the end of the afternoon everyone had gotten comfortable with firing the weapons, and as they cleaned them in the classroom, John said, “Tomorrow we begin the real training — close-quarters combat with pistols. We’re also gonna start in on muscle memory drills. In case you’re unfamiliar with that, allow me to explain. You do something at least three thousand times, your muscles develop a memory, so you don’t even have to think. You train right, and things will work out well. You train wrong, well, then things go south. So, what you’re gonna do is learn every move
right, then you’re gonna practice every move right. Three thousand times. For each move.
“And remember, practice doesn’t make perfect; perfect practice makes perfect. That’s why we’re gonna stress doing it right every time. This is going to go for shooting, drawing, and fighting. I expect you to practice on your own after hours. Put on that shoulder rig and practice for fifteen to twenty minutes a day, until you’ve done it at least three thousand times. Then practice drawing from an in-the-waistband holster. Same goes with unarmed combat. Practice the moves, even if you don’t have a partner.
“One thing we’ve learned in the Cultural Survey Branch is that there is no substitute for proper training and practice.”
That evening, after the supper dishes had been cleared and little Jack put to bed, Bill and Meri curled up on the sofa for some personal time.
“How was it?” Meri asked.
Bill thought for a moment. “Interesting.” After a long pause, he continued, “Not sure how to really frame it. The planet seems a mess, but then again, anything else compared to Hayek is a mess. At least, in my not-so-humble opinion,” he finished with a grin.
“How was your day?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass of single-malt whiskey, the smoky flavor wafting through his nostrils as he breathed out.
“Lots of prep work. Probies are coming in soon, so we’ve got to be prepared. Most of the training has already been developed, so it’s just a matter of covering it all. Christ, after what we went through, I don’t think any amount of training will be enough.”
Bill chuckled.
“What?” Meri said, looking up at him.
“I don’t know. We made it on the training we went through.”
“Not exactly,” Meri countered. “Think about it. Had it not been for my studies at Hayek U, we might not have.”
Bill considered that. “Y’know, you’re probably right. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m thinking of adding another week or two to the training schedule, focusing on edible plants. What do you think?”
“Might be a good idea. Speaking of good ideas…” Bill leaned over and kissed Meri, tasting the sweetness of the Irish Mist she was sipping.
“Hmm, and what might this good idea of yours be, Mr. Clark?”
“Well, Mrs. Clark, I’m thinking that young son is sound asleep, and we’re not,” Bill replied with a grin, which was quickly covered with Meri’s lips.
56
Over the course of several weeks, Bill and the others spent mornings in the conference room at headquarters learning about Discordia’s various cultures, norms, and expectations, and the afternoons learning to shoot in close-quarters combat style. As John Fairbanks had said, dueling was a common event amongst every nation south of the United States and Deseret.
“This includes the Republic of California,” Tania said during one of the training sessions. “About the only places dueling doesn’t exist are in Deseret and the United States, maybe the British Commonwealth, too, although we’re not one hundred percent certain on those. Some places are formalized, such as Germany and the CSA, with special rules dictating challenges, weapons, seconds, and all that stuff, and some are more informal. The Independent States of Franklin and Texas seem to be the least formal of all. They’re more like the wild west, with about the only thing formal being when someone tells you to draw. So, be careful.
“Speaking of being careful, it seems that Franklin also has a rather robust brawling culture. Probably a holdover from the days when it was settled with the Scots-Irish fleeing the British Isles in the 1700s. Some of the stuff we’ve read about is pretty nasty, with biting, eye-gouging, maiming, and just about any act of violence allowed. That means you’ll really need your self-defense skills.”
“To hell with self-defense,” Lane spoke up. “We’re gonna focus on the ungentlemanly pursuit of close-quarters combat. Scientific violence against untrained thugs, no matter how good they might be, always wins. If these bastards want to fight dirty, we’ll show them what dirty is.”
Bill had always thought it would take years to become a good fighter. He hadn’t done much fighting in high school or college, focusing more on flying, shooting, fishing, and geography. As such, he had never polished his manly skills of interpersonal violence. Lane undid all of that nonsense.
They only had two weeks of afternoons scheduled for hand-to-hand close-quarters combat, and Lane was the one doing the training. It turned out that he had been involved in various types of martial arts before migrating to Hayek, including basic close-quarters combat. It was also something every Cultural Survey Specialist was required to learn before their first exploration.
“For those of you who learned martial arts,” he deliberately looked at Jordan when he said this, “I want you to forget just about everything. Unarmed close-quarters combat is nothing like that. It doesn’t take years to learn and there’s none of the mystical meditative crap. It’s pure, scientifically applied violence. The goal is to take out your opponent as quickly, silently, and permanently as possible.
“As part of this course of instruction, you’ll be learning how to destroy another person using your own body, knives, tomahawks, handguns, and whatever else comes to hand.
“So, let’s start with the weapon. Each of you has several already built-in — both arms, and both legs. Pretty simple, huh?”
Lane had the three Explorers lined up on blue mats in the empty gym facing him.
“Let’s look at the arms. At their ends, you’ll notice you’ve got fingers and thumbs. Each and every one of them is a weapon. You can gouge out eyes, crush a larynx, hook somebody in the mouth or nose and yank their head around. They’re amazing little things.
“Make a fist!”
Each Explorer did so.
“With that, you can crush a larynx, crush a temple, crush testicles, or just cause pain in another location. You won’t be using your fists much, but they still come in handy.
“Make your hand into a knife-hand.” He showed them how by holding his hand, palm facing the trio, with all four fingers straight and flush, and his thumb slightly bent on top.
With a quick slash of his hand, he said, “Using the edge of your hand, you can crush a larynx, a nose, bruise an arm, and possibly even break a neck. It’s also useful for blocking or knocking an arm out of the way so you can punch someone in the throat or sternum.”
Lane then held up his elbows.
“Elbows. Sharp, pointy things. Great for crushing all sorts of body parts, including testicles, guts, spines, larynxes, faces, and temples. Turn ‘em around, and you can grab somebody by the neck and toss or choke ‘em. Also great for hooking onto extremities and breaking them.
“Even the shoulders are useful. You can use them to slam somebody into a wall, stunning them for that brief microsecond it takes to finish them off.”
Putting his arms down, Lane then pointed to his legs.
“Again, weapons, pre-attached, two each. The leg is four times more powerful than the arm, so use it. Just don’t be stupid with it. Never raise your foot where an opponent can grab it. That means no fancy karate or tae-kwon-do shit. About the highest you should kick is into your opponent’s groin, and even that’s pretty much a no-no. Knees and shins are always good targets, especially if you can drag a shoe down a shin. That shit hurts like a mother. Use your foot to cause pain to distract your opponent so you can use your hands to take them down. Once on the ground, then you can use your foot to stomp them.”
Raising his knee, Lane said, “I think we know what this one can do.”
All the Explorers winced, moving their hands protectively in front of their groins.
“Exactly! ‘Nuff said about that one for now.
“First things first: you need to learn about how to stand.” Getting into a slight crouch, hands up, Lane said, “Note how I’m standing. Hands up, but loose. I’m in a slight crouch, my feet are about shoulder-width apart, and I’m standing somewhat obliquely toward the
threat, which, in this case, is you three.”
That caused a small chuckle among the group.
“If I’ve got a low center of gravity, I can provide the most power to my attack. But, a low center of gravity makes it harder to move quickly, so I raise my center of gravity,” at this Lane stood a little straighter, “and that allows me to move faster.” He moved quickly to the side several steps, all the while keeping his body pointed toward the three. “In a fight, you need to be constantly shifting your center of gravity from low to high, and back to low.
“Okay, pair up. We’re gonna work through some simple hand movements. Bill, you’re with me. Jordan, you and Matt duke it out.”
With the four men paired up, Lane went through the various parts of the body and what type of physical blows to land.
“The first rule to understand is simple: Take out the head and the body dies. We’ll start with the fingers.”
Toward that end, he showed them how to strike at the larynx, how to gouge out eyes, and how to fish-hook somebody. He also taught them how to avoid becoming a victim of these moves.
The afternoon was spent applying force with just the fingers and hands. Sparring pads were put on and the four continued practicing by striking with open hands and fists.
“Remember, when you hit something, don’t just stop there. Follow through. Your real target isn’t the Adam’s apple, it’s that point about two inches behind the spine, so aim for that. Go through the target, not just at it.”
Lane brought out some dummies and the three Explorers, under his tutelage, practiced gouging out eyes, ramming fists through throats, knife hand strikes to the neck, and crushing temples.
“Don’t waste your time striking at the face, unless you’re trying to shove a nose bone into a brain or yank out an eyeball. Most facial strikes are gonna land on bone and probably hurt you worse than your opponent. Always go for the soft spots.”
After four hours of training, Bill felt like a wet noodle. Sweat was dripping off his face onto the mat, and the constant sting from sweat entering his eyes had turned them red.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 61