Precursor Revenants (The Precursor Series Book 1)

by Cain Hopwood

  “So you need to be trained in their use. And for that they’ve supplied us with some pistol and carbine class weapons. These are their own standard issue.” He could see a little uneasiness creeping into their faces and he realized that he was talking too much. “Let’s get underway shall we? We’ll start with the pistols.”

  The colonel popped open a crate and distributed weapons. He saw one of the men treating the pistol very gingerly. He looked to be hunting for a safety. “Don’t worry about accidentally setting one of these off. They are as safe as a lump of wood at the moment. Handle them, get a feel for their balance and how you might use them in combat.”

  A low hubbub built up as each soldier got their hands on a pistol and hefted it, trying to work out how best to sight it. He noticed that all of Jon’s soldiers found the ammunition block catch before any of the others. They all had the solid metal block ejected, inspected and snicked back into place before most of the others had even found the release catch.

  Gritz’s men were also making good progress with the unfamiliar weapons. It was Gritz that piped up first. “Colonel, how are they operated?”

  “Good question Gritz. See the two slots in the top.” He gave them all a moment to find the feature he’d pointed out. “All you have to do is slip your claws into those slots. The left one is the trigger, and the right adjusts the firing settings.”

  “Our claws sir?”

  “Yes. If you were Ka-Li you’d use your retractable claws, they have precise control. In fact almost all Ka-Li equipment is operated by inserting claws into control slots. Think of them like our switches or sliders. The beauty of their system is there’s no need for trigger guards as it’s virtually impossible to operate a control slot accidentally.”

  Gritz held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “So I assume you’ve got a way to overcome our lack of claws, sir.”

  “I do indeed.” The colonel turned to Pascale and motioned him forward; he was carrying a small box. The colonel took one of the items in the box and held it up for everyone to see. It was a small, thimble sized cylinder. “These are what you’ll use instead of claws. Lieutenant Pascale calls them control nubs. We’ll use them whenever we need to adapt a piece of Galactic machinery, or a weapon, to our use. He’s fabricated hundreds of them. So grab a handful.”

  He gave Pascale a moment to distribute the nubs, then he continued. “There are two types. Simple manual nubs, and wireless remote ones. We’ll use one of each for the pistols.”

  He pointed to the left control slot. “As you can see the trigger is on the top of the weapon. This suits the Ka-Li anatomy, but isn’t much good for a human hand. So we’ll use one of the remote nubs to operate the trigger.”

  He chose a nub with a red ring and twisted the bottom off. The top half of the nub went over the trigger claw slot. Then he held up the bottom half. It had an inset stud. “This is the remote. I’d suggest sticking this just under the main body of the pistol. You should be able to hold it normally and fire it with your trigger finger as usual.”

  He adhered the remote and held up the pistol. “It’s now ready to fire.”

  Jon interrupted. “There’s no trigger guard sir?”

  “Good point Moss, Pascale’s working on that. We’re just not sure whether to have a third type of nub, or a separate piece we can adapt. But the remotes are capacitive and keyed to your implants, so you’d have to touch it with your actual finger for it to fire. But you’re right, it is a safety concern.”

  While he’d been talking to Jon, Jon’s men had been busy. They’d already had nubs attached to their pistols and were sighting down range.

  “Hold on there. You lot weren’t thinking of stealing my thunder were you?”

  Six pistols snapped up to point at the sky. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that Moss had drilled his men on these pistols already.

  “As I was saying, the weapon is ready to fire.” He pointed his pistol down range and adjusted the setting to what he and Pascale were calling anti-personnel mode. Though, he suspected it would be renamed shotgun mode before the day was out. Then he tapped the remote trigger stud.

  A roar like a cross between a wounded lion and a failing turbine assaulted their ears, then echoed away. To their credit none of the unit jumped, though some looked a little more surprised than others at how loud, and how odd, the pistol sounded. But it didn’t take more than a few seconds before the looks of surprise turned to eagerness. The men were itching to get to grips with the new pistols.

  “Try them yourselves. You’ll feel three clicks on the top selector, one for each firing mode. Have a play with each.”

  Moss’s men had rounds downrange before any of the others. But before long the air was rent with the howls and screams of the Ka-Li pistols. Then he started getting peppered with questions.

  “What’s the range?”

  “What’s the magazine capacity?”

  “There’s no casing being ejected, what’s the ammo?”

  “What’s being fired?”

  “How do they work?”

  He answered each as best he could. It wasn’t long before the men realized that Pascale was the authority on any technical details. Though It didn’t take them long before they exhausted his knowledge too. Then they started exploring possibilities as a group.

  After a while, the firing died down. It was Moss who spoke up first. “What’s in the other crate sir?”

  “Ah, those you haven’t seen yet Jon. They’re a Ka-Li carbine class weapon.” Before he’d finished talking the colonel saw Gritz flash Moss a dagger like stare. Suddenly, the reason for Moss’s and Gritz’s soldiers’ behavior crystallized. There was a bet going on. And it looked like he’d just dumped Moss in it.

  With that thought the colonel realized that if they were betting, then the unit had begun to settle into life in the new camp. He typically frowned on wagering, but in this case it meant they were getting comfortable. And that was a good thing. If they were going to get to fighting fitness, learn the Galactics’ language, and deal with new weapons in the short time they had, they needed focus.

  So he cracked the second crate and started handing out the Ka-Li carbines.

  — 15 —

  Jon was quietly pleased at the way his men had handled the colonel’s orientation session with what they’d now begun calling flechette weaponry. It was a stroke of luck that the colonel had broken out the pistols first.

  The way his men had calmly and professionally ejected the ammo blocks, then inspected and locked them back into place while Gritz’s men were still goggling at the strange device, had him stifling a laugh at the time. And, even when the colonel moved onto the larger weapons, where his men didn’t have any foreknowledge, they kept up the show.

  They knew they’d kicked Gritz’s butt, and that confidence carried them through. But it wasn’t all just bluff. They’d taken the orientation seriously. To cap it off, Murdoch even suggested an alternative, and improved, nub layout for the rifles that the colonel adopted at once.

  All in all, Jon was pleased with his men’s performance. Even better, lunch was up next, and with Pascale’s engineers on mess duty, Jon hadn’t had to prepare it.

  But the moment the colonel dismissed the orientation session, Gritz stomped over to Jon, his footfalls sending up little clouds of dust.

  Jon could see the confrontation in Gritz’s eyes, so he waved his squad on. “Go on ahead, Lieutenant Gritz and I have a wager to settle. Also save me some chow.” He turned to Gritz and pitched his voice low. “Not in front of the men.”

  Gritz might have been fiery, but he wasn’t stupid. Having an argument in front of enlisted men wasn’t good for either party. So he stood stock still, fuming while the others headed off to a well deserved lunch.

  The moment they disappeared though, he let fly. “You’re a cheat Moss. The colonel said as much. I don’t know when, or how, but you’ve seen those weapons before. And you prepared your men.”

  Jon had spent the las
t half hour of the orientation thinking about how to handle this exact moment. He knew going on the attack would make Gritz dig his heels in. However, being too defensive would just spur him on.

  He adopted a confused tone. “Of course, haven’t you? I thought you had some inside knowledge and that’s why you proposed the bet.” Jon shrugged, then scratched his head theatrically. “I mean, I’ve seen them, Pascale’s seen them. I thought maybe the colonel had you evaluate the heavier class of weapons.”

  Gritz blinked. This clearly wasn’t what he expected. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you took the bet, even though you thought I had inside knowledge.”

  “Of course. I mean, when have you shied away from a dirty bet? I took it because I was fairly sure you didn’t know I’d handled one of those weapons. With a little coaching, I figured my guys stood a good chance of coming up even.” He could tell by Gritz’s expression he was on the back foot now. “I only told them how the pistol worked. For the bulk of the session, they were no more informed than your guys. But you have got to admit, they whupped your ass.”

  Gritz grumbled. “I dunno.”

  “Well, the way I figure it, you can either admit it now, and pay up, or we go and find Pascale. You know what he’ll say.”

  Before Gritz could answer, the colonel spoke up. “Have you two been betting again?”

  Jon had been so fixated on defusing Gritz, he hadn’t noticed the colonel and Pascale had stayed behind, murmuring to themselves over by the crates of Galactic weaponry. “You know how I feel about games of chance.”

  “Oh it was no game sir,” said Jon.

  “Not much chance either,” muttered Gritz.

  “Lieutenant Gritz and I proposed a small wager to help focus our men’s attention on your orientation session, sir.”

  The colonel’s voice was flat. “Are my briefings so dull, that your men need additional motivation to pay proper attention Moss?”

  Jon swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “So what exactly was the nature of this wager intended to keep your men focused on such an important session.”

  Gritz squared his shoulders. “I bet Moss that my men would cope better with the new and unusual weapons than his would.”

  The colonel’s head tilted slightly. “And did they?”

  “No sir. I don’t believe they did. But…”

  “But what lieutenant?”

  Jon could almost see the cogs turning in Gritz’s mind. Did he really think he could accuse Jon of cheating on a bet he himself proposed? A look of resignation crossed his face.

  “But, I would be willing to defer to your judgment sir,” Gritz said.

  The colonel was quick to dismiss him. “Do not involve me in this bet, or any wagering. I will only tolerate it so long as the outcomes are not detrimental to the unit’s performance, the quantities are not significant, and they do not cause dissent or act as a distraction. So pay your coin Gritz, and put this behind you.”

  Gritz flicked Jon a hundred coin, gave him a tiny bow, and walked off in what anyone would think was good humor. Jon knew better though, it was a show. He turned to the colonel, and just the pitch of his commander’s head told him that the colonel knew Gritz’s true state of mind as well.

  Jon might have been a hundred up, but he realized that it would probably end up costing him more than coin to get back in Gritz’s good books. He didn’t know what he was going to engineer, but somehow he didn’t think taking a couple of KP shifts would cut it.

  — 16 —

  According to the chrono in Jon’s HUD it was early evening, the one time of day when the unchanging dappled red sky above the unit’s camp seemed right. Jon had just finished his daily report, and was considering what to do in the couple of spare hours before turning in. A good solid snack was high on the list of possibilities.

  He’d just started making his way to the mess tent, to see what he could rustle up, when a call came through from Murdoch. “Lieutenant, have you got a moment? There’s something you need to see.”

  The tone in Murdoch’s voice pricked Jon’s curiosity. “Sure, where are you?”

  “The firing range.”

  When Jon arrived, he found the lanky sharpshooter had set up a makeshift firing bench. On it was a standard issue ARX-70, and Murdoch’s own meticulously maintained Barrett. He had the ARX-70s targeting sight detached and was inspecting it with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “What’s up? You tired of our new Galactic weapons already?”

  Murdoch looked up from the scope. “Not at all, sir. They’re interesting little units they are. Though I’d like to see how the Galactics sight them over longer ranges.”

  “So what are you here for?”

  “Well, I was just re-zeroing in the Barrett.” An arm wave encompassed the camp. “Different environment you know, plus it could have taken a knock in transit. You can never be too careful.”

  Jon nodded. Murdoch was fastidious about his rifle. It was one of the reasons he regularly won the inter service sharpshooting competitions. With Murdoch in his squad, the one thing Jon never had to worry about was maintenance of their weaponry. He brought everyone’s game up, even Jon’s.

  “By the look on your face, and that ARX-70 sight you have off, I’d imagine something is wrong.”

  “Yes, but it’s best you see for yourself sir.” Murdoch reattached the sight, which caused Jon to pause. The ARX-70 had an integrated digitally stabilized sight that only needed occasional adjustment, not zeroing. It was standard issue for NATO fire teams, and typically used by non sharp shooters to reliably hit targets out to eight hundred meters. To fire it, a soldier positioned its stabilized crosshairs on target and squeezed the trigger. The rifle itself chose the precise moment to fire that would place the round exactly on target. It was not something a precision sharp-shooter like Murdoch used.

  Murdoch shouldered the ARX-70 and aimed it down range. He had standard digital target rings set up at one, two and four hundred meters. “I’m putting a round dead center through the two hundred meter ring,” he announced.

  A crack rang out as Murdoch took the shot. Jon interfaced with the target ring, getting a close up of where the round passed through its armored circumference.

  “You’re low.”

  “I’m not low, this ARX-70 is low.”

  Jon frowned. “How can that be? Give it here.”

  Murdoch passed him the weapon. “You won’t have any more luck, these things are supposed to be fool proof.”

  Jon sighted down range. The ARX-70 sight overlaid the target ring with a helpful bulls eye. He zoomed and centered the crosshairs, squeezed the trigger and after a moment’s pause, the rifle fired.

  There, twenty millimeters below the center point of the ring, was a small red circle indicating the position the round penetrated the target. It was most definitely not where he’d placed the crosshairs.

  Jon turned to Murdoch. “Have you checked the rifle is configuring its ballistics software for the correct air pressure and temp here?” The dirty look the sharp shooter gave him was all the answer Jon needed. “Okay. How about your Barrett?”

  “Same problem. It’s fine at the zeroed range, but farther out none of the automation puts a shot on target.”

  “And without automation?”

  “That works, but only if I dial in extra bullet drop than the tables call for. I’ll have to build up DOPE for this situation.”

  Jon frowned. “So we’ll have to do everything either manually, or with guided rounds.”

  “You’re right to worry, sir. For a single long range takedown, that would be fine. But if we’re going to support a firefight, we need to be able to take targets quickly. And without the automation…”

  Jon was thinking along the same lines. Murdoch’s Barrett had various levels of automation. It could automatically adjust the sight for range, windage and round type. It even had a trigger assist mode like the ARX-70, should a non sharp shooter need to use it. As much as Murdoch liked to
do things the old way, in a running firefight, the ability to take quick shots at various ranges required automation. And if they had to fall back on ballistics tables, and manual sight adjustments, his squad of sharpshooters wouldn’t be able to provide the support the rest of the unit required.

  Jon held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Do you know what’s causing this?”

  “Well sir, it could be a lot of things. But I’d say it’s the extra gravity.”

  Jon mentally face palmed. It would have occurred to him straight away when they’d first arrived. But now he’d grown used to the additional weight. “There are no settings for force of gravity in the rifle’s software are there?”

  “No sir. But really, why would there be?”

  “No, it wouldn’t make much sense.” Jon looked down at the ARX-70 in his hands. They’d been standard issue for over twenty years and were just about idiot proof. “What can we manually adjust on this thing,” he muttered to himself, thinking back to basic.

  Murdoch answered, not realizing the question was rhetorical. “Well it’s got all the usual settings. Range to target would be the most used manual setting, the rangefinder on that sight could give away your position. But temp, pressure, windage, angle of fire and even the type of ammunition can all be tweaked if you want.”

  “That’s the problem, they can only be tweaked. We could try setting a higher velocity round, one that might compensate for the extra drop, but I don’t think there would be anything in the database that’s suitable.”

  “Choosing a lighter grain projectile would do sir.” Murdoch rubbed his chin. “The trick would be to override the sensor that reads the cartridge data so that the rifle thinks it’s firing a lighter bullet with higher velocity.”

  “Well, see what you can come up with. I’ll bring it up with the colonel and Pascale. They may have an idea.” Jon turned to go but then stopped. “Murdoch.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m pleased to have you. I hate to think what would have happened if we’d discovered this on mission.”