“This is the E-12, bullpup rifle, ambidextrous safety and charging handle. It relies on an electronic ignition system. That means no more big firing system, that and the propellant mix the EMF has come up mean this puppy fires smaller rounds at a higher rate of fire and speed,” Balhauser pressed a button and pulled a box from the rear of the gun.
“The magazine holds a hundred rounds. Hold down the trigger and you’ll waste it all in less than a minute. First we’re going to go over clearing the weapon and making sure you don’t shoot someone,” Balhauser looked like he didn’t trust anyone to not do this, even with unloaded weapons and no rounds in sight.
They met the repulsor, the section and platoon support weapons. They were fed by a reinforced belt feeders attached to either ammunition boxes or a massive ammo pack repulsor gunners wore on their backs.
Recoil systems meant they could be fired from the standing, most gunners fired from the hip, their helmet’s overlaying where they were hitting.
There was a bipod built into the weapon and there was the ability to mate two of them together on a stationary tripod for double the fun.
They fired hundreds of rounds per minute, sounding like the worlds loudest and greatest chainsaw.
“This is the AMR, stands for Anti-Material Rifle, it packs a forty-five calibre round. I know some of you might be going ‘ohh but I thought the seventy-five calibre rounds were the shit!’ Well that’s the reason you’re recruits,” Fei said, grabbing a round from the table it was about as long as his middle finger and thick as his thumb.
“This thing will fuck your day up, better propellant and because there are no Geneva conventions anymore, this thing will hit the target and shatter. If this hits your arm, you now don’t have an arm, leg, same thing. Wearing armor, you have a fifty-fifty chance of surviving if this thing hits you in the chest. Now we’re going to fire this rifle for familiarization, if these things come into play then the EMF have lost their minds or we’re so deep in the shit they don’t care about their expenditure report.”
Tyler was studying the rifle, it was bullpup like the E-12 but longer, about four-foot-long in total, with a muzzle break at the end of the rifle which seemed to add to the deadly lines of the destructive weapon.
Tyler felt a grin on his face, the weapon was just asking to be fired, it wanted its power to be unleashed.
A week later and Tyler was behind the gun, Balhauser next to him.
With weapons training they were taught a bit more like adults, the instructors teaching them instead of yelling, inspections were still the same and fuckups were dealt with group PT. But here on the line they were honing an art, the art of killing an enemy kilometers away.
“I’m not going to fuck around you, talk me through what you’re doing. I know you’re a good shot I want to make sure that you’re going through the steps,” Balhauser said conversational, almost comforting.
“Target identified, accounting for wind speed, time to target, oddity of straight ground before simulation of planet curvature, gravity at one point four, cleared to fire?” Tyler asked.
“Fire in your own time,” Balhauser said.
Tyler focused on the target, letting the rest of the world blur as it moved in a lazy zigzag, the projection of the colonist was good. Tyler could almost make out the bored expression on the simulation.
Other rifles fired and Tyler held, breathing, concentrating, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, of his heart.
He stroked the finger. Air rushed out of the air brake, the whole free floating barrel coming back to compensate for the forces at work.
Tyler rode the recoil and movement, watching his target going down in a splat of blood. The AMR was semi-auto, Tyler shifted his aim, a new target rushing to the first’s aid, this one was zig zagging.
Tyler stroked again. A new target, his dial told him three hundred meters but it looked like five hundred. Tyler compensated aiming high and off target, he pulled, the round moved at near hyper-sonic speeds. The target died before they ever heard the shot. By the time the sound reached them, another was on the ground. Tyler disregarded his targeting computer, turning it off as he singled in on targets, estimated distance and calculated all of the other factors that could throw his shot off.
“Fuck,” he sighed, a head disappearing instead of hitting the target in their center of mass.
He threw the first magazine out and slammed a new one home. Twenty rounds, one in the pipe, leaving one in so he didn’t need to hit the bolt release from running out of rounds.
Tyler hit a runner, no more midsection for them.
“Back in!” He said.
“Shit,” Balhauser whispered.
Tyler winged five out of the sixty, winged meaning he’d taken a limb or an ungodly chunk out of them but they weren’t immediately dead.
Only two would have survived, mostly.
“Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?” Balhauser said.
“Westerly Three Complex Crew,” Tyler said, checking his gun and showing it was clear of rounds to Balhauser.
“Clear,” Balhauser said with a glance. “Who taught you?”
“My boss, Quentin Richter,” Tyler said.
“Round here we called him Captain Richter, didn’t know he was still alive, must’ve been fifty or sixty years Real-Time since we last saw him,” Balhauser said.
“You knew the boss?” Tyler asked, looking at Balhauser, he’d known Richter had been in the EMF but he didn’t think he would see anyone from his ship, let alone unit when he served.
“Yeah, he was in charge of me when I was a private. He’s a good officer, too many lose touch with the troops, not Captain Richter, probably why he stayed a Captain instead of moving to Major or Colonel. So how did you work without the computer?” Balhauser said.
“Ran the calculations in my mind, don’t need some holographic sight picture on my scope to hit someone. The ranges on the scope were weird so I ran with my gut. I was going to ask you if the scope was broken,’’ Tyler admitted.
“Well done, you are one of the scariest people I have seen with an AMR. You are now weapon qualified, make sure you pass the final training exercise,” Balhauser said.
“Yes Sergeant,” Tyler said grinning. He left the rifle at the position, another recruit taking his position and laying down their three magazines.
“How did you do?” Alexis asked coming up next to him. She was one of the few girls that could make him flustered by being next to him.
She walked with a grace that few had since the smart clothes always seemed to hug a person’s skin, the way it hugged Alexis’ frame made him a bit nutty.
Tyler looked to the ceiling remembering her question.
“Missed Five,” Tyler said, shrugging, not pleased with it but knowing he’d just need to do better next time.
“‘Only five?’ I missed twenty-seven!” She said, even pouting she made Tyler smile.
“Well I was the sniper for Westerly Three,” Tyler said by way of explanation.
“You’ll have to teach me some time,” she smiled, her blue eyes sparking as she tilted her head, a coy look on her face.
“Sounds like a plan,” Tyler grinned in return, realizing she was flirting with him. He let his eyes move down and up over her body. His mood turning into boyish delight.
“Gonna need more than just a good shot,” she said, walking ahead, her hips marching away.
Tyler’s brain caught up with reality.
“Well what would that entail?” He said, jogging to catch up with her.
***
They moved from learning to shoot weapons to living with them like their life partner.
They cared for them better than they cared for themselves. A person might be able to jump in the mud, but you better pray you never dropped it in the mud.
All fuck ups were imprinted with a liberal use of PT.
Clearing a room of hostiles was easy in theory, in reality it took hours upon hours to become anything like p
roficient.
The staff threw in boarding a combat shuttle, dropping from it, or exiting through its hatch.
When in troop transport mode the cargo holds of the Cargo shuttles had four rows of seats, two back-to-back in the middle with the other two against the shuttle’s exterior wall.
Jumping out of the shuttle’s hatches was easy. The hatches opened at the rear of the shuttle and you jumped off, hitting the ground rolling.
Dropping was easier and faster.
The harness that locked into their armor plates would pull them into standing position, the floor beneath their chair would open to the ground below. They’d drop, a wire thin as a pencil would wind out attached to the shuttle and the harness.
The wire would plummet them fast, but not fast enough to make them mush on the ground.
When they hit the ground the harness would cut the cord and fall off of their armor. There was a manual release that would cut the wire if the automatic systems didn’t work.
It was nerve wracking as hell when the line didn’t disengage but training took over. No one fucked up too badly on dropping or clearing rooms.
There had been five platoons when training started, there was three left. All of them had earned the right to be there. No matter where they came from they were the plain grey of the EMF.
In Mark’s mind they all deserved to pass, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case.
The staff faced the recruits, Mark stood in front of Two Platoon Two Section, Tyler in front of One and Alexis with Three.
Captain Petrovick was in charge of all the recruits, he looked over them all, silence stretching as Mark’s back tightened up and he had to move his feet as blood pooled uncomfortably in his shoes.
“Let’s see who survives to be Troopers, begin the final training exercise,” he walked away, the staff yelling their platoons into action.
“Two Platoon, get your gear! You have ten minutes!” Fredrickson barked, her face hard lines and eyes.
Tyler’s section led the way, Mark and Alexis following with their own.
“Vests and helmets first!” Mark yelled, agreement came back as they rushed into the armory, their lockers opening showing their armor, helmet, weapons and rucksacks that carried extra ammunition, plus water and food paste.
They pulled on their gear, calloused fingers used to the motions from discipline and training.
Few spoke while they suited up. Only a few asking for help with a strap they couldn’t get, doing the same service to their friend afterwards.
Before they wouldn’t have asked for help, they were proud members of varying gangs, different sectors, complexes, no one trusted anyone. Now they were troopers, trust was automatic, even if they were from another platoon or section they trusted them to have their back.
“Two platoon get moving for the city!” Balhauser barked.
People moved in a flurry of confusion, flashbacks of the first weeks coming to mind. No one wanted to be last.
Mark pulled his helmet down, hearing it connect to the collar of his armor and smart clothes, ripping his rifle from its rack and moving to follow the others.
“Get into sections!” He barked through the Platoon’s chat and his helmet’s speakers.
People started moving automatically, they all knew their spots and who was around them, even in their armor. Only a few of them didn’t have their helmets and vests on.
Most did and at least another piece of armor on their legs or arms.
Mark got to two sections. Tyler rushed past getting to one and sorting them out. Two platoon was sorted out as they got to the hatch that would lead to the city scenario.
“You think you’re going to just run across the planet! You’re going to need to have a combat shuttle to drop you in!” Lastrade yelled.
Tyler led, heading for the simulated hangar deck a few decks above.
One and three section filed into one combat shuttle as Mark filed onto another that was filled with a holographic weapons section. Hosting mortars, tripods for their repulsor’s and ‘screamers’, high velocity missiles.
Mark counted everyone off slapping their back’s as they went past. He took the last seat on the craft, checking his rifle was slung and putting it on the clips near his stomach. He grabbed his harness and pulled it down.
“Everyone good?” Mark asked, he got a list of green lights down the side of his HUD, all of them had their helmets.
Mark threw a stick of gum in his mouth as the ramps pulled up and the rear hatch closed.
It took off, rising up and pushing forward.
Nice and smooth. Mark thought, soothing his mind.
Some yelled out as they hit atmosphere.
“Damn masochists!” Mark growled, getting a few laughs. They were in a tense situation, getting them to ease up would give them confidence.
The buffeting was the universes’ worst turbulence, they rose up and dove down, while going side to side and moving in three hundred and sixty-degrees, the simulated pilot evading incoming fire.
Thankfully those that did throw up got their helmets open to throw up into the grate running down the center of the seats.
Mark chewed his gum with grim determination as his stomach lurched and butterflies filled him. His inner ear tried to convince him he was going to crash, the rest of his body wished they could murder his inner ear, and the simulated dickhead in the cockpit.
The movement increased as they got lower, the enemy fire was more accurate at this level.
More people threw up and Mark’s clothes chilled, air blowing on his face at a higher rate to fight his nausea.
Seats moved and they were hoisted into the air and turned so they were all facing forward. They checked one another’s gear, the holographic Cargo Master checked Mark and the other three people on the end, holographic and not.
Green lights came on as harnesses checked out.
Doors opened below their feet, ground rushed past, lush forest and fields. The shuttle dove hard, pushing the recruits on a slight angle. They leveled and Mark was dropping through the air.
He almost swallowed his gum, as soon as he was clear of the craft, the person in front of him was coming down. It looked like four waves of troopers descended.
His helmet beeped telling him he was ten feet from the ground, his descent speed was good, he grabbed the manual release.
It activated perfectly and he hit the ground, rolling and coming up with his weapon.
He checked the area with his gun, using his gloves to manipulate the information. He’d get implants to make the whole thing faster when he became a trooper.
He picked a site two kilometers away from their drop point, sending it to the whole platoon.
The last person dropped to the ground.
“All around defense,” Mark said, the Section moved into a circle, they weren’t trusting the holograms that made their own circle.
The combat shuttle’s engines were already fading away, the trees shaking.
Mark had thought the trees and green of the planet interesting the first few times he’d been in the training area. Now they were just a new challenge, new opportunities.
“Alright, move in fire teams. Bravo upfront with the pulse, Alpha on me behind them, Charlie, Delta and pulse trail. Move for the Platoon objective,” Mark said. Green lights filled his screen.
“Move out,” Mark said, the repulsors moved to either side of the line as the rest of the section spread out, weapons section mimicked them, moving parallel.
***
Fredrickson’s eyes returned to the room as she stopped using her implants.
“Well this should be interesting,” she said, sipping coffee.
“Better, win, I bet Ting thirty credits,” Balhauser said exhaling his fragrant smoke, his look of perpetual annoyance and weightlifting pucker would make most people think he was angry.
Fredrickson had been around Balhauser for seven years, a lifetime in the EMF. She could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. Th
ey both knew their platoon had what it took. At this point they wouldn’t be happy to lose people. Once someone was broken here they were no use as a trooper.
If you said you couldn’t crack it once, then it was all the easier to fail again. Fredrickson and Balhauser were not in the practice of letting failures through their training.
Their Platoon had regrouped and moved towards the city. Their helmets relayed their positions back to the staff. The recruits were moving into the city trying to find enemy positions.
Fredrickson knew there was a whole other platoon in those cities.
“The Four to one rule,” she sighed, drinking more coffee.
“If there’s three or less enemy dug in, use a section. A section’s dug in, use a platoon. A platoon’s dug in, use a company,” Balhauser recited from memory. “At least they’ll understand the reason behind the four to one rule.”
An alert came up on Fredrickson’s HUD.
“Looks like they requested air support,” she said looking to Balhauser.
“Victor brothers?” Balhauser asked.
“Yeah, Mark, Tyler’s scouting with his people.”
“Those two are scary, pulled some files from goings on in Westerly Three Complex. Seems that they are two rather deadly criminals few hope to cross, diablo and SWAS. Diablo’s a bigger brute who loves to fight. SWAS is a sniper, uses a bolt action. They say he can kill people even in the middle of a category five sandstorm,” Balhauser looked to Fredrickson, the two of them sharing a knowing look.
“SWAS?” Fredrickson asked.
“Serviced With A Smile, cause he’s good looking, and can service any target anywhere,” Balhauser let out a snort. “I don’t think it’s about his prowess in bed, though recruit Alexis Xin would beat the crap out of him and anyone he was caught in bed with.”
“When did you figure out they were an item?” Fredrickson laughed.
“Clearing rooms, I told them to stack up behind one another with twats and twigs to ass. I swear they were in one another’s underwear,” Balhauser laughed, shaking his head and smoking.
Fredrickson laughed as well, Balhauser had a way with words.
Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) Page 7