Story 2: Gunslinging Practice

Drac shifted uneasily as he waited for the turbolift to bring him up to the Atrus's armory deck. He'd heard rumbles about a new mission coming up soon, and was a bit nervous about the prospect. It wasn't that he doubted himself in a fight, just that this time he'd be worrying about more skins than just his own. Glancing down, he ran a finger across the new rank insignia on his uniform. It wasn't a huge change: one chevron had been added, making him a Petty Officer 2nd Class. But the change was more than a single chevron. He was responsible for another pilot as well now that he'd been promoted to leader of Three Flight...

  ...which was why he was on his way to practice his marksmanship today, rather than breaking up some restaurant or club with the other pilots on leave. The Ator mission had involved a surprising amount of blaster combat, as well as hand to hand and melee fights. There'd even been grenades and bombs involved, though he wasn't about to practice with those.

The turbolift came to a stop and the doors opened with a hiss. He glanced around, then headed for the counter. A human male was there, a Marine Gunnery Sergeant by his insignia. Drac came up to the counter and saluted. The sergeatn returned his salute and looked him up and down for a moment, "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Blirgin Vrold. What can I do for you, Petty Officer?"

"Sir. Petty Officer 2nd Class Dracule Mihawk, or Drac for short. If I can, I'd like to spend a few hours burning holes in your marksmanship practice range."

The man nodded slowly, smiling, "Sure, no problem. And call me Gunny or Gunny Vrold. What outfit you with, Drac?"

The Mon Cal glanced at the Captain's Own insignia by his wings before replying, "Nazgul Squadron. I'm Nazgul 9."

Vrold nodded, "Good to hear. How long have you been a Nazzie? I should have met you before now."

"Well, Gunny, I've only been with the squadron for one mission. Other than that, I'm straight out of the Academy," he couldn't help but fidget a bit, uncomfortable with the fact.

The marine looked solemn now, "I heard about that one. Went to Ator for Driver's old man's funeral, right? Turned into a heck of a furball on the ground?"

"That's an understatement, if anything. Most, if not all, of the squadron ended up being somewhere between walking wounded and casualties. Of course, the bad guys all ended up dead, so fair's fair."

"Sounds like Nazgul, all right." Vrold waved at a door set into the bulkhead, then handed Drac an access card, "That's the shooting range. Keep the card and feel free to come by and practice whenever you like. By the way, what're you shooting?"

Drac had turned halfway toward the door to look and turned back now, "I've got a DC-15. Thing'll keep shooting for forever and a day before it runs outta charge. Thanks for the access, Gunny. I'll make sure to visit."

When Drac entered the shooting range he took a long look around. It looked like it must be built to be modular, with many possibly setups. The one thing that was consistent all through the room was blaster burns. I guess there're plenty of pilots needing practice, if those burn marks are any evidence.

Drac wondered over to one wall of the room and found a terminal. He browsed through several possible setups before finding one he liked. It was pretty basic: a firing area facing three targets. Each target sat a different distance from the firing area. The distances involved were twenty, forty, and eighty meters. He selected it and waited a moment as the range set itself up. Once it was ready he toed the line, taking a standing firing stance, and began to practice.

After an hour Drac was satisfied with his work on straight accuracy. He'd stopped missing the targets altogether, except for the furthest one, and had even scored kill shots pretty regularly. Now he wanted a harder challenge. He reconfigured the range to a single target at thirty meters and set the terrain to change every minute, both at his end and at the target's. This way he'd be practicing in something approaching a real environment.

As the range began Drac stepped up to the first terrain. It was a wall set to simulate a building corner. He braced against it, drew his pistol, and leaned out the side. The target popped up from behind a similar walll as he did so, eliciting a shot. The bolt, loosed quickly and without careful aiming, flew past the target harmlessly. A second shot, taken with more care, took the target in its "head" and he moved on.

An hour of this exercise left the Petty Officer satisfied with his improvement. He could now lean out from cover and fire several times faster and more accurately than when he began. It wasn't enough to make him an expert, not by a long shot, but he was decidedly more dangerous to the bad guys than to himself.

The final task he set himself that day was an obstacle course of sorts. He had to run from station to station, eliminating targets at each station as well as in between. The room automatically recorded how many shots it took him to hit each target and scored his results. There were a total of a hundred targets to hit and time factored into his score as well, which was calculated on a 1-100 scale.

The DC-15 felt good in Drac's hand, solid and familiar. As he ran, dove, and jumped most of his shots flew true. After his run was over he knew he could have done much better by slowing down a bit and taking his time. When he checked his score it showed a sixty five, about average for that course according to its records. Well, average isn't a bad place to start. Let's see if I can do it one better. He reset the course and, turning, plunged back into the fray.

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