OOC:

This is pretty much just character development fun. Early in his tenure in the Vast Empire, Drac ended up in several ground combat situations, during which he employed what became his trademark sidearm, the DC-15. I’m going to re-hash that a bit by having him run through a series of tactical pistol shooting stages based on the IDPA/USPSA pistol shooting competitions (which, by the way, are a ton of fun to do). This'll probably be four to six posts in length.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this, sir?”

Dracule “Drac” Mihawk turned to regard the overly fit young non-com standing a few yards away and replied, “And why shouldn’t I be, Mr. Grynark? Please, be frank.”

The range instructor shifted uncomfortably but pressed on all the same, “Well, sir, most ship captains and other ranking officers we see come through here end up doing well to just stand in place and shoot a target safely, much less accurately. A tactical drill is something else entirely, and it’s nothing like commanding a fight from a bridge. Sir.”

Drac nodded, “I see.” Picking up his DC-15, he efficiently checked its charge and ensured that the safety was on before slipping it into its holster on his right hip. The motion was smooth, rendered almost habitual by practice. He continued, “What you don’t know, Sergeant, is that my first kills as a soldier of the Vast Empire were made with this gun.” He paused, then shrugged, “Well, with one of the same model. That particular gun ended up on the wrong end of a light foil, after which I had to buy a replacement. Anyway- you also don’t know that I’ve been shot down, been captured, and have fought on city streets and boarded enemy space installations and ships. This isn’t my first rodeo. I won’t be the best person you’ve ever seen run this course, but neither will I be the worst. Understood?”

The Sergeant nodded, “Yes, sir. Proceed to the starting position when you are ready, sir.”

Drac stepped up and placed one foot on the green circle that marked the starting position for the first stage of the course. Glancing around, he took a moment to examine the stage’s setup and to plan his movements.

A portable wall stood in front of him, nearly three meters high and five wide. A single window was set near the left end and another was set near the right end, though the second window was fitted with a fall-away pane of durasteel that he would have to push down before he could fire through it. A second length of portable wall was set at the end, slightly angled so that he would have to turn somewhat to his right to continue advancing. It held one window, placed near the center, and Drac knew that a fourth and final shooting position would be located at the end of the wall.

The Sergeant stepped up behind the Mon Calamari, “This course contains both hostiles and non-hostiles, sir. Non-hostiles are marked with open hands, hostiles are unmarked. Standard rules and penalties apply as it pertains to accuracy, time for completion, and engagement of non-hostiles. This stage holds nine hostiles, scoring the best two hits on each. Do you understand the course of fire?”

Drac nodded.

“Nod when you are ready, sir.”

A brief moment passed as Drac settled himself in a relaxed stance. He nodded.

“Then on my mark…two…one…mark!”

Drac took three swift steps forward, his right hand gliding smoothly to his belt. He drew his DC-15 and his thumb swept up to disengage the safety as he brought the barrel forward of his body. His left hand met the gun when he reached full extension, wrapping around the grip and his right hand for extra support, while both thumbs lay pointing forward along the left side of the gun.

Keeping most of his body behind cover, the naval officer stepped over to aim through the window and read the situation in a flash: Two targets, one non-hostile. The non-hostile was out in front, partially covering both hostile targets. He’d have to be careful. Already moving with practiced reaction, he aimed for the hostile on the left, which had come into his sight first. The flimsiplast cutout was the vague shape of a Gran, with hit zones marked across it. Beside it, the open-hands-marked cutout of a Twi-lek blocked nearly a third of the viable critical-hit area. He adjusted his aim a bit, intending to shoot just left of the Twi-lek’s right “arm” and pulled the trigger once and then a second time.

Shifting slightly to his left, the Mon Calamari brought the second hostile target into view. At this angle, the Twi-lek covered nearly half the critical hit area on the second hostile cutout, which was a human silhouette. Drac gritted his teeth slightly and lifted his aim. He hated to do it, having been taught well to target the enemy’s center of mass, but the risk of hitting the non-hostile was too great. Instead, he lined his sights up on the hostile cutout’s head and squeezed off two more shots.

Turning to his right without skipping a beat, Drac lifted his finger from the trigger to lay flat against the barrel of the pistol as he ran to the next window, making certain with each step that he kept the barrel pointed downrange. It was a practical safety precaution, even if he was using low-powered target shooting bolts.

Arriving at the second window, Drac passed his left hand under the level of his gun and quickly punched down the barrier before swinging around to bring his pistol to bear. Three targets presented themselves, one each at three, five, and seven meters. All were hostiles with the outlines of stormtroopers, and with clear shots available Drac’s gun began barking in rapid succession as he focused on the targets in the order they came into view. He fired seven shots total, including a third shot into the far target when he wasn’t satisfied with the placement of the first shot he made on it.

Turning to his right again, he repeated the previous safety precautions as he advanced to the third window. Coming into position, he saw four cutouts- three non-hostiles grouped around a single hostile. Taking an extra beat to ensure his shot wouldn’t pass through the hostile into a non-hostile, the Mon Calamari settled his sights between the two non-hostiles in front and fired twice. The shots looked good in the brief instant he had to see his hits, so he turned away from the hostile and continued. So focused was he that it took him a moment to realize that the last hostile had been a cutout in the shape of a Mon Calamari, and he rolled his eyes as he did. Most likely, the new Captain Grey wanted to test him a bit. Well, whatever.

Sliding to a halt at the end of the second wall, Drac double-checked his firearm and began to wrap around it. He fired at targets as they came into sight, relieved that again there were no non-hostiles scattered among the cutouts of the hostile rodian, twi-lek, and bith.

The echo of the last shot died away as Drac flicked his safety back into place and slid the pistol securely back into its holster. He breathed deeply, enjoying the twitch and flutter in his body as it reacted to the adrenaline it had instinctively secreted.  After a moment he turned to look at the range instructor, “Well?”

“Umm…” the man looked down, consulting the datapad he held, “Twenty four point seven eight seconds, sir. Not bad, actually.” Stepping around the wall, the man walked down the back side of the course recording hits and hit locations. When he returned he nodded at Drac, “Again, not bad, sir. Three points down for three non-critical hits plus three points down for one negligible hit. No misses and no hits on non-hostiles. Final time for the stage: thirty point seven eight seconds.”

Drac grunted, “Well. Not quite what I might have hoped, but yes, not bad.”

The Sergeant nodded, “By the way, sir, I apologize. You may be a bit rusty, but it’s clear that you’ve seen action before.”

Drac nodded and they turned to head over to the next stage. Yes, the Sergeant had technically been insubordinate –or at least rude- but it didn’t much matter. He understood. This was a practice range for the troopers stationed aboard the Atrus. It wasn’t part of the fleet as such, and in that it was something of a different world. Here, your guns did the talking and your ability to use them was what merited any respect. It was a rather dog-eat-dog, survival of the fittest attitude, but that was just fine. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with that.