Learning Curve

[GSgt Mike Hefner 0]

Learning Curve

A Will, Junior, Taelya, and Slick Log

 

Finding a low-tech, completely non-electronic projectile weapon - never mind a sniper rifle - in the 24th century was like finding a double eagle in a pile of horse hockey (a long story involving a stupid prank, a feed sack, a corral of unbroken horses, and a bunch of eleven-year-olds so tight they'd rather comb through a dung pile than rat or fess up). But Mike and Veras had decided on sniper rifle training to begin with, reason being that it's best to take 'em out from a distance if possible. And the Kid was right, Soltan infection being what it was.

 

But, as always, every high-tech company imaginable had all fingers plus thumbs in the weapons pie. No matter where you turned there was at least one component that depended on it.

 

A strip down of Mike's choice K103 - a light-weight full-balance, with ultimate stability and firepower, easily concealed, easily packed, easily deployed - showed more than one tiny chip buried in its configuration waiting for an EM pulse to take it out. Even as far back as WWIII, the favored Aztek 84 long-range assault rifle had something that would feed an EM pulse. Upon reflection, the Gunny wondered why the hell other enemies hadn't thought of taking them out with a pulse. But then the enemy would have taken out their own weapons as well, so there you had it. Like hobbling all the horses and forgetting one of 'em was yours.

 

Following the Kid's lead, the search backed up several centuries, to a time when a weapon was a weapon that depended on the operator's gray matter, training, and gut instinct to sight a target and send the round.

 

As far as Marine training was concerned, basic weapons had always been there, mostly because of a few accidents in their history that knocked out phasers and other electronics. In addition, traditional forms of hand-to-hand and non-combustible weaponry - knives, bows, bat'leth, and what have you - added to the mix. There'd been recon and first contact missions that demanded issuing older weaponry, so most Marines had at least a working knowledge. He couldn't speak for the Fleet, though, and that was just a tad bothersome. Some of 'em were starting from square one.

 

Two positions held no rank - corpsmen and instructors. On the firing line, colonels and privates got the same treatment; the instructor was the only one with any say. Everyone knew laser weapon safety and regs. Acquainting them with a weapon that was never "off" unless it was unloaded, cleared, and cracked was another story. The Marine live fire simulation past, Mike had shed his full combat gear in favor of basic firing range protection over his BDU*. One thing at a time, he figured. New personnel already had enough to think about. They'd get the full course if and when they could handle the weapon.

 

Caine and Taelya's weapons training took them to positions at the far end of the range, well out of the line of fire from the NGs*. Mike took the lead at the other end with the last group and started from scratch, clearing and handing out weapons as he spoke in automatic clipped instructor bursts.

 

"You are being issued the standard MC-24Kz assault rifle, modified from standard M24 sniper." He held one, demonstrating as he spoke. "Bolt-action, it fires a 7.62 by 51mm NATO* cartridge at twenty rounds per minute, two thousand five hundred eighty feet per second, max effective range of eight hundred meters. Its telescopic sight has a backup iron sight, effective up to maximum range depending on the expertise of the rifleman. This weapon will be used during a Soltan encounter to minimize contact with the Soltan and therefore minimize the chance of infection." He tossed it to the first in line, whose reaction told Mike he was not quite prepared for its heft.

 

"This weapon is considerably heavier than a phaser or a phaser rifle." Toss. "Get used to it." Toss. "The MC-24Kz is your life. When on a mission you will carry it at all times. You will eat with it. You will sleep with it." Toss. "You will never. Ever. Bring it to ground unless in an unavoidable combat situation. Dust... dirt... and moisture... are enemies to your weapon and to you. They cause jamming, misfires, backfires, and explosions." At that, Caine came into his peripheral vision, giving her security NGs the once-over with her practiced eye. Mike figured she'd be the one to parcel them out into units if need be, and that was good enough for him. Judging by some blank expressions, he'd lost a few already and he hadn't even scratched the surface. Looked like it was going to be a long session and, for some, a steep learning curve.

 

Kansas 'Will' JoNs had been watching the last half hour of the weapons training from the NNC observational control room, and for the most part the lieutenant colonel was pleased overall with the current training session. Now, she slipped quietly into the training area proper, the NCC CR entry way door to the course sliding shut behind her with a whisper and shutting away the technicians, officers and volunteers on duty in the control room. The felinoid stayed behind the training group at large, with the NCO trainers facing her from their vantage point in front of the gathered trainees; she stood quietly, her paws clasped behind her back in a standard parade rest stance. JoNs wore the typical on duty black uniform trousers and gray jacket of a senior line officer, but also sported the black standard issue tactical helmet and torso vest.

 

The training zone had of course been designated as a live fire zone, all trainees and trainers wore the protective gear, and there were standing orders from the command staff to never remove either the helmet or vest while in the zone. Also, Mother (and Left Ear JoNs) did not raise a fool - observational status aside, JoNs wore her protective equipment as a flat out precaution, and to drive home the point as a senior officer: it only took one freak mistake, or one random act of stupidity, and a live round could cut loose and nail someone in the brain matter or chest cavity. JoNs had never witnessed such a training course tragedy in her career, thank the gods, but she was determined that the Agincourt would not become a statistic with regard to ship board training accidents.

 

The leonine felinoid was included on the training rosters as well, and would train with the MC-24Kz rifle that Gunny Hefner was currently barking on about at the troops. As a backup hand weapon, Will had chosen to train with a handgun of Human origin, known as the Glock GT34, complete with a GTL 22 light and laser sight scope attachment that both worked on a rather quaint concept known as lithium hypo "batteries".

 

At five foot three inches and coming in at about one hundred and thirty one pounds and average strength for a Cait female, JoNs was a bit of a "light weight" to go along with the Light Colonel. It was logical to choose a lighter revolver handgun design that wouldn't compromise her aim or carrying capacity, and she had appreciated the fact that the Glock model could carry seven to twenty rounds as opposed to the five to eight rounds of the revolver weapon designs.

 

It seemed to be a lot of prep work and training to go through when one had access to and some form of training to all of the modern weapon and defensive conveniences that the 24th century had to offer...but the Soltans had other plans. Anything projectile weapons based or hard contact "distance" weapons such as cross bows that could be used against the Blue Bellies and not put officers and crew in contact danger was being explored.

 

Her fluffy tail twitched and her sharp eyed gaze wandered over to the far side of the firing range, where the equipment and storage racks displayed the weapons that were to be used by the various officers and crew that had registered to train with the pieces over the next several weeks. Sure, she understood the defensive and protection reasons, but it still looked very odd to see a Human handgun that hadn't really changed much design-wise since its inception in the the Earths 20th century placed side by side with an ancient to modern era Bajoran cross bow on the weapons rank.

 

Will's attention snapped back towards the group as Hefner started (gently) bawling out one of the trainees regarding weapons readiness and procedures with the typical marine drill instructor tone designed to brook no nonsense and commanded the full attention of a recruit; you really had no choice but to listen. A small smirk lit across her muzzle, and though the tempered orange helmet visor covered about half of her upper face, she was careful to hide the expression behind a paw. DI's, as a general rule, were hell on recruits and trainees; but better to get in someone's face in training then have them end up hurt, dead, or worse due to not fully understanding the weapon they were to be handling on some future battlefield.

 

And, from a personal standpoint, JoNs sure as heck didn't want to be leading from the front and have someone in the rear guard who didn't know how to aim a rifle. With that said, the Light knew that she wasn't perfect and there was always room for improvement; she had scored in the seventieth one percentile during her last preliminary weapons session, and intended to work on her overall performance to at least try and cap her training score off in the lower to mid-eighties.

 

Caine, for her own part, had fallen into line quietly and was hefting the rifle carefully, testing the weight against her last memory of training with such a gun some years before. She was here, in her mind, for a twofold reason. First of all, she was not quite so arrogant as to think that she knew everything; twenty-seven years was a long time, and while it meant she could "sight-read" more useful weaponry than the average bear, it didn't make her an expert in the current subject matter. All "good policy" aside, it was just stupid not to listen when someone who knew better than you was telling you about the gun you meant to use to save your own life, and the lives of those around you.

 

Second, however, she was here to set an example and to get the lay of the land among her teams. She had (mostly) every confidence that they (most of them) were capable of taking on this sort of new task with equanimity; however, she already knew there were a few troublemakers in her ranks, mostly among the younger ones, for whom a new bit of technology still overwhelmed the seriousness of war, for whom being trained by a marine was an assault to dignity, or for whom it was simply impossible to keep still. It was important for them to learn, but it was also important for her to learn -- who to use and who to keep back. The stakes were too high for democracy in this sort of thing.

 

For the moment, she stood balanced across the balls of her feet, the new Andorian ensign (an unknown quantity but so far relatively stable) at her elbow, and listened to the conversation. Hefner's eyes drifted across her and she nodded soberly, completing her tactile investigation of the equipment and bringing it to a solid parade rest. "Like deer in the headlights, huh?" she murmured just loud enough for him to hear as he swung past her, a grin twitching gently at the corner of the Vulcan frown.

 

"More like blind as a bat at this stage," Mike muttered, only half joking, over his shoulder as he led his group towards the ammunition holding area.

 

"Better now than later," Caine said with a faint shrug. She didn't get the impression Mike was on the end of a short fuse with the newbies -- which was a good thing. A steady hand would make more progress, especially given the uncertainty of the situation for most of the trainees. "Let me know if you need a hand."

 

Mike had to agree, though he didn't have the time or the inclination to verify audibly. Giving a thumbs-up to Caine, he returned to square one in projectile munitions.

 

As an observer and the XO, JoNs was also looking for any signs of problems that would prevent an individual from moving forward. The cross-departmental training -- and no dept was exempt -- worked on two levels: individual, and as a whole. The individuals would be trained, but as a whole, the department officers and crew would need to come together, use the training in real time practice, and employ the "archaic" projectile weapons to defend the ship if it came down to some sort of Soltan incursion; it would take everyone working together, and it started right here on the firing range.

 

Taelya paid little attention to the whispered conversations around her, focusing on the directions given by the Marine instructor to the other group. Projectile weapons , especially of human fabrication, were not something she had been extensively trained with and even though she had confidence in her marksmanship skills, she knew better than to turn a deaf ear to explanations and wise recommendations. She enjoyed learning, then mastering new weaponry, in that order . As such, the proverbial "boys with toys" look some of her new security colleagues were sporting as they were handling the sniper rifles didn't not make her feel entirely confident at the prospect of having to go war with them. She shot a side look in Caine's direction, not feeling entirely comfortable yet to make a comment about it .

 

Caine caught the glance and one eyebrow quirked up as she followed the Andorian's gaze toward the younger officers. It didn't take much effort to guess at what Taelya was thinking. "We were all there once," she said casually, cocking her shoulders back under the weight of her rifle as she nestled it into the rest position. "They simply don't have the luxury of peacetime...they haven't been weeded down yet. They'll learn." She could see Jacob Spencer pulling his usual gags near the front of the line and snapped him a displeased look; he desisted rapidly enough but she made a mental note to speak to him later. "Or we'll find other work for them. Not to worry."

 

Taelya simply nodded in response to Caine's comment, before straightening her posture and her antennae as she re focused. She grinned almost imperceptibly, as she noticed a young ensign, down the line, cringing at the barking tone used by the instructor. To her, it felt familiar. She felt more in her element, here in this training session, getting barked at, on a ship she was newly assigned to, then she had ever felt since she joined the Fleet. Taelya knew she made the right decision to request this front line posting.

 

The weight and shape of the MC-24Kz were staring to feel more familiar. The security officer was not entirely satisfied with the result of her preliminary "field test" with the rifle, even if it was better than some of the officers from her group, she had not yet managed one of those more precise head shots. She made a mental note to request more training time on her off shifts.

 

The lieutenant colonel continued to watch the various interactions among the trainee crew; posture told a lot to an observer, and most were as comfortable as they could be around a course cleared for live fire. She could deliniate fear in some stances, but not much. Determination in others, such as the new Security ensign, Taelya. The consummate watchdog professionals, such as Hefner and Varos. A walking problem waiting to happen, a gold plated goof off by the name of Spencer, though the leonine officer noted that his chief, Caine, silenced him quickly and stopped his nonsense with just a look. She reached a paw into a trouser cargo pocket and withdrew a data PADD, making a few quick notations for a report to the CO.

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NG - New Guy, modified from its original acronym for all audiences.

BDU - Battle Dress Uniform

NATO - A pre-Federation 20th and 21st century alliance of nations called the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, it lasted until WWIII.