Chapter 31

 

THIRTY-ONE

Trigger stood in the muddy pistol bay, just beyond the dirt runway that ran along the side of the Marines compound. Before him was a table, a M9 Handgun, and a plastic ammo box. Beyond that was three sets of steel plates and one paper target at varying distances beyond the table and into the bay. Trigger noted on the sides in large white stencils was markings for 7, 10, 15, 20, 25. 7 and 10 being closely spaced and then the consequent numbers being evenly spaced to the end of the bay, terminating in a large berm of dirt and beyond that the dense jungle of Chopinburg.

Zhao stood next to Trigger loading a magazine with cartridges. The small brass casings gleamed in the sunlight as they clicked into place.

“Ok Trigger. Do you understand the course of fire?” Zhao asked.

“Well yeah, that’s just a basic Pistol qual. I’ve already done mine though.” Trigger replied.

Zhao snorted. “Bullshit. We were able to see how badly you did and the report that came of it.” Zhao remarked.

Report? No one told me about a report. Trigger thought.

“Well report or not, I don’t see why I have to requalify to you guys.” Trigger griped.

Zhao stood unimpressed and continued to load magazines. “Quit your whining. Doc and Kyle both gave you the green light medically to get into the swing of things. You’re walking unaided and furthermore, all you have been doing these past three weeks aside from working out, is chores. If anything, I think this is a good break in monotony for you Trigger.” Zhao said, patting Trigger on the back, hard.

“Fine. I guess I’ll Requalify again… Just tell me one thing. What report?” Trigger asked.

 

Zhao Chuckled.

“Well, you are factually correct, you did do you basic Airman Pistol qualification before you deployed to Fort Grays after the F-16 indoc you did. The thing is, the Instructors at Arixo Air Base were not, convinced of the legitimacy of your target.”

“Whys that?” Trigger said defensively.

“Do you remember the minimum passing score needed?”

 

Trigger squinted and struggled to remember the safety briefing from over a year and a half prior, to a time before the war and back when he was still a Butter Bar.

 

“Thirty out of forty-five, right?” Trigger responded.

“Not even remotely close. Which coincidentally, was some of the rounds that got counted to give you exactly thirty-five rounds on target – the minimum score. Your Cadre was made aware of this while you we’re out processing but it was deemed that.” Zhao put down the magazine and produced a document from the range bag. He cleared his throat before reading “Due to the Lieutenants above average abilities in both Practical and classroom studies on the Fighting Falcon coursework. We will authorize his continued-out processing to Fort Grays Airbase. Furthermore, likelihood of combat in the region is low for the foreseen deployment, though we will pass on concerns to the 508^th.” Zhao put the document down.

“Well obviously only half of their assumptions were accurate from the sounds of it. So now since they failed to teach you. It falls upon me to get you there Trigger.” Zhao concluded.

 

“Joy. So not only am I a wanted terrorist… the Government knows I can’t shoot worth a damn.” Trigger grinned.

“Ah just shut up and make ready Trigger. Let’s start you on the paper target to see what I’m working with here.” Zhao instructed.

Trigger picked up and loaded the magazine into the gun and hit the slide release with his thumb. The battered handgun slid with a thud as the recoil spring threw the slide forward.

“Shooter Ready?” Zhao asked.

Trigger nodded. “Ready.”

“You may fire when ready.” Zhao instructed.

Trigger braced himself, placing one foot in front of the other and aimed the handgun at the target. He slowly rested his index finger on the trigger and let out a controlled breath.

 

Taking his time Trigger fired the fifteen shots the magazine held, on the fifteenth Bang the slide locked back.

“Unload and show clear Trigger.” Zhao ordered. Trigger pressed the magazine release with his thumb and stumbled trying to catch the empty mag as it fell from the handgun. After a juggling act that resulted in failure, Trigger resigned himself to fate setting the M9 onto the table and picked the magazine up out of the muck, wiping the filth onto the worn BDU pants he was given to wear.

 

Zhao closed the distance to the paper target and rested his hands on his hips. “Trigger do you mind coming here?” Zhao demanded.

Trigger jogged over to the older Marine.

“How many shots did you fire?” Zhao asked pointedly.

“Fifteen is all you gave me.”

“Interesting… Did you happen to have your eyes open while shooting?” Zhao asked rhetorically.

“Well yeah.”

“Ok. Did you just not aim at this target then?” Zhao interrogated.

Trigger chuckled uneasily. “What do you mean?”

Zhao shoved a finger into the paper target. “Count how many holes are in this target.”

Trigger paused and looked.

 

 

“Well, it appears there are three.” Trigger said bluntly.

“How observant. Mā ya, I’m glad the Lieutenant requisitioned a quarter million rounds for you.” Zhao said defeated.

***

Triggers hands ached. He reeked of unburnt powder and sweat, he was exhausted, hot, and annoyed.

The Pistol hung heavy in its kydex holster on his waist.  

“Do you understand the course of fire Major?” Zhao asked from behind Trigger.

 

Trigger paused and looked at the makeshift firearms course that he had been set up with on one of the rifles bays the Marines had erected. The first few shots would be from his current position at the entrance of the bay, to hit two targets in what was a ‘Failure to stop’ drill, two rounds to the steel targets ‘torso’, and one to its ‘head’. He would then have to run to a covered position, demonstrate a reload, and then conduct a ‘Triple threat’ drill from a kneeling position, with the weapon in a low-ready position. Set up twenty feet away from Triggers cover would be three paper targets, and his job would be to shoot each target in the chest three times, followed by a pelvis and then head shot.

One more reloads while moving from the second stage to the third ending with a longer-range target at nearly sixty feet away with the ammo from his first magazine.

it was to be his final test of that day. Zhao had let Trigger step through the course slowly twice before, but now he had a timer to contend with.

 

“I understand.” Trigger said.

“Shooter Ready.” Zhao Started, and lifted the timer.

“Standby” Zhao barked. With an electric beep of the Timer, Trigger was on the clock. He pulled the beaten Berretta from its holster and rested the sights on the first target’s torso. The first two shots were met with a metallic ping of the bullets hitting the steel plate. He raised the handgun slightly and fired another round. Trying to be as fluid as he could, he moved to engage the second target and was pleased to hear three pings in quick succession.

 

The first stage done, Trigger started his sprint to the second stage, outlined by a square behind a bright orange netting which acted as his ‘cover’.

 

Trigger kneeled pulling a fresh magazine from his waistband. He pressed the slide release and pulled the used magazine from the pistol, replacing it with the fresh magazine, in a concept Zhao had referred to as ‘Topping off’. Taking an extra moment to put the old magazine in his pocket, Trigger now had sixteen rounds to complete the second stage of the course. Raising the handgun, he moved to engage the three targets.

 

Like before, Trigger fired three shots into the middle paper targets mid-section, with one shot to the top and bottom circles on the target. Moving to the second target, the first three shots hit the center mass, but the third, which Trigger had wanted to go for the ‘pelvis’ of the target flew low and missed.

 

Trigger frowned for a second before taking another shot and re-engaging the target, readjusting his aim point. The round flew low again but Trigger moved on. One more ‘headshot’ and the second target was neutralized. He turned his attention to the third target. First shot hit the paper, the second shot fired, but with the pull of the trigger, instead of a bang, all Trigger could hear was the click. Trigger pulled the trigger again, leveraging the double-action nature of the M9. Click.

 

Malfunction. Of course.

 

Zhao had prepared Trigger for this eventuality. The handgun he was using had seen its fair share of abuse and had failed to feed more times than Trigger could count in the hours previous. He racked the slide and caught a glimpse of an empty casing fly out. Trigger fired the remaining shots and the slide locked back empty with the stage completed.

 

Trigger stood up and followed the arrows in the dirt, he dropped the depleted magazine and fished in his pocket for the final magazine. If his mental math was correct, he should have eight rounds left, and he would need to get at least four hits on the one foot by one foot target.

He hit the slide release as he arrived at the final square in the mud. The sweat that fell in his eyes burned, but he pushed through the pain. He squinted to see the target. A black dot that seemed an impossible distance away.

He let out another breath and fired.

Upon the eighth pull of the trigger, the slide had locked back on empty.

“Time!” Zhao shouted. “Unload and show clear” Zhao instructed. Trigger released the empty magazine and returned the handgun to its holster and pulled the foam earplugs from his head.

The two men walked to the final target.

 

Splattered across the black circle of the target was five tattered holes. Trigger grinned.

Zhao folded his arms “Well, you’re certainly not going to be representing Osea in the Olympics anytime soon with this, and personally, I’d recommend you stay away from any IPSC competitions to not embarrass yourself with that minute and a half time. But for our purposes Trigger, I’d say that’s good enough.”

 

“’Good Enough’? I mean I think for where I started. That’s pretty damn great!” Trigger said sardonically.

“Most of the men here can clear this course in around thirty seconds. Forty-five if they’re particularly slow.” Zhao replied.

“Well then mister shoot-it-all, what’s your time?” Trigger challenged.

“When I was younger? Averaged around twenty-eight. Now that I am old enough to be your father Trigger, I can get through it in about forty, and even without my glasses my grouping isn’t as shit as yours.”

“Well… Fine then.” Trigger replied, sensing he lost the argument before it began.  

Zhao shook his head “Major go police the brass and call it a day. I am surprised though; it only took ten thousand to get you straightened out. I was betting on closer to fifty.” Zhao taunted as he walked away.

 

Cluttered in the corner was ten empty ammo boxes, filled with brass Trigger had been collecting throughout the day. It was the least fun part of the range use but at least it gave him some quiet.

 

As he sifted through the mud, he thought back on the previous three days. Zhao had run Trigger through dozens of drills in a crash course on defensive pistol use. Stuff Trigger had only briefly touched on at Heirlark, SERE and in Officer Training School, but never expected to need in his career.

Unfortunately, Trigger knew his training with the Marines wasn’t half over. Zhao’s next training would be use of rifles incase the need arose for Trigger to use one. He remembered his fight in the hangar with Asher.

 

Farbanti had both felt like a lifetime ago, and still a fresh memory to Trigger. He tried to push the next thought out of his mind. He checked his watch. 1943. Months prior, Him and Cossette would be sitting on the couch, watching TV together, or potentially getting ready for another evening date. His mind wandered to what she was doing now, after the attack.

He wondered if she was looking for him, and if so, for how long?

Not being able to contact her was torture. Trigger pushed it out of his mind the best he could, but it stayed in the corners, like a ever present shadow looming over every brief respite he had of his daily life.

***

“So how was your final test?” Sergeant Kyle asked.

Trigger slumped forward on the kitchens countertop and shoveled the food into his mouth. He paused and wiped his face with a napkin before he replied.  “I think he likes bossing an officer around a bit much.” Trigger replied, swallowing down the food.

Kyle laughed. “Yeah, but its either him or Morgan, and Zhao is the ‘people person’ of the two.” He said, adding air quotes for emphasis.

“Really? That guy is a dick though!”

Kyle shrugged. “Well, he is generally the best at blending in and he can turn that charisma on like that.” He snapped his finger “and he’s easily one of the best shots the team has here. Even has taught a few classes at the Gunsight Academy. Morgan on the other hand has been dodging a forced recruitment to the Marine’s Shooting team for his abilities on the M-21. But if you think Zhao’s bad, Morgans just a black hole of personality.”

Trigger thought back to the night before his ‘escape’. Morgan pointing a gun at his head.

“Charming. So where do you fall into all of this?” Trigger asked.

“Me? Well, most of us are just better than average. Hell, I could probably outshoot most civilians in those run-and-gun competitions if I wanted to but compared to those two, or other guys in Saber and Berserker? Most of us Basilisk guys don’t hold a candle in comparison.” Kyle replied meekly.

“I see.” Trigger said returning to his plate of food.

***

Trigger stared at the document before him with what ranged between shock and disgust.

“Hans Helmutkraft? What the fuck is this?” He asked pointedly.

“Well, Hans, that’s your new Identity if you’re outside the wire here. Evidently, we can’t keep your regular name since your wanted and all that jazz. So, we have a new identity based on your given life experience.” Fick explained.

“And that is?”

“Well your personnel file indicated that not only can you speak Belkan fluently, is that correct?” Fick asked.

“Ja, but I’m not seeing why I need such a comical name.” Trigger complained.

“Well given that you can speak the language, the Broker decided it best to make you a ex member of the Belkan Air Force. It would be adequate for most inspectors that you’d be able to speak Belkan and fly a Combat jet, and they probably won’t dig any further than that.”

The Broker means Bandog. What a dick. Trigger thought

“Yeah but… Hans Helmutkraft? Why not Solare Ostberg if we’re going for Belkan names. Hell, Why not Klaus Von Hertz or Ludwig Haber?” Trigger asked.

Fick shrugged.  “Look, I don’t make the identities, I just pass them along and make sure you have the litter that matches. So, it will be so much easier if you just let me do my job so you can get closer to doing your job. Ok?”

 

Pocket litter was something Trigger had only a minor bit of experience in. the SERE instructors had harped against having anything on you that could identify you if you needed to escape enemy custody, but now he had to develop the right amount of trash that if needed, could support his alias of a Belkan veteran.  

He was handed a wallet, inside was an expired military Identification card, a drivers license, Receipts from a duty-free shop in Dinsmark, various ticket stubs and a worn picture of an F-16 in Belkan Markings.

Trigger grinned as he ran his finger over the faded paper of the picture.

 

“Well, If I have to use this, can I at least keep the callsign?” Trigger asked.

Fick shrugged and leaned back on the counter behind him. “I’d advise against it, but you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

“Cool.”  

 

After half an hour of constructing the alias, Trigger was thrown a dufflebag. Inside was brand new sets of shirts and pants. He sifted through the clothing and found denim jeans, tactical pants, Flannels, dress shirts, slacks, and even T-shirts.

“So you went shopping on my behalf?” Trigger asked.

“Yeah, we couldn’t have you walking around in old BDU’s, and none of us had any Flektarn, and none of Lauren’s crew would fit you so, we had to make do.”

“Is there anything here not from the 5.11 catalog?” Trigger asked.

“Probably. We wanted to give you enough options to get your own style. Given your military background for the alias we figured it was forgivable if you wanted to dress like that.”

“wouldn’t that kinda defeat the purpose of that ‘Grey man’ concept Dennings was talking about though?”

Fick chuckled at the question “Well, in normal society, yes. But Chopinburg is filled with so many mercs and criminals it doesn’t really matter. And besides, you’re not going to be the one in the firefight if it brakes out.”

“Then why did I have to go through all that suffering with the pistol then?”

“Because you sucked at shooting, and I didn’t want to risk you accidentally shooting one of us. From the sounds of it though, starting out the safest area might have been in front of your gun.”

“Wow, not even going to try to be gentle ripping the band aid off. Nice.” Trigger replied to the jab.

“Well, that’s why Zhao is the professional liar and I’m just the one who manages them all.” Fick replied.