Hot light shines down along a grassy range dotted with black plastic silhouettes shaped into vague humanoid torus and heads. Every few moments with a mechanical whirling one or two silhouettes snap up at attention for a handful of seconds before the popping report of rifle fire sends them toppling over in neat order. Now and again a few practice targets remain upright defiantly as puffs of dirty spray up near their bases from poorly aimed shots or embarrassing malfunctions. All silhouettes eventually return to their starting positions as the net set of ranges arise in random order to ensure no one can plan and simply wait on a scheduled appearance.
Peering diligently through the rear circle aperture of his rifle and lining the forward sight rod centered and level with the rear a sandy colored ferret squinted through his light brown face mask as he waited for the next set of targets to lift and present themselves. Prone and in the second unsupported fire line, the veteran Sergeant counts his rounds left noting he has hit thirty out of thirty-four attempts thus far. Finishing out the last six rounds successfully would give him an expert rating a slight improvement over his last official range score six months prior. Improvements always helped one's service jacket and future board reviews for promotion packets as well as avoiding embarrassment of the lowly marksmanship ranking.
Tightening his grip, the ferret breathed in and out slowly resting his rifle stock on his right collar bone wedged on the inside of his flack jacket. His left arm is extended and bent holding his barrel up half way to the muzzle with his elbow on the hard ground forming a stabilizing triangle. The posture is uncomfortable but necessary to allow for consistent aim as holding the stock to the outside of the flak jacket would allow the rifle to shift after each shot diminishing the time it took to square up on a second target. It was exhausting to the muscle though and tremors did creep in as the sergeant grit his fangs together tightly struggling to relax.
A one hundred-fifty-yard and a three-hundred-yard target lift together snapping to ridged attention causing the ferret to angle his rifle towards the closer silhouette and tighten his grip. Lining the hard sites of his rifle on center mass of this target the sergeant inhales and exhales slowly before squeezing the trigger back to the pistol grip sending a round flying and knocking down the plastic foe. Not even waiting to see if he had successfully hit the near target the ferret lines up with the three hundred silhouette aiming his sites higher up near the neck line of this foe. Breathing in and out the sergeant forces himself to stay in rhythm and not rush the shot squeezing his trigger back gently and watching the distance silhouette drop a fraction of a second before the time limit expired.
Relaxing with a tight satisfied smile the ferret waits loosely aimed at the center of the range waiting for the next set of targets to rise. The shakes pass by, more from a numb tingle as his nerves give up the fight to protest the posture inflicted upon his limbs. But its little concern as the fifty-yard target and two-hundred-yard target lift into place. Swinging towards the near silhouette the battle-hardened sergeant merely makes sure his muzzle is center mass with out sighting in along the hard points and fires dropping the short target before taking his time and zeroing in on the two hundred and taking his extra earned time from the snap fire to line up proper and drop it as well.
Almost done, the ferret thinks eager to stand and finish the exercise and receive his accuracy report from the range finder and platoon sergeant. While there is satisfaction in completing the range in good proficiency the heightened sense of urgency barely held in check by years of training and muscle memory is less then pleasant. Speed and accuracy are what save one's life in combat, any delay even required to finish the task properly always leaves a sense of dread until the exchange of fire was over. Focus, trust in your training and your fellow supporting solders are what carry you through the encounter least the panic over come you.
The last two silhouettes rise and snap into place, seventy-five and two-hundred-seventy-five yards away. Swinging his rifle towards the near target to start the ferret lines up center mass and squeezes slowly on the exhale dropping the target neatly. Moving to square up on the last target the sergeant tightens his grip biting his lip to ward off the shakes as he aims between center mass and the neck line. The trajectory at this range causes the bullet to sink lower near the end of its flight requiring an adjustment to ensure a successful strike.
Breathing in slowly and exhaling slowly the ferret waits for the natural pause between breaths and squeezes the trigger back slowly until the click and pop as the pin drops to strike the cap of the loaded cartilage. The round flies towards the target with just enough time to land its blow before the timer drops the silhouette ending the exercise. The plastic foe stands defiantly and proud as others drop back down defeated. A moment passes as the sergeant's silhouette joins the others as the all clear signal is sent.
The fire line is ordered to clear their weapons, removing magazines and locking carrying bolts into the back and open position. Placing his empty and safety engaged rifle on the supporting stand beside his position the ferret waits as the range staff sergeant visually inspects his weapon before standing at ease and looking down the range despondently. Once all the weapons are inspected and cleared all the soldiers were ordered to step forth and collect the spent brass cluttering the grass line before the dug-out positions. Gathering fistfuls of warm brass to deposit into waiting empty ammo cans the sergeant counted out his forty rounds spent mentally recounting exactly which targets had eluded him.
``You just can't find the range for the two-seventy-five can you Hendricks?'' A thin but energetic German Shepard with staff sergeant insignia commented sympathetically as the ferret finished up collecting his spent casings and waited to pick up his rifle. ``You pulled left on the running one-fifty, and rushed a three hundred, but I couldn't really see any problems with the two-seventy-fives. You must have had a bad sight picture.''
``I never can hit two-seventy-five Sergeant Stiles,'' Andrew Hendricks complained a bit bitterly flexing his paws and stretching his legs to ease the pins and needles out. ``All three, tried slightly different elevations each but nothing works. It's frustrating.''
``Sharp Shooter nothing to be ashamed about,'' The range instructor said as he got the all clear flags from the rest of the inspecting staff, ``Just focus on cleaning up your grip and trigger squeeze and you'll clear the other targets just fine. If you want some time I can reserve you a couple hours off duty, get some extra practice in on your down time.''
``Only if I can draw my service rifle.'' Andrew said lifting his weapon and forming a line off the range and to the break down and cleaning stations. ``There's no point using my AR-15 when it doesn't have the hard points. The sight picture will be different.''
``The lack of the rear circular aperture isn't that big of a difference.'' Staff Sergeant Stile sniffed rubbing his black nose and blinking bright emerald eyes as pollen drifted off the field. ``You need to be able to create and maintain your sight picture without the full guiding of the hard sights. It'll make you quicker lining up with your service rifle if you do. Trust me, I've gotten a lot of practice since I transferred here to handle mobilization training. You should consider coming over too, your experiences would serve you well as an instructor. And you'll have more access to your actual service side arm then.''
``I can't up root my family and move across state, Collin just started first grade and established a few close friends.'' The ferret said firmly as he reached a clear table and started to disassemble his rifle for cleaning and maintained. ``Trent would need to find a local school to work at, assuming there's an opening. I appreciate it but its not really feasible at this time.''
``You're holding yourself back,'' Stiles said aiding in the break down and pulling pins off the bolt carrier to scrap off any residual carbon from the recent firing. ``Despite your injury your service record is spotless, you have time served well into the requirement for advancement. You just need an E-6 slot to move into. You can take charge of an instruction squad on the driving range, show how convey protection is supposed to be done.''
``Honestly the only mark on my record was the one IED I didn't see while on force protection.'' The ferret says grimly as he runs a rod with a pad of oiled cloth through the barrel of his rifle and chamber. ``I'm a cautionary tale of allowing complacency while on patrol.''
``You were cleared as well as the patrol leader.'' Staff Sergeant Stiles looking slightly annoyed at his friends depressed demeaner. ``It was an unavoidable trap. They knew the time table of the rat patrols, and actually laid in wait. There was nothing to give them away. You were just unlucky.''
``Luck matters.'' Andrew stated and wiped down his stock, trigger guard, and pistol grip. ``Which I suppose is a chase for being an instructor. I won't see front line deployment again.''
``Just think about it, talk it over with Trent,'' The german shepard said as he started to reassemble the clean and oiled rifle, ``The spot won't be empty for long. Most free uncommitted experienced men are being assigned to the hodge podge units sent to fill the back log.''
``I thought they stopped doing that.'' The ferret bit out angerly, upset at the idea of soldiers still being pulled out of their own units to back fill hastily assembled reserve companies for deployment overseas. Clearing his rifle once more he slung it over shoulder and started to head towards the armory to check it in and head to the mess for dinner. ``How many more units are gonna be sent just to get their equipment over there and handed off to the private corps at the end of the tour? It's bull shit what they did to us when we got back.''
``At ease Sergeant Hendricks.'' The senor NCO stated softly as they saluted a lieutenant walking past, the young feline pinning her ears back as she passed by the anger retort but allowed the ferret's friend to handle the correction. ``Langue like that is unbecoming. It's getting better, but we need good men to train companies from the ground up to prevent that from happening to other units in the future.''
``Makes sense it really does.'' Andrew said as he arrived at the armory and handed off his rifle to the supply sergeant and signed off. ``Just let me talk it over, see if there any way it'll work. It's a big step.''
``I know, I just don't want you to miss out on a good career opportunity.'' Stiles replied as he led the way to the mess hall, an old long repurposed world war two era build.
The two NCOs get in line near the end as their range time was the last of the batch for their company. The old wooden planks below creaked softly with each step a quiet protest of timbers long stepped on by many soldiers. The steel counter tops, tray serving carts, and grill line all had a vintage 1950s feel to them, and the chow also had a distinct C ration appearance. The newest piece of equipment for this ancient deployment center was a large 42-inch flat screen displaying the evening news as the men sat at long tables conversing as they ate.
Grabbing a tray full of some mush that the cook clamed to be beef stroganoff, a hearty portion of salty green beans, and a mixed fruit cup Andrew moved to a vacant table near the T.V. and made a space for himself and Staff Sergeant Stiles. The noise of crowded mess hall made listening to the news all but impossible which explained the crawling subtle titles at the bottom of the screen. To hungry to bother reading the news on the television the ferret dug into his tray of rations and chewed with a mild display of acceptance. The food was over salted and had the over done quality of having been in heat trays too long, but it was edible and filling.
Staff Sergeant Stile sat down after acquiring a old fashion milk shake to accompany his meal, eliciting a pang of jealously of the German shepherds impressive metabolism. Once sated sufficiently the two conversed over old times and caught up on personal news. The comradery was soon interrupted as the din of surrounding conversation became heated and contentious. The two NCOs glanced about the room looking for the trouble makers and taking in the exchange before jumping to conclusions.
``Another shooting, at a synagogue this time,'' One avian specialist said glancing up from her iPhone. ``Guy just walked in with an assault rifle and starts shooting. Killed eleven people and wounded three cops. Was screaming about killing all Jews.''
``He even posted it on Gib, the site knew about his threats before he did it and they couldn't be bothered to call the cops.'' Another canine private first class chimed in, ``But what can you expect from a pure breed supremacist site.''
``They're not pure breed supremacist site, they're a free speech site.'' A corporal badger spoke up defensively, leaning in to be heard over the hum of competing conversation. ``They cooperated with the police and turned over all his posts. And they're sponsors, and finical companies are all abandoning the site just to shut down free speech. You can't even get on there anymore it's down until they can secure a new domain.''
``Free speech? This guy just murdered eleven people. What's that got to do with free speech?'' The private asked incredulous looking at the badger with suspicion. ``The real reasons got to be so they can delete all the other alt right ethnic cleansing posts that go on there.''
``How would you even know what gets said on a site you've never been on?'' A second snake specialist hissed reproachfully, ``You probably didn't know Gib even existed until this story. Don't let other people's perceptions and bad reporting make up your mind for you. Think for yourself before making accusations.''
``What its all fake news like the Maga bomber?'' The avian specialist asked indignant ruffling her feathers at the notion. ``Just a false flag that the conspiracists came up with to cover for a mad man they agree with?''
``The Florida bomber wasn't even a threat, none of the devices was active or useable.'' The badger growled standing up angerly. ``He had nothing to do with Trump. No one on the right agrees with him. He wasn't even pure breed.''
``So what if he wasn't pure breed?'' The private first class retorted aggressively, ``Just another hot headed conservative worshiping Trump like a cult member. Hell, even Kanye West is a crazy fool that licks Trumps boots. Crazy doesn't discriminate.''
``That's president Trump solider,'' The corporal said with a growl. ``You're out of line. Watch your tongue before I put you on a charge.''
``So much for free speech.'' The avian specialist muttered while rolling her eyes.
``We're soldiers,'' The snake specialist said sternly, ``It's not our place to undermine the President.''
``Well how respectable can Trump be when he calls any press that honestly reports on him enemy of the people?'' The canine said standing as well not backing down. ``It's his scapegoating that causes these shooting like the one in Kentucky. Pure breed couldn't get into a cross breed church so went to a grocery store and gunned a couple of them down.''
``At ease private!'' The corporal barks out as the mess grows quiet watching the exchange in stunned alarm. ``You'll shut your mouth. Not another word or its an article fifteen for acts unbecoming and sedition.''
``I'm not under your command. Report it to the First Sergeant.'' The canine snapped defiantly as the badger raised his fists.
``Everyone at ease!'' Staff Sergeant Stiles bellowed as the whole room stood arms behind their backs silently and some fuming as the senior NCO took charge of the situation.
``Private First-Class Mathews you are disrespecting an NCO and creating a disturbance.'' The canine opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by the commanding German Shepard. ``Do not compound the offence Private. You and Corporal Simons will accompany me to the First Sergeant and you can make your statements there.''
``As for the rest of you, save this political bile for your blogs and social media.'' Stiles called out as menacing as he could. ``We are all soldiers here. There are no sides. Anyone unable to perform their duties amongst their fellows despite their personal opinions can and will be removed from service on a general or bad conduct discharge. Now carry on.''
Staff Sergeant Stiles turned and lead Private Frist Class Mathews and Corporal Simons out of the mess as the rest of the soldiers ether returned to muted meals or policed their trays to the wash rack and left. Most kept their gossip to themselves until they left the building and out of ear shot of any other NCOs that would attempt to resort any interrupted order. Dumb founded by the display of open hostility Sergeant Andrew Hendricks finds he lacks an appetite to finish his meal. Glancing at the television for some sort of distraction form the turmoil just dying down behind him a relevant bit of news scrolls along the subtitles.
Breaking News, the GOP party headquarters in Florida was shot at by a yet to be identified assailant. No injuries are reported. No motive given. Suspect still at large.
The ferret stares at the text crawl silent and disturbed. The mess quickly clears out as the cooks break down the kitchen and the cleaning detail moves about wiping down tables and stacking chairs. A nervous looking private second-class field mouse approaches with a dirty apron on unnerved by the stillness of the NCO. His tray of food has gone cold from neglect and his presence prevents the completion of the cleanup.
``Excuse me Sergeant,'' The private squeaks softly, ``But the mess is closing down. I can take your tray for you if you're finished that is.''
``No, I'm sorry to be an inconvenience,'' Andrew says softly struggling to find strength in his voice. ``I'll see to it.''
Standing and moving along to drop off his tray and that of his friend the sergeant takes his leave of the mess hall and moves towards the barracks. Grateful that team leaders get a separate room off the main floor, the ferret thankfully finds the bunk room empty at the moment. The other NCOs off at the post exchange or leisurely activities allowances made. Sitting alone at the desk beside his bed he pulls his phone out and checks to see if there are any messages from home.
One text from Trent reads: Just stay off twitter tonight o.k.? It's not worth it.
Taking a moment to reflect and try to come to a coherent reply the ferret just breath softly and shallow.
Finally, he texts: I can't do this anymore. There's nothing left to fight for.
Andrew sits along, dejected and dispairs.
