Chapter 3: Bullseye

The next morning, I was again roused by Raz’s noisy exercising. I had no reason to believe that she wasn’t doing it just to get a rise out of me. My complaints fell on deaf ears, and so I got dressed and headed into the mess to get some food. Most of the trainees were already there, and I located a group of my friends, chatting with them as I wolfed down my breakfast. Before long, Vasiliev’s voice came in over the P.A system, and he summoned us to the briefing room. Once there, he informed us that we would be starting our rifle drills today. The recruits muttered amongst themselves, eager to be allowed back onto a range again for the first time since leaving their homeworlds.

We left the barracks and marched down to the section of the military quarter where the armory was located. There was much more activity here than there was around the recruit barracks and the recreation center. Squads of Marines jogged past our procession, wearing their signature black combat armor over their Navy-blue fatigues. It was made up of ceramic plates that would dissipate the heat of plasma bolts and stop bullets, the smooth surfaces reflecting the sunlamps with a polished sheen. Beneath the plates was Kevlar that would ward off blades and shrapnel. They wore full-faced helmets in the same matte black, their features obscured behind opaque visors.

There were engineers in their yellow overalls, transporting unidentifiable technology on trolleys or inspecting weaponry and crates of ammunition. The sound of officers barking orders rose above the din of the crowds, and for the first time since arriving on the station, I felt like I was really in a military environment. The fight might be far away from the station, but we were still at war, the sight strengthening my resolve to make it through the program.

We entered the armory building, making our way to a firing range that occupied one wing of the structure. There were all manner of weapons sitting on racks against one wall, most of which I didn’t even recognize. To our right were the firing booths and the range itself, paper targets hanging on hooks from the ceiling at various distances. The far wall was padded with thick ballistic gel that would prevent the rounds from penetrating and damaging the station itself.

“You’ve all done firearms drills with the preferred weapons of your respective planets,” Vasiliev began. He walked down the line of recruits, raising his voice to ensure that everyone could hear him. “But now, you must familiarize yourselves with standardized Coalition armaments.”

The Staff Sergeant made his way over to a table, where an odd rifle was laid out. He lifted it, showing it to us as we shuffled closer, crowding around to get a look at it. The frame was built from some kind of sculpted plastic or polymer, the same matte black as the Marine armor, save for a few details here and there like warning notices or exposed metal. It had a long barrel, which was ringed by copper-colored coils that were spaced out at intervals. The grip and trigger were molded into the frame, it was all very clean and compact, the stock adorned with a padded butt plate. The magazine well was situated behind the trigger and was currently empty. Vasiliev turned it over in his hands as we gawked.

“This is the X-Species Modular Rifle, our standard issue battle rifle, better known as the XMR. Because of the nature of our enemy, and the multi-species composition of our Coalition, this weapon has been designed to be completely modular.”

He walked behind the table relative to us, and we watched in awe as he field-stripped the rifle. Every component was detachable, from the stock to the barrel. He popped a large mass out of the stock that looked like it might be a battery, and then with a few clicks, he had removed the latter entirely. Next was the long barrel, sliding out of its attachment point, followed by the forward grip and the reflex sight. After only a few seconds, the naked frame that made up the basis of the rifle was sitting on the table, surrounded by the components.

“This is the frame,” Vasiliev explained as he lifted the considerably lighter weapon. It was little more than a mostly hollow, receiver-shaped piece of polymer now. “It comes in three sizes. Small, medium, and large. This is a medium, it’s a suitable size for the average human and serves as a good basis for anything from a bullpup assault rifle to a DMR. The smaller frames are used as a basis for building submachine guns and personal defense weapons. The Krell and Borealans will probably find the large frame more comfortable,” he continued, gesturing to the far wall where there were many of the weapons sitting in racks. “Everything is standardized, which means that if a Marine runs out of ammo in the field and his only companion is a Krell, they can use the same magazines, and they can make use of the same replacement parts.”

He lifted a lump of polymer and metal in his hand, about the size of a soda can, showing it to us.

“This is the receiver, it slots into the top of the frame. See how the rail is hinged? Just pop it up and hit the ejector. There are two varieties, and you will be expected to have both of them on your person at all times, right there in your rig with your extra magazines. You will learn to switch these out in a pinch. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the dark, upside down, or being shot at. By the end of this training, switching receivers will be as second nature to you as swapping out an empty mag.”

I watched as he assembled the rifle with the same speed and finesse, then he slammed a magazine into the weapon and marched over to the range. He shouldered the rifle, firing it with a loud crack. The paper target downrange fluttered as something passed through it at high speed, and the projectile slammed into the ballistic gel on the far wall.

“The first configuration is a miniaturized railgun, it accelerates a tungsten slug using electromagnets. It requires a battery pack to power the magnets, and a magazine to feed it ammo.”

He popped open the hinged rail on the top of the rifle, ejecting the receiver and replacing it with one that was contained within a blue housing, snapping it shut again. He ejected the magazine and stowed it in a pouch on his belt, then withdrew what looked like a magazine with a tumorous growth. It was the same size and shape as the mag had been, but it was colored yellow rather than black, and on one end was a large canister sporting the same blue housing as the second receiver. He slotted it into the magazine well, with the cylindrical canister protruding.

Once again, he shouldered the weapon, and this time there was an electrical whir as a bolt of blue-green energy shot from the barrel. It flew down the range, disintegrating the paper target and leaving a dark smear in the ballistic gel. I wrinkled my nose as the smell of ozone drifted over to us.

“By swapping the receiver and loading the XMR with a plasma containment canister, it can be converted into a plasma rifle. Using the same battery and the same electromagnets, it fires magnetically-contained, super-heated gas at the enemy. This is especially useful for taking out Bug shields,” he explained. “The stopping power and versatility of this platform is unparalleled by conventional weapons, but there is one caveat, and that’s overheating. The coils on the barrel will start to glow red after sustained fire, so pace yourselves, or bring an extra barrel if you’re expecting to be firing in full auto. Whatever you do, don’t fucking touch the coils without protection until you’re sure that they’ve cooled.”

We followed him as he made his way toward the back of the range, where there were more shelves stocked with all manner of attachments, along with wooden crates that likely contained more of the same.

“Your assignment today is to build a weapon that’s suited to your personal needs and physiology. Of course, those needs may change dramatically depending on your mission when the time comes to actually field these weapons, but today we’re just going to get to grips with the weapon system.” He gestured to the shelves and crates. “You have everything that you need right here. Flash hiders, scopes, barrels of varying lengths, laser sights, grips, battery packs, magazines, stocks in numerous shapes and designs. All of the components that you’ll need to build a weapon that is ergonomic and comfortable for you to fire. Krell might want larger drum magazines and heavier barrels, humans might prefer a lighter configuration with a forward grip and a red dot sight for faster target acquisition. Don’t be afraid to experiment. Remember, you cannot make the weapon better or worse, only more or less suited to your needs.”

He dismissed us, and everyone fanned out, eager to get started on their designs. The humans rushed off to pick a frame from the rack, sifting through the different attachments, while the Krell lumbered away to find some larger frames. I was excited to see what they would come up with, giant sniper rifles maybe, or perhaps light machine guns. I was thinking of something a little more conservative, similar to the caseless assault rifles that I had trained with back in boot camp. We hadn’t had any railguns, but the same principles probably applied. Controlled bursts, with low recoil would be the way to go.

I noticed that the Borealans were huddled off to one side, muttering to each other. Raz left the group, marching over to Vasiliev, and I rolled my eyes as I recognized the expression on her face. What grievance could they possibly have this time?

“With all due respect, Staff Sergeant,” she began. “We have brought our own weapons from Borealis, the finest that Elysian gunsmiths could provide. My father, the Patriarch, personally commissioned our-”

Vasiliev cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“You have your orders, Raz. You are to familiarize yourselves with Coalition weapons platforms.”

“But, Staff Sergeant, I-”

“Tell me, Raz, how is the UNN supposed to provide you with ammunition and replacement parts for weapons that we don’t manufacture? Unless your weapons can chamber standard UNN tungsten slugs, those guns are not to leave your shuttle. Is that understood?”

Raz looked angry, but she nodded and returned to her pack.

After a few hours of trial and error, everyone seemed to have figured out how they wanted their XMR set up. Vasiliev walked up and down the range as he watched the recruits fire their weapons, the loud cracks of railguns and the electrical buzz of plasma ringing out.

“Every time that you empty a mag or a canister, I want to see you swap out the receiver,” he yelled over the din. “Make a habit of it, starting right now.”

I was having a lot of fun, the XMR was not too different from the weapons that I had trained with on Earth. It certainly seemed to be an evolution of those designs, rather than something completely alien, even if it used a dramatically different means of firing. It couldn’t really be called a rifle, as there was no rifling in the barrel, and it had more in common with coilguns than railguns in terms of its outward appearance. When I asked about it, Vasiliev had told me that the internal mechanism worked by using a rail system to launch a slug out of the receiver before it was captured and accelerated by the magnetic fields in the barrel. Theoretically, the weapon could be fired without a barrel at all, but the length and number of coils determined the velocity. Even so, it was a whole mess of fun to shoot.

I had tweaked mine for low recoil, and I was already enamored with my weapon, stopping just short of giving it a name. I had gone for a medium-length barrel with enough copper coils to ensure a good amount of stopping power, along with a two-times magnification sight, with ergonomic grips and a nice padded stock to help control the kick. I fired it in burst mode, hitting the paper targets dead-center with excellent grouping.

The Krell who occupied the booth beside me seemed to be enjoying himself too. His large frame was equipped with a drum magazine that must be able to hold a good two hundred slugs, his grip sticking out horizontally from its mounting point on the barrel. He had a heavy gun shield and a wicked bayonet, cutting the targets into shreds with bursts of fire that made the coils on his barrel glow red-hot. I couldn’t tell if he was grinning, or if that was just the way his teeth looked.

The Borealans were not doing so well. The modular design of the guns seemed to overwhelm them, and their shots were landing wide of their targets. Based on their complaints, which were conveniently voiced in English so that their displeasure could be heard by everyone, I had surmised that Borealan rifles were somewhat similar to those used by humans in the latter years of the nineteenth century. Some kind of large-bore, breech-loading rifles with a massive kick, positively archaic by modern standards. They had overspecialized, failing to train with anything other than their traditional weapons, putting them at a disadvantage as a result.

Raz complained especially loudly, voicing her disapproval and making sure that Vasiliev could hear her. The rifle that she had built was an abomination. She had used a heavy barrel that was packed with coils, but with no counterbalance, it only served to throw off her aim. It might have been more manageable if she had intended to use it with a bipod, but instead, she was using a folding grip that was entirely unsuited to the task. The magnification on her scope was far too high for this range, and her choice of stock was all wrong.

I watched as she braced it against her shoulder, closing one eye as she aimed carefully, then fired. She absorbed the kick well enough, but her aim was way off, the slug piercing the paper a good inch from where she had intended. She lowered the weapon, baring her teeth as she hissed angrily.

I might have given her some pointers, had she not made my life hell for the last few days. Instead, I enjoyed watching her flounder, struggling to suppress my smile. I felt a hand on my shoulder suddenly, looking back to see Vasiliev standing behind me.

“Excellent shooting trainee, you’ve taken to the XMR platform like a duck to water. This is exactly what I had hoped to see. Raz!” he called, turning toward the alien. She swiveled her head in our direction, scowling at us. “Why don’t you take some pointers from Stanley here?”

I grinned at her, and she glowered back at me. Boy, if looks could kill...

We stayed at the range for most of the day, drilling with the XMRs until we had mastered the basics of their operation and design. The Borealans had to remain behind while the rest of us were dismissed, they needed special tutoring on how to operate the guns. The humans and Krell, on the other hand, were now proficient with the rifles. Each one of us had managed to build his own personalized weapon, and we chatted about the finer points of our designs as we made our way along the torus.

We headed straight to the recreation building, intending to celebrate with some games and drinks. I had been enjoying a game of pool with one of the Krell when the main door of the building slid open, the pack of surly Borealans filing in one after the other. Their ears were flat, and their tails were drooping, their eyes darting about suspiciously. They looked embarrassed and angry, just like Raz had the previous night when I had suggested that she was only participating in the program because of her father’s connections.

I caught her eye, and she made a beeline for me, stalking across the room with murderous intent. I gripped my pool cue in my hands, fearing that I might need to use it as a weapon.

“So you think it’s funny, do you?” she demanded as she glared down at me.

“Do I think ‘what’ is funny?” I replied.

“Your stupid, plastic toy guns, that’s what. You’ve used them before, haven’t you? You think you can show me up? Did you put Vasiliev up to it?” She advanced on me, and I drew back, skirting around to the other side of the pool table so that she couldn’t get into clawing range. She was royally pissed off this time.

“I didn’t do anything,” I protested, “and I’ve never picked up an XMR before today. Don’t blame me for your failure to adapt.”

She bared her teeth in a snarl, scattering the billiard balls with a vicious swipe of her furry hand. The entire room had gone quiet now, watching our argument, unsure of whether they should intervene.