[C-Deck] Shooting Gallery

[Temple, S.]

1300 Hours, May 17, 2543 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
UNSC Vengeance, C-Deck, Armory Shooting Range
en route to Atlas Moons

    Corpsman Seth "Gravedigger" Temple stood behind a firing line, aiming his M6C downrange at an alien-shaped silhouette. He steadied his breathing and his hands. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger, sending a round towards his target. Aiming for center-mass, Temple missed and hit the target in the shoulder area. Frustrated, Temple tried again, repeating the same steps as before. Deep breath, steady his breathing, steady his hands. He even squared up and corrected his posture this time. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger a second time, sending another round downrange. This time, the bullet hit the abdomen region. Not quite center-mass, but it did hit the torso at the very least. Sighing, Temple dropped his guard and lowered his weapon. Staring at the black and white silhouette, the impatient Corpsman raised his pistol one more time. Rather than repeat the same steps as before, he simply squeezed the trigger in an angry rush. Naturally, the bullet completely missed the target and hit the wall behind it.

    "For fuck's sake!" Temple shouted, firing two more rounds at the target in quick succession. One missed and the other nailed the silhouette in a corner of the head. Flinging his arms upwards in a What the Hell?! fashion, Temple quickly brought his arms down once he realized the barrel of his weapon was pointed at the roof. Hoping nobody saw that, he holstered the M6C as he sat down. Irritated, he put his face in his hands as he felt a headache coming on. Rubbing the sides of his head, his annoyance faded into indifference as he came to accept that he'd never be good with a handgun. He regularly scored expert during the rifle qualifications, but made a complete mockery of himself whenever it was time for the pistol qualifications. Not to mention he couldn't swim worth a damn - which he made up for by maxing out his PT tests. Drawing his M6C, Temple stared at it for a good, long minute. Grabbing and loading another magazine, he chambered a round and aimed downrange for the same silhouette. I can do this. Temple said to himself. No pressure. No pressure at all. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger. The round hit its mark, dead center-mass. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over the Corpsman's negative thoughts, improving his mood drastically.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone had decided to seize the opportunity of some range time before the Vengeance arrived at its destination and the unit disembarked. He'd considered using the ship's various simulator rooms, but the time to request of those had since passed and there was no guarantee that he'd be able to reserve one before zero hour. So, to the Armory he went. The double doors parted ways and he stepped inside. Seated at the desk behind the chainlink metal grating was a very bored Corporal. He glanced up from whatever it was he had been staring at to see who had entered the Armory's domain, and he admittedly leapt to his feet. Everyone knew who Thomas Jeremiah Stone was. His reputation seemed to follow him no matter where he went. 

Stone suppressed a grin and approached the desk with a purpose. "Afternoon there, Corp'ral," he said, though his tone likely sounded dismissive. 

The Corporal nodded at him. "Afternoon, Sergeant. What can I do for you?"

Stone glanced down at the desk and noticed that the man had been on his datapad, watching something he likely shouldn't have been on his Marine Corps-issued device. The Corporal, to his credit, did not seem to acknowledge where the fellow NCO's eyes had trailed, continuing to stare straight at him expectantly. "If yer not too busy," the grizzled NCO began, glancing down at the device a second time before returning his steely glare back to the much younger NCO, "which, clearly ya aren't... I'd like ta check out my rifle an' sidearm, please."

The color seemed to have drained from his face at that statement before he nodded and disappeared deeper into the gun cage to retrieve his belongings. Stone simply stood there with his hands clasped in front of him, both amused and pleased with the man's reaction. He knew all too well what boredom would do to someone. If the man watched adult content to keep himself preoccupied, who was Stone to deprive him of that? So long as he wasn't doing anything idiotic behind that desk that would land him an Article 15, he really didn't care. Besides, he wasn't the guy in charge of the Marines in the Armory. Not my circus, he thought to himself. 

He knew the Master Gunnery Sergeant that generally ran the Armory. It would not have been terribly difficult for him to drop some information in his ear that one of his Marines was having a little too much leeway on his time on duty. However, that was some Blue Falcon business, and he was not about to be that guy. The Corporal could have his fun. However, all things considered, he probably would think twice about it now. It was a bad feeling when Stone had leverage on someone. He was not above using that leverage when the situation suited him to acquire the things that he needed that, normally, would require a few more hoops than he cared to leap through. It was good to know people. 

It wasn't long before the Corporal returned with an MA5C in one hand and an M6G in the other. The chrome of the pistol shimmered in the too bright illumination of the Armory, reminding him that the armorers kept the weapons in fairly good order. As they should, considering that improper weapon maintenance could spell death to the poor SOB that wielded the weapon. The Corporal set the weapons down on the desk and retrieved another datapad from the desk, setting it on the landing in front of him. "I need you to confirm the serial numbers on this list and then give me your John Hancock."

Stone's brow arched at that, and he could tell the NCO mentally kicked himself for saying that. "Your signature, Sergeant. My apologies."

The Sergeant was happy to oblige. He inspected the information on the screen and tapped the button with the meaty part of his index finger to confirm the serial numbers, and then signed on the dotted line with the same finger. With that finished, the Corporal took the datapad back from him and passed the weapons to him through the grate, followed by a handful of magazines for each. Stone nodded to the man with a smirk that probably looked mighty intimidating given the scarred condition of his visage. "Pleasure doin' business with ya, son," he said before turning towards the door to the range. He stepped through the door, which opened to admit him with a whisper-quiet snik, and noticed that he was not alone. The platoon's new corpsman whom had arrived just before their deployment to replace Doc Skotchdopole was already on the line with a weapon in hand. 

A pistol, from what Stone could see from his position by the door. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and holstered his pistol before stepping aside as to not be in the doorway. The aging NCO crossed his arms over his chest and watched as the man worked. From what he could see, he was struggling to hit his target. The first round fired went high and to the right, striking the alien-shaped silhouette in the shoulder. Too much pressure from the support hand, he thought. The corpsman squared up to the target this time before punching out with his weapon to squeeze off another round. This time he scored a hit to the silhouette's abdominal area. Low and slightly to the left... poor trigger pull, was his next observation. 

Much to Stone's dismay, the Corpsman seemed to lose his gusto with that small error. It was an easily correctable issue. All that he needed was to reevaluate how much pressure he used to pull the trigger back to the rear, and the problem would be corrected. Temple, he believed his name was, raised the pistol again and let loose another round. Stone winced as the round went wide and hit the wall a few feet behind the target. He was about to make his presence known when he heard the man exclaim profanity and fire off another pair of shots in anger. The NCO's lips curved into a deep frown.

That was just before his blood began to boil. Temple, frustrated by his terrible marksmanship, flung his hands into the air in a gesture that would have been fine had there not been a damn weapon in his hand. He had just flagged the ceiling with the barrel of his, presumably, loaded weapon! Was he trying to kill someone on the deck above them? It took every ounce of self-control he had to not rush over to the man and wrench the weapon from his grasp. If he were being honest with himself, he'd probably proceed to beat him with it once he got hold of it. Probably not the best idea, all things considered. Stone took a couple of steps forward, watching as the man collapsed in a heap of defeat with his face in his hands. He'd holstered the weapon, thankfully. 

It wasn't but a few moments later that the man stood back up and unholstered his weapon, reloading it with a smooth precision that could only be taught through hours and hours of practiced regurgitation. Stone crossed his arms over his chest once more, resigning to watch in the hopes that Temple had put the worst behind him. The sound of a round being chambered echoed through the largely empty space, and Stone watched as he punched out with the weapon once again. Another shot rang out that would have deafened him were it not for his already damaged hearing, and a hole appeared right over the bullseye. That was all he needed to see. He traversed the remainder of the distance between them and quietly leaned forward until his face was by the man's right ear. "Not bad, son," he said, real quiet like. "But, lemme see ya hit it again."

He ignored the visible shock and surprise that was a perfectly reasonable reaction to having someone sneak up on you and continued, his voice deepening into an almost unsettling growl. "Ya hit that target agin an' maybe I don't drag ya out of this Armory by yer throat an' toss ya out one of the hangars nearby fer FLAGGIN' EVERY TOM, DICK, AN' HARRY TOPSIDE WITH YER WEAPON." 

Now that he had adequately applied pressure to the situation, Stone took a step back and resigned to watch what he could only assume would be an absolute dumpster fire of an attempt at proper pistol marksmanship technique. He decided that he would be legitimately surprised if the Swabbie made the shot. After all, it was one thing to get a lucky shot in when no one was looking. It was a whole other thing to try to achieve the same result when someone else was watching; and, also, when your life hung on the balance. Whether or not he intended to carry out the threat was still undecided at this point. It was Sergeant Thomas Jeremiah Stone, after all. One never truly knew what he was capable of. Not even the people that liked to spread the rumors that he was a cold-blooded murderer of any unfortunate dimwit that happened to suffer the misfortune of crossing him. That thought brought a sadistic smile to his face.

[Temple, S.]

"Not bad, son, but lemme see ya hit it again." The hairs on the back of Temple's neck stood straight up, hearing the quietly spoken words. "Ya hit that target again an' maybe I don't drag ya out of this Armory by yer throat an' toss ya out one of the hangars nearby fer FLAGGIN' EVERY TOM, DICK, AN' HARRY TOPSIDE WITH YER WEAPON."

Threat, more like.

The soldier had already holstered his pistol by the time he whipped around, taking a clearly defensive, if reflexive posture. Years of non-stop warfare between Insurrectionists and aliens had honed his body into a quickly-drawn weapon, muscle memory taking over where his irrational mind failed to keep up. He stopped short of grapple-locking the man behind him, realizing he was on a UNSC ship and the threat of danger was minimal. Temple relaxed his posture once he recognized the man as a Sergeant of the Marine Corps, his rank and insignia clearly visible in the bright lighting of the in-house range. "Afternoon to you too, Sergeant." Temple spoke, pausing for a moment. The grizzled-looking NCO was clearly establishing an atmosphere of authority, of dominance. He'd dealt with many Sergeants like this over the years, each one more or less being the same as the last. Hard-ass, career Marines in it for the long run. There were a few laid-back ones, but a lot of them were strict veterans that put fear and respect into the hearts of their men. As they should. The Sergeant's attitude didn't shake the Corpsman, however. He wouldn't back down in the slightest, not when the pecking order was being established. Most of the NCO's he'd met before were a lot of bark and not a lot of bite. There were quite a few, on the other hand, that weren't putting up a front. This Marine definitely looked like one of the latter.

"With all due respect, Sergeant, I might not be able to patch hull-breaches, but I'm fairly confident I can plug a few stray bullet wounds." Temple quipped dryly. No disrespect was intended, but with Temple's sarcastic sense of humor, he wouldn't doubt that he just fed fuel to a steadily growing fire. "But if you insist, I'll ring a few more rounds." The Corpsman drew his pistol again, clearing his weapon before reloading it and chambering another round. Hours and hours of endless practice had made the motion smooth and fluid. Slow was smooth, smooth was fast. Pointing his weapon downrange, Temple aimed for the target's center of mass once more. Breath in, breath out. Relax the wrists, square the body. He gripped his weapon firmly, but not too firm. Clicking his weapon's safety off, he squeezed the trigger tightly as soon as he had his sight picture. Time felt as though it had slowed down, as he watched the small sputter of flame escape the barrel, the bullet traveling straight and true. It impacted in the chest region, just below the neck. Not quite center mass, but close enough that Temple's confidence didn't leave him. He fired another round for good measure, impacting the left side of the chest, opposite of where the heart would be. Still wasn't center mass, but at least he wasn't completely missing anymore. Determined and perhaps overconfident, Temple fired one last round.

Abdominal region, just above the pelvis. Far below the intended bullseye but still on the target itself. "Two out of three. Should I don some EVA gear, Sergeant?" Temple smirked, perhaps stirring the already boiling pot a little too much. Unfortunately, he couldn't allow himself to back down and submit. Once any type of weakness was shown, there'd be no going back. Temple didn't plan on showing any.

[Chambers, T.]

Tom had enjoyed the conversation they had been having. Much to his Fellow Lance Corporal's dismay. It had been something to behold. The talk about fighting the Covenant hadn't been as entertaining but still It had been something to occupy him along with fixing that got damn music player. Having completed the repairs and handing it over to his fellow squadmates, he found himself in need of further distraction. Nothing much had really taken his fancy so he had eventually decided to throw a few more rounds down range out of his newly assigned SAW.

He both did and didn't like the change, It was nice not to have to deal with long belts and the sheer mass of the M247 GPMG... but loading the drums magazines the SAW used was hardly a task he particularly enjoyed. This time however he would likely just be shooting it. If those armory blokes had at least done the bare minimum of their jobs, they'd have a drum or two for him to unload and hand back to them with a telling grin. 'have fun' he though to himself with a shake of his head as he entered the foyer area of the armory.

He walked up the corporal who seemed to be a bit paler than one might expect, even if this particular marine might have spent a lot of time in the void. Something hard recently scared the living shit out him, he thought. Their interaction was fairly normal, though clearly the Corporal was annoyed by his timing, The man had just seemed to be about to sit back down and had been furiously thumbing at his datapad. The usual pleasantries were exchanged. But something seemed a little off. Armory duty usually meant a but of a bludge, sit around and do not much while sitting amongst a whole lot of guns. Clearly however someone who was or had just been on the range was either important or scary enough to shake something in his fellow marine.

After signing his life over in exchange for the weapon he proceeded onto the range, weapon slung over his shoulder and a drum in one hand with a sealed box of ammunition in the other. That was when it came to him. No sooner had he stepped through the door onto the range. the Hoarse bark of Sergeant Stone rang out.Out of a mix of fear and instinct. He had moved to Straighten himself. However he decided to try and remain both as still and as quiet as possible. Of what he was hearing was true. He was in for a show. He looked over and it was confirmed Stone was standing right up close as personal. Ever the Grizzled veteran's style.

Chambers only watched as the man whom upon further inspection appeared to be a Navy Corpsman. Second platoon's replacement corpsman no less. 'Oh this is going to be good.' He though to himself as remained just inside and to the side of the doorway into the range, watching the exchange. He couldn't hear it all too clearly But from what he got. The man either had nuts of steel or a few 'Roo's loose in the top paddock. He was going full toe to toe with Stone, With Sarcasm. It took pretty much all of the Aussie's self control to stop his jaw from hitting the floor. Maybe it was best at this point to cut his losses and make a break for it; before he became an accessory to an unfortunate airlock malfunction or was flung out with the garbage himself.

[Stone, T.]

Stone did not flinch when the Corpsman abruptly turned around on him. He'd half-expected it to happen. It was good news to him because it meant that the man had been in the thick of it before, and wasn't some fresh out of Navy A-School med jockey who decided to get his rocks off by venturing into the combat medicine side of the job as a Fleet Marine Force Corpsman. He maintained the same distant stare as the man hastily regained his composure. "With all due respect, Sergeant, I might not be able to patch hull-breaches, but I'm fairly confident I can plug a few stray bullet wounds."

That elicited a slight twitch from his right eye. Had he basically brushed over the fact that he had pointed the muzzle of a loaded weapon at the ceiling, risking a negligent discharge that could have torn through several decks and killed someone? Or caused sudden depressurization that would have killed more than a few innocent people. The proverbial fire had just been doused with lighter fluid, though he kept his composure for the moment. Control. It would do neither him nor Temple any good if he blew his top just yet. No, he had better self-control than that. 

The moment he'd blow his top would be controlled and calculated. He waited expectantly for the moment to unleash his fury to come. It would come. He was especially certain of that. All he needed was to witness him discharge that weapon at the target and see just how good his shooting skills were. After all, he just told him that he was confident that he could plug a bullet wound. Stone would enjoy poking a hole in that theory, should the opportunity present itself. The old lifer would be genuinely surprised if the corpsman made him eat his words. Hell, he'd likely shake his hand. 

"But if you insist, I'll ring a few more rounds," said Temple. That was precisely what he'd been waiting for. Sergeant Stone took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, intent to witness exactly what it was the man was doing when he punched out on target with his sidearm. He wasn't an expert, but he'd shot damn close last qualification. He knew enough to help others improve their shooting skills. Corpsman Temple turned back to face the target and went through the procedures to reload his weapon. Temple extended his arms out with the weapon cupped in between his hands, taking aim on the target. Stone watched his shoulder rise slowly and then fall. A second later, the weapon roared as it spat a round out the muzzle at the target silhouette down range. The round struck a hit just below the neck. Not bad, swabbie, the NCO thought to himself. It might have been a kill shot, depending on a slew of factors. At the very least, it would knock a living target on its ass. 

Temple's follow through was poor, however. Just as Stone suspected, the man became far too overconfident in his ability with that shot. The second shot rang out and struck the left-side of the target's chest. That shot had been all in the trigger pull. He'd applied too much pressure to the left as he pulled the trigger, causing the barrel to slightly move off-center. He kept that fact in mind as he watched him squeeze off a third, and final, shot. It struck the target in the abdominal area, which meant that he indeed had a problem with properly pulling the trigger back to the rear. He'd let off the trigger too far, beyond the point of the trigger reset, causing him to use more pressure to pull the trigger back to the rear. A common mistake and a terrible habit that needed to be broken if the man ever wanted consistent shots. 

If that display hadn't been bad enough, the bastard had the audacity to act like he'd accomplished something admirable. "Two out of three. Should I don some EVA gear, Sergeant?"

He grimaced, brushing the man aside with his left arm as he kept his eyes on the target. Specifically, he was visually measuring the distance between each of the impacts. "Firs' of all, smartass," he began, letting the anger slowly reveal itself as he spoke, "Were that target any fuckin' smaller, ya'd have killed little Suzie Rottencrotch an' her two brothers, Lefty an' Righty! Now, beyond that shit, how in the fuck are you gon' patch up bullet wounds when you're dead?!"

It had been a rhetorical question. If the man had tried to respond then he'd abruptly cut him off. "Ya can't! That firs' shot might'a put the bastard on his ass, but he can still shoot! That second one? Shit, ya might wind him, but he can still kill ya winded. And that last shot? Son, you're a dead man walkin'!"

Thomas reached forward and held his hand out, palm facing the ceiling. "Gimme yer damn weapon!"

[Wilkas, G.]

 Wilkas had been trying and sadly largely failing to improve her somewhat woeful accuracy. She knew it was a joke among some of the less kind members of the company that if she ever pointed a gun at someone, they were perfectly safe so long as they stood still and many others. True her main priority in a fight was to hug close to Durant and use her radio. But... She wanted to improve her aim, if she did not and her shots missed an Elite or a Grunt on the battlefield, she might get herself killed or worse someone else. Her pistol skill was somewhat better, she could generally hit a target with her sidearm though it was far from good. The smaller weapon felt more comfortable in her hands than the larger assault rifle. 

The small marine wandered into the firing range to find several members of her platoon already there. Wilkas currently was not wearing her helmet, tucked in the crook of her left arm, whilst her right held onto the rifle, the weapon empty, safety on and no mag currently in it. Her bright ginger hair tied in a regulation French plait, though off duty she preferred to have it loose. She froze catching the conversation between Stone and the medic. She could slink quietly away assuming Stone had not already caught sight of her. If Stone was in the mood to chew out Temple, he might smell blood and go after someone else, for a snack or dessert once he finished? Yet, nor could she simply ducked out. To advance was just as dangerous as retreating and same with staying put. 

As Stone railed at the other man, hard enough and loud enough to make Wilkas wince. She had developed a healthy fear and respect for Stone as well as most Sargents in her time in the marines. She slunk quietly over towards Chambers, safety in numbers the young woman hoped. Grace happened to be very nervous to start shooting targets now. Temple and Stone were about to throw down and not to mention with Chambers present too boot. To start firing lead down range might result in wrath being directed at her head. She stood the left and ever so slightly behind Chambers, not that the other marine would be in a position to do much if Stone singled her out for a kicking. "Can we start?" Grace whispered her voice soft and light, ever so slightly filled with a nervous anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to interrupt anyone, but she did need to practice. Even a slight improvement would be a positive thing. 

She could not do any worse right? Right? 

[Temple, S.]

"Gimme yer damn weapon!" The provoked Sergeant had asked.

Temple stared the man down, unflinching. Relinquish his weapon? That wasn't just a no, that was a hell no. Something that the Corpsman wouldn't say verbatim, knowing full well the consequences of such an action. Instead, he cleared the weapon in record time; eject the mag, empty the chamber, pull the trigger downrange to make sure the chamber was indeed clear. Click. Cleared. Making a gesture with his weapon as though he was going to hand it over, he holstered it instead to make his intent crystal clear, the weapon magnetically locking to his side plate where he always kept it.

"Psych." Temple started. "Firstly, I'm going to cut my bullshit on this one and be real. From me to you, man to man, I'm not giving up my weapon - orders be damned. No soldier or Marine worth his merit or salt would ever surrender his weapon, enemy or otherwise. As you Marines would put it, this is my weapon. There are many like it, but this one is mine. Whiskey Tango Zero-Zero-Zero-One-Fife-Tree-Niner, nomenclature Em-Six-See Personal Defense Weapon System." Temple recited his two letter, seven number serial number for his M6C in particular, along with his sidearm's full nomenclature name. He had his MA5B completely memorized as well, the weapon currently holstered on his back over his right shoulder blade. "I suggest you use your issued sidearm, Sergeant."

"Secondly," Temple paused, glaring at the Sergeant. The Corpsman didn't want to leave any room for doubt; he wasn't backing down. "I've treated more than enough of those wounds. I've seen what these rounds can do. A shot to the sternum - on top of shattering straight through it - is going to bounce around in the ribcage and wind up sitting somewhere cozy. I've seen them puncture the heart from its flank, I've seen them travel down as far as the pelvis. Once I've seen the bullet lodge itself in a man's spine. If a round penetrates, it's going somewhere other than where it hit, unless the bastard is damn lucky." Temple gestured to the right side of his chest. "If it doesn't go through the sternum and punctures a lung instead, you've got a sucking chest wound and a nasty case of a collapsed lung. If battle buddy doesn't have a chest seal on their person, they've got a few hours at the most before they're delivering dog-tags."

Temple lifted up his BDU along with his undershirt, showing a diagonal surgical scar over his abdomen, taking the place of his belly button. Same spot where the round he shot earlier had landed. "I'd know about this one personally. Deep enough abdominal penetration can cause a plethora of issues I don't care enough to get into right now, on top of bleed-out and hypovolemic shock." Temple tucked his undershirt back in and squared himself away. "Point being, unless our Innie playmates have gotten ahold of some serious ballistic plating upgrades, one round is enough to level the playing field. Granted, these are alien silhouettes. Their anatomy along with plasma burns is one headache of a subject that I'll save for teaching a class." The Corpsman dismissed the latter subject outright.

Temple closed the distance between himself and the Sergeant. Not close enough to be face-to-face, but within arms reach. Enough to make a statement without making it a threat of danger. "I've been on eight deployments. I've seen more years of combat than the greens in your squad and probably the majority of this platoon. I've saved just as many lives as I've taken. I'm sure you've been fighting since before I was born, but I'm not some raw recruit." Temple paused momentarily, weighing the impact of his next choice of words. "Next time you get hit, remember that the painkillers are for your convenience, not mine." Temple finished, this time with the barest hint of a vague threat.

[Keenan, J.]

First Lieutenant Keenan had been over the ordinance of his AC-220 'Vulture' gunship half a dozen times, somehow expecting more rounds and missiles to appear every time he switched the MASTER ARM key from 'Safe' to 'Simulation'. Of course the number of each munition remained the same, the Vulture was loaded to the brim to ensure combat readiness with all relevant safeties engaged. Sixteen Anvil-IV air-to-surface missiles were home in their bunks, eight Argent V air-to-surface missiles were partying in their launch tubes, and thousands of 30mm rounds were eagerly waiting to greet some Covenant. 

I want those Phoenix missiles, Keenan thought to himself. His older mark AC-220 never had that internal weapon bay, hell he wasn't sure if it was an authorized modification by the UNSC. Scuttlebutt around the interior weapon bay was more akin to it being a battlefield modification rather than Ushuaia Armory creating another series of AC-220's, but had he the chance to use what boiled down to a guided thermobaric bomb on some Covenant... well he wouldn't pass the offer up.

"We're still hours out, I'm going to go get some range time." Keenan stated, placing his hand on his copilots shoulder. "I've got my pad if you need me, but I think you've got everything under control." 

"Yeah," the man replied. "I'm probably gunna have a nap, sir. We've been over this damn checklist twice."

Keenan shrugged. "Do it." 

"Do me a favor and send this up the chain," Keenan's copilot asked, handing him a binder of paperwork. "SL wants it when we're done... we been done!"

"Right." Keenan replied, accepting the binder before leaving the AC-220's armored canopy. He proceeded to the squadron leaders office, but the officer wasn't present at the time so he left the paperwork in the Marines 'IN' bucket. He wasn't off duty by any means, but Keenan knew there was no harm heading to the shooting range and improving upon his marksmanship. If he survived a crash behind enemy lines, he'd need to defend himself, and they were in the middle of slip space transit. 

The closer Keenan got to the firing range, the more it appeared something serious had happened within it. What the hell is going on 'ere? Keenan thought, slowing down from his brisk pace. Some Marines were quietly watching from afar, and judging by the patch on their uniforms... they were ODSTs, the flight officer had already decided not to interact with them. Similarly members of the Vengeance's naval crew had gathered to eavesdrop on whatever was taking place within the armored capsule.

"Someone get hurt?" Keenan asked. 

He had taken the naval crewmen by surprise. "Uh, no, no sir. Just a bunch of yelling." 

Really? "Alright then." Keenen replied, politely pushing through the growing crowd of curious ears. He rounded the firing ranges' pressure doors, spotting a few more Marines inside. 

As Keenan approached the doorframe leading into the firing positions, he could hear one of the men involved prattle on about his weapon and how it was his weapon... or something like that, it was a bit distant, but he had closed that distance enough to listen to what was evidently a Corpsman groan on and on about medical procedure without giving the second individual a chance to respond.

Keenan noticed the M6C on the Corpsman's holster, he'd been talking like he used a jacketed round in this hypothetical scenario and what a bullet did to the human body if it didn't penetrate. The commissioned officer came close to interrupting the argument by contradicting the Corpsman's example, but held his tongue and decided to keep his mouth shut: know it all Nancy's weren't needed here; the M6 series of handguns were issued with the M255 Semi-Armor Piercing High Explosive round, there'd be nothing left of any side of any target after getting hit with a projectile like that, human or not but Keenan held himself in check and resigned to hearing the rest of the argument... within reason, of course. He was still an officer, if the situation escalated above a minor disagreement he'd have to step in.

[Chambers, T.]

The Aussie listened further as the Conversation went on between the two men, Stone was right of course but the new corpsman defiantly had a set of balls standing up to him like that. It gave him a mischievous idea but no that would not go over well he was one of the menacing Sergeant's immediate subordinates, and with all their new marines. It was a sight to behold. He was so enthralled in the confrontation he hadn't noticed Wilkas' sneak up behind him. He almost, almost jumped when she spoke, her voice that usual mix of fear and anxiety. He remembered those days like yesterday, a naval Electronics Tech with a rifle thrust in hand, It had been do or die, he had done, but part of him, his innocence had died that day.

He looked over his shoulder at at her. "Jeezus Wilkaz." He drawled. "Ya really shouldn't be Sliding up on people like that. Get ya top taken off one day." He said gesturing to his head. Tom looked her over, Seemed everything was in order for her. He was his usual casual self. BDU Shirt open a couple buttons down, sleeves rolled up not particularly neatly, parade and spit and polish weren't his strong suit, he was a scrapper. He fought to live. She seemed nervous as ever. Finally he shrugged. "guess we betta' mind our own business." Tom began to lead the pair over to a free pair of booths as an officer passed by towards the pair. This was really getting interesting. Still they had their own work to attend to.

Tom leaned against the booth Wilkas was setting herself up in, his SAW Cradled in his arms. "what ya practicin' today Wilkaz?" He asked casually as he watched the argument between an unstoppable force and what was shaping up to be an immovable object. He was quite curious as to exactly how this was going to go.

He waited for her reply. "You remember how I lost my emm gee on Melfa. Well now I got this." He jostled the weapon a little. "I might not be the best shot around." He paused glancing down then back up. "I know I 'aint. But maybe I can help ya? Just don't Tell Furbs' he'll get Jealous." He cracked a grin his tone turned towards jest at the end.

[Stone, T.]

Stone stood there like a statue, hand still outstretched before the pair, as the Corpsman quickly cleared his weapon. He maintained the same distant glare, staring the man straight in the eyes, the entire time. The only indication that he was even paying attention to anything but the man's soul behind his eyes was a subtle twitch of his right eye as the corpsman turned the weapon down range and pulled the trigger to ensure the weapon was truly safe and clear. He made note of it and continued to glare daggers at the much younger man. Stone made no effort to snatch the weapon when Temple feigned handing it over to him. He'd partially expected him to actually hand the weapon over. Had he done so, he would have immediately ensured himself that the weapon was safe and then loaded it to test it out. He needed to know if Temple had modified the weapon any before he gave him any assistance in shooting. A hair trigger was a whole lot different than a standard-issue one, and it would make a significant difference in how the man manipulated the trigger to ensure accuracy. 

Of course, what Temple did was the opposite. He suddenly holstered the weapon. The old coot would have been fine with that had he not decided to be a jackass about it. He quietly listened to the man's long monologue about his medical knowledge, toting himself like some sort of savant. It took him every ounce of self-control not to crack a crooked grin and laugh in his face. If he wanted to stroke his own ego, he could do it elsewhere. Stone didn't have time for any of that nonsense. He had a war to win, and Marines that would actually take to his training to help bring home. However, none of this was egregious enough to really incite a rise out of him. 

That is, until Temple crossed the line. "Next time you get hit, remember that the painkillers are for your convenience, not mine."

The Sergeant was well aware that there was a steadily growing number of witnesses amassing both inside and outside the Armory. He'd noticed the moment Chambers had stepped into the room, and had no given a damn then that they had an audience. He certainly didn't give a damn now. The onlookers and eavesdroppers were all about to get a nice treat. The still outstretched hand suddenly reached across and made purchase with the Temple's collar. He used his meaty support hand to draw him in before grasping the other side of the collar in an almost death grip. Stone leaned in real close to the man, knowing he only had perhaps a moment before instinct kicked in and the man acted. Shock and awe was what had made the move possible, and he was going to milk every millisecond of it to ensure he came across loud and clear. "Son," he said, his voice a deep growl with a thick drawl that somehow made it all the more menacing, "I welcome the pain. Don't'cha ever threaten me with a good time." 

He somewhat loosened his grip on his collar, but kept hold. Truthfully, he was waiting for him to either snatch away or take a swing. "I like ya, Doc. Hell, ya keep sweet talkin' me like that an' I might just let ya have one of my uglier daughters." There was a brief pause as he glanced down at his weapon. "I ain't askin' ya to sign over yer weapon so I can call 'er Sally. If I'm gonna help yer ass actually shoot worth a damn with that fuckin' 6C, I need to feel it fer myself. Only way fer me ta know if ya done fucked it up or not."

It was at that point that he released the man from his large, meaty hands. "I got dummy rounds in my pocket. Yer gon' gimme a magazine, an' I'mma load 'er up. Ya ain't gon' know which ones are live an' which ones are dummies. 'Cuz I'm gonna break that habit of yers, squeezin' that trigger like it's a damn stress ball an' git'cha to start pullin' it back real smooth an' steady like."

"Then," he continued, "I'mma show ya how ta clear a fuckin' weapon. 'Cuz if I ever see ya put yer booger hook on that trigger ta make sure the weapon ain't hot agin... I'll break every last Goddamn finger ya got, son. Then ya can tell me how yer gon' patch yerself the hell up with only one hand."

Stone drew his sidearm from the holster and turned his body so that it was pointed in a safe direction. He reached over with his left hand and grabbed hold of the slide. Cocking it back, he locked it in place and then held his hand up. His pinky finger jutted out towards the ceiling. "Ya visually, physically inspect that the weapon is clear!" The Sergeant glanced down at the ejection port to look down the barrel, and then took his pinky finger and jammed it into the ejection port so that he could feel inside the barrel. The weapon was unloaded. He released the slide and watched it return to battery with a resounding clack. "Once yer satisfied that the weapon is clear, ya may load it or holster it." 

He chose to holster his weapon, and then shook his head. "I'mma start callin' ya Negligent Discharge 'til ya learn how to handle a fuckin' weapon safely." 

[Wilkas, G.]

  It appeared that Chambers had been too caught up in the Corpsman's desire to be ripped apart by Stone to notice her nearing him. "Sorry." Grace apologized. "I figured... Well that you might have heard me. My bad." Still, she felt concerned that it might appear to Stone that they were merely watching him enforce discipline. She nodded quickly. "Yes I don't fancy death by press up." Or what other horrors the senior NCOs' might unleash upon those who they ranked over. 
Grace followed close by Chambers, moving quickly and quietly as if she might need to dive for cover any moment. She doubted Stone might shoot at them or near them, unless they really made a bad show during inspection, but it paid to be careful. 

"Assault rifle." She responded with a clearly forced smile. "I want to try and improve my aim before we land." Wilkas confessed honestly. "I'd appreciate the help, you can always tell me the story again." The redhead encouraged, sometimes it helped to get things out in the open. "Why? Why would he jealous?" Wilkas asked in genuine puzzlement. "You're just helping me with training. It's not like we've booked a romantic two week holiday to one of those paradise tropical planets." She knew Furby liked to spend time with her and she enjoyed his company too. But Wilkas had always been quite naive in the romantic field. Plus a tiny part of her was hesitant to go too far with Furby. Though she knew this to be concern that she or worse he might get booted out of the platoon for any romantic transgressions. One such mistake on her part was already too many. But she had been too innocent then to know any better and well... It kinda had just happened. Sadly such logic did not make the situation better. 

Her heart and soul felt heavy at the memories and the sense of shame which came with them. "I don't want to hurt him." Grace admitted softly in a low voice that she hoped only Chambers might hear. "I don't want to repeat the same mistakes of the past." 

[Temple, S.]

It took every ounce of self-control that Temple had for him to not react the moment the Sergeant reached out and yanked him by his collar. "Son," the Sergeant's voice devolving into a deep growl with a thick drawl. "I welcome the pain. Don't'cha ever threaten me with a good time." The grip on Temple's collar slackened, but remained. Temple could have acted then and there, but he let the Sergeant have his word - it was only fair, as the Sergeant let him have his in overtime.

"I like ya, Doc. Hell, ya keep sweet talkin' me like that an' I might just let ya have one of my uglier daughters." The Sergeant continued. Temple kept that offer in the back of his mind. "I ain't askin' ya to sign over yer weapon so I can call 'er Sally. If I'm gonna help yer ass actually shoot worth a damn with that fuckin' 6C, I need to feel it fer myself. Only way fer me ta know if ya done fucked it up or not." As soon as the Sergeant released him, Temple stood there poker-faced. Truth be told, he was dumbfounded. He tried to keep a blank face, to not let any emotion escape through his expressions. He was indeed dumbfounded, but the last thing he needed was for someone to see that was the case. The Sergeant's offer to actually help took the Corpsman by complete surprise. He was certain he'd just burn a bridge with one of the most hardened NCOs he'd ever met. Temple glanced at the Sergeant's nametape. Stone. A name he wouldn't soon forget.

"I got dummy rounds in my pocket. Yer gon' gimme a magazine, an' I'mma load 'er up. Ya ain't gon' know which ones are live an' which ones are dummies. 'Cuz I'm gonna break that habit of yers, squeezin' that trigger like it's a damn stress ball an' git'cha to start pullin' it back real smooth an' steady like." Sergeant Stone spoke, pausing momentarily before continuing. "Then, I'mma show ya how ta clear a fuckin' weapon. 'Cuz if I ever see ya put yer booger hook on that trigger ta make sure the weapon ain't hot agin... I'll break every last Goddamn finger ya got, son. Then ya can tell me how yer gon' patch yerself the hell up with only one hand."

"I probably could. Don't threatened me with a good time." Temple interjected, winking at the Sergeant. Though, considering he had indeed broken his hand at the start of his career, Sergeant Stone was probably right. Temple couldn't patch one-handed worth shit.

The Sergeant met Temple's gaze with a thousand-yard stare. Without a word, he drew his sidearm and shifted his body so that it was facing downrange. Reaching over with his left hand, he cocked the slide back and cleared his weapon the correct way. Holding his pinky up, pointed towards the ceiling, he spoke. "Ya visually, physically inspect that the weapon is clear!" Sergeant Stone said, gazing into the ejection port before reaching into the chamber with his pinky-finger, checking for brass. Releasing the slide, he chimed once more. "Once yer satisfied that the weapon is clear, ya may load it or holster it." The Sergeant holstered his weapon, shaking his head.

"I'mma start callin' ya Negligent Discharge 'til ya learn how to handle a fuckin' weapon safely."

"I'll bet your daughter will, too. Her name also Sally?" Temple cracked a wide open grin, breaking the poker-face and going back to his sarcastic demeanor. "Don't mind ugly, got plenty of paper bags for that. Sure I can't take a gander at the pretty ones, though?" Burying corpses wasn't the only reason he got the nickname 'Gravedigger'. He dug his own on a regular basis, for all the wrong reasons.

Temple drew his empty sidearm once more. Despite knowing it was already clear due to the lack of a magazine, the Corpsman figured he'd go ahead and show the Sergeant what he'd just learn. He mockingly ejected a mag where there wasn't one, pulled the slide back to eject a ghost round, then promptly looked down the chamber. Nothing. Holding his pinky-finger to the sky in the same manner as the Sergeant, he finger-fucked the ejection port until he was certain there was nothing living there. Releasing the slide forward, he grabbed the M6C by the top of the barrel and held the weapon out, handle angled up facing the Sergeant with the muzzle pointed down to the shiny, metallic floor. He still didn't trust the bull of a man worth a damn, but perhaps this would be the time where he'd find that trust. The same could be said for the Sergeant. Once Sergeant Stone took the weapon from his grasp, Temple took an empty magazine out of his load-bearing vest and handed it over.

"By all means, help me break this nasty habbit, Sarge." Temple attempted to suppress a smirk, resulting in a twitch in the corner of his mouth. Time for a lesson on pistol marksmanship. Temple thought to himself, though it was for this reason he much preferred rifles over pistols. The Corpsman waited for the Sergeant's next move.

[Chambers, T.]

Chambers raised his hand and shook his head at Wilkas Apology. "it's all good." It was a friendly reminder, nothing more. He knew she hadn't meant to sneak up on him. She had seem him do it plenty to the others, just his attention had been a probably a little to focused on the growing Frakas between the new Corpsman and his Sergeant.

"Assault rifle. I want to try and improve my aim before we land. I'd appreciate the help, you can always tell me the story again." The marine cracked a grin at her response. She always seemed so nervous and she'd probably seen more combat that he had, it didn't make sense but other people and especially women tended not to make too much sense to the Aussie, he was sometimes a little to honest with and about himself. Sure everyone had secrets but there was no use burying them, the harder you tried the harder they tried to escape, either by eating you from the inside or squeezed through your metaphorical grip.

"I'm but better with tha '5B than these big bastards. I should be some help." His minded drifted back to the forests of Melfa for a moment, the blank expression on his face after he had caved the poor kid's skull in. But it was simple enough to rationalize, even if it didn't help not seen that face sometimes, his sleeping had begun to settle again. "Just that ambush where I got jumped by that Innie, Hit my weapon first then well. Surely you've heard the story. Beat a mans head in with an e-tool" He forced himself to remain as casual as possible at the end. It was hard and he was sure he didn't quite succeed.

Tom let out a nervous laugh and reached out patting the woman on the shoulder. She had gotten a little defensive regarding his remark about Furby. "Relax Wilkaz." The Aussie began. "Just a joke. I'm sorry." He gave her a weak, but friendly smile as he removed his hand. He'd heard the rumors and everyone seemed to be certain they were true. Sure he'd head that she'd had more than a little roll in paddock with the last platoon Sergeant. Even if it was true. Sure she was an adult, responsible for her won actions, but unlike him. She was a draftee, she hadn't chosen this life. Plus what ever sex on the brain Sergeant decided it was a good idea was the one who needed a real working on. There were two things that got to the Aussie like nothing else, being lied about and women being taken advantage of.

His attention switched as he noticed something changed between Stone and the Navy man. He couldn't confirm it, but they looked closer and the Corpsman looked a little taller. He knew what it was, he';d seen it and been on the ass end of it himself. Stone had the man by the scruff of his shirt. This was getting interesting, to the fellow Squid's credit he reacted just as he should have, calmly and not backed down, that would earn him some respect from the well done steak of a Sergeant.

His attention however was caught by murmur from his fellow marine. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to repeat the same mistakes of the past."

Tom shook his head slowly. He leaned slid a little further down in his lean and lowered his voice. "You want my advice?" He asked rhetorically. "talk to him about, see how he feels. You might have to make a quick decision. But be straight with the bloke. If you don't want anything, tell him that. If you do, well do what ever it is you women do to drive us dumb asses crazy. Well in his case, more crazy."

He slid up a little further and glanced down at her rifle. "I can't help ya, if I don't know what your doing, so show me how ya shoot and I'll see if little old ex-navy boy here can teach a marine to shoot better?" He said referencing himself.

[Wilkas, G.]

 She gave Furby a pleased smile, though it felt a little bit forced since Stone was in all likelihood about to murder a man. Grace knew she was never going to be the greatest shot in the galaxy, but she still wished to improve even a tiny bit. "Thank you, hopefully I don't disrupt you're own training too badly." Wilkas apologized, sadly she tended to be afflicted by self doubts about her and her abilities more often than not. She nodded slowly. "Yeah it was all everyone appeared to want to talk about. Though I was told you beat two Innies to death with a rock." Still, it was pretty bad ass to take down the enemy with a fancy shovel."[/b] Chambers did not look to great as he finished, Grace hoped that he wasn't uncomfortable about all of this. 


"Good... I mean there's nothing going on between us." Wilkas attempt to deny, though poorly, she suspected that everyone who was anyone knew something was going down. Not that anything actually was. She might believe Furby liked her, but what if she had been reading the signs wrong? What if classed it as merely being friendly towards her?
"That is what I am worried about. What if he says yes? Or no? What if Durant gets involved?" She glanced away, green eyes worried and anxious. She managed a weak smirk at his last comment. "I find being a red head tends to be enough."


She gave him a quick nod and took a deep breath before adopting the firing kneel position. She slipped on her helmet, not point being shot by Stone for ignoring health and safety. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her deep dislike of being the centre of attention burned through her blood. She awkwardly fumbled for a mag and slammed home the clip on her second try. With this she brought the rifle to her shoulder. With a soft click she removed the safety before charging the weapon. This done, she fired off a single round at the target of a grunt. It missed, hitting a completely different grunt, quite a way off and to the side of her original target. 

[Stone, T.]

Stone continued to regard the man with a blank, piercing stare stare as he accepted the weapon from him. He locked the slide back and visually inspected the weapon. It appeared to be empty, though to be sure he took his pinky finger and stuck it into the chamber and felt around the barrel to ensure it was indeed clear. Satisfied that he wouldn't be waving around a hot weapon, he accepted the empty magazine from Temple and set the pistol down on the table. He reached over to Temple's side and snagged the box of ammunition he'd be using, setting it in front of him. The Sergeant retrieved the dummy rounds in his pocket and set them down. He had five dummy rounds at his disposal. 

The grizzled veteran placed his body in between Temple and the items on the table to conceal them. If this was to work, he couldn't know which rounds were dummies and which ones were live. That would take all of the guesswork out and he would anticipate the shots rather than let it all happen organically. If there was any issues in the corpsman's trigger manipulation or grip, it would come to light as he attempted to discharge his weapon at the target. Most people were generally afraid of the miniature explosion that occurred when the weapon fired. As a result, some people would jerk the trigger back. Others would unconsciously lean backwards, almost bracing themselves for the detonation that would occur. To be fair, shooting a weapon was not a natural act. Even Stone found himself anticipating the first couple of shots when he would target shoot. However, he'd learned long ago that he had nothing to fear, and after the first shots he'd fall into a steady rhythm and visibly relax. 

Sergeant Stone retrieved two rounds of 12.7x40mm. He loaded them into the magazine and then inserted the first dummy round. Two more rounds of live ammunition were loaded, followed by two more dummy rounds, and then another three live rounds. He could only fit two more rounds in the magazine, so he added a dummy round and then the last live round into the magazine before stowing the unused dummy round in his pocket. Retrieving the M6C, he released the slide forward before inserting the magazine into it. All Temple needed to do was wrack the slide and he'd be ready to sling rounds down range. The Sergeant turned the weapon around in his hand so that he was holding it by the barrel, and turned towards Temple, the grip facing the corpsman.

"Don't push it, son," he finally commented about the prettier daughter remark. "I'mma break that habit of yers, but I can't fix yer looks. My uglier daughters will have ta do." 

He gestured for him to take the weapon. "Magazine is loaded, but there ain't a round chambered. When yer ready ta shoot, lock 'n load an' have at it. Jus' know I got dummy rounds in there, so yer gonna have to perform a malfunction drill every time ya land on one. In case the Navy ain't taught ya, that's tap, rack, ready." He pantomimed the action with his hands for Temple, slapping the bottom of his fist to indicate that he needed to tap the bottom of the magazine before racking the slide back to discard the round chambered and replace it with another round. "Take yer time an' pay attention to yer sight alignment an' sight picture. Make sure yer on target, and then focus on your front post. The target should be a blur in yer vision. This ain't point shootin'. Yer tryin' fer the best marksmanship ya can git."