[C-Deck] Shooting Gallery

[Chambers, T.]

Tom could only shake his head. The rumor was totally off, clearly it had to be the work of someone else in Oscar, close enough to know some details but both far enough off and dumb enough to add to it. It would have been the usual Lance Corporal underground goings on, exagerations or 'i heard it from a guy that was there' deal. Still he didn't feel good about what he had done, but there was little choice he kept telling himself. He continued to listen as the RTO poorly explained her feelings and what was going on, it wasn't hard to tell that Furby was more than a little 'interested' in her but was it just casual flirting to relieve stress or did his fellow marine want to bump uglies with her?

He couldn't answer that, only lance Corporal Jayson Furby could. But good luck getting much more than a pained groan or a half arsed excuse out him except when they were under fire. Though he was relieved to see her smile as she made a little fun of herself, there was something in his fellow marine beyond what everyone could see and talk about, perhaps one day she would become comfortable in her own shell. He was hardly a model of confidence but he knew who he was and what he stood for. What he wanted in life was for this god forsaken war to end but it wasn't going to end itself so he had chosen to play his part even as small as it might be now and in the future.

Tom returned Wilkas nod and watched, as best he could as the RTO took a fairly standard kneeling position, slipped her helmet on and began her preparation to fire. Her Nerves were most evident as she began to even start the evolution, reaching for the magazine her nerves started to get the best of her but she kept going, that was a good start she had the courage to face her fears, at least this one. He thought to himself.

He lent back and tried to keep his postured as relaxed as possible while keeping a close enough eye of the Marines posture and movements. It wasn't all bad, hell he had been worse the first time he'd ever fired the MA5. Just seemed soldiering didn't come natural to her. Not to say it was for him, but he just got up and for the most part did what was asked of him, no matter if it had been working the mines back home, fixing Navy Electronics or now killing people be they alien or regretfully, human.

Tom remained largely unchanged as Wilkas took a second try to properly seat the magazine into her weapon. She was nervous and a little shaky, all that would take was drills he figured, just sit there slapping magazines in and out until it became memory, he still fumbled a little with the drums, but they also tended to be painful in many others ways, particularly loading. He continued to watch as she shouldered the rifle, seemed fine enough to him. The safety clicked off and she charged the weapon. All this seemed fine.

However as he watched her take aim and work the trigger he could see some issues, sure she was a little shaky but he had the issue, there was no way he could be a surgeon his hands weren't steady enough, good enough for electronics, not for people. The biggest thing he could see was an uneven trigger pull, sure the triggers in their weapons were... hardly a novice friendly, they were a little stiff and reasonably heavy, standard military triggers as they had been for five or six hundred years. He wasn't the biggest fan, but had found a way that worked for him.

He offered his fellow marine a sympathetic smile. "I've seen and done worse myself. Not too bad all things considered. your main job isn't your rifle." He glanced down toward her hands. "Need to practice your trigger work a bit. seems to be throwing off your aim. Just do what you can and pull it back nice and easy. I Used to shoot low and right, was all in my trigger pull." He gestured for her to go again. "We'll keep it one round at a time couple more times Wilkaz, then I'll get ya to try a burst." He explained.

[Temple, S.]

Temple took the weapon from Sergeant Stone as he made his way to the firing line, positioning himself appropriately. Feeling himself ready, he cocked the slide back and racked a round into the chamber. He squared his body and relaxed himself as he aimed downrange. A single alien silhouette popped up, that of the short, stocky gas-breathing aliens. 'Grunts', they'd been nicknamed. Temple sighted the target in, focusing on his front post as the Sergeant had told him. The alien blurred in his vision as the iron sights painted a clear sight picture. With one fluid motion, he eased the trigger to the rear.

Click. Temple frowned. Dummy round. Shaking his head, he tapped the magazine. Next, he racked the slide back and chambered another round. He was ready. Repeating the same steps as before, he relaxed his tension as he aimed downrange. Sighting the target in once more, the Corpsman focused on his front sight post and aligned it with the target's center of mass. Once again, the target had become a blur in his vision as the iron sights gave him an even clearer sight picture than before. Slowly and smoothly, Temple pulled the trigger back.

A single round barked from the barrel, the muzzle only raising slightly and returning to its original position as Temple kept the recoil under firm control. The round connected within the target's wide center of mass, landing just outside the bullseye zone. Temple felt a wave of relief wash over him, but he kept his momentum going. Keeping the muzzle pointed at the target's center of mass, he fired once again as the sight picture came into focus. This time the round landed within the bullseye zone, barely clipping the bullseye itself. "Fuck yeah." The Corpsman mumbled to himself, under his breath. A wide grin of satisfaction appeared on his face.

[Wilkas, G.]

 Grace lowered her rifle, so that the barrel was pointing down towards the floor as she turned to see what Chambers' thought of her shot. She was expecting bad news or something along the lines of how did you get sent out here? Though that was something she happened to have questions about herself, since it had become obvious to her that her basic training as rushed to get more soldiers ready for the fight as soon as possible. She nodded slowly as Chambers spoke. "Yeah, my job is to follow Durant and hopefully called in off map support." She tried to sound eager about the prospect, but failed. Whenever she or Durant needed to call in support it never meant anything good. 

"I see." She responded, glancing at her rifle as if the trigger mechanism itself might reveal the answer she sought. Turning her bright green eyes back to him, she said with some enthusiasm. "Sure, as long as you helping me doesn't stop you from training." Or more silently to herself, cause Furby to be upset. She did not want that either, Grace hoped he might understand that there was nothing going on that wasn't just marines helping other marines. 
She brought her rifle back up, sighting the same Grunt as before. The redhead pulled the trigger, but it happened to be a snatching motion rather than what Chambers wanted her to do. The round missed. Muttering something in Russian which her mother would have no doubt fainted at, she tried again. Another snatch, another miss. Again, another attempt and another miss.

She halted and took a deep breath as she shuffled, resettling her position. Grace aimed in again on the same Grunt, forcing herself to slow, her finger slowly tightening on the trigger. The rifle barked, the round hitting the creature in the hip. "Like that?" She inquired, not taking her eyes of the Grunt target as she voiced the question. 

[Chambers, T.]

He nodded at her response. Wilkas did have other priorities to attend to. Ones that could be life and death for the whole platoon. he had it pretty simple he felt, aim down sights, shoot the dumb ass aliens than crossed in front. or in the last case some rather unfortunate humans, but it had been do or die. He chose not to die. Tom shook his head the RTO went on about his training. All in all he was possibly getting more out of this than she was, to teach taught you a lot about yourself and what you can do differently, an outside perspective.

"Don't worry about me Wilkaz." He replied smirking down at her. "Me 'n the SAW 'll be fine. besides you gotta keep the Lef-Lieutenant safer now he's XO." Tom jested as he watched his fellow marine bring her rifle back up. He stayed quiet and largely emotionless as Wilkas tried a few times. Each time not quite having the trigger pull down. Three times she reached for it, snatched at it. It wasn't uncommon but depending on the person he had seen some people got it, other didn't. His problem was consistency, particularly rapid with single shots. The SAW was something else.

Finally the Radiowoman took one more shot. Slowing herself down. it was perfect, but it hit the target. an improvement.

"More like that yeah. Try a few more. Make sure you have even pressure over the trigger and your aren't pulling your aim with that." He instructed rather nonchalantly. It wasn't going to help to put anymore pressure on her, calm and casual was the order for the day.

[Stone, T.]

Stone quietly observed the corpsman as he prepared to undergo the drill he'd set up for him to complete. If there was any sort of error in the man's grip of the weapon or trigger squeeze, it would come to light very quickly through the use of the dummy rounds. Stone had the opportunity to clearly see how much pressure he squeezed the trigger with as well as the strength of his grip on the handgun. Generally, either the trigger pull was off or it was a case of too strong or too loose of a grip on the pistol itself. Too loose and the weapon would not cycle properly as it fired, along with the round being sent somewhere off target; too tight, and he would move the gun when he went to squeeze the trigger by half an inch in either direction. He'd seen it happen a million times by others in the past. It was the whole reason he carried dummy rounds with him when he went to the range.

If you train enough with the weapon and identify your mistakes, you could correct them and master firing the weapon without those small quirks that caused the shot placement to be off. While it was a rather small problem when in a controlled environment, such as the ship's range, it became a much greater problem once in the field. In combat, shooting was a life or death venture. If you missed your target due to poor training and marksmanship, it could spell disaster for you and your fellow Marines. Stone took basic marksmanship very seriously because of that fact alone. Other NCOs might have worried about the Marines ability to march in step or follow some dumbass regulation such as the ban on the consumption of alcohol aboard ship, but Stone had different priorities. None of that bullshit mattered if his Marines were dead. This war already had enough casualties. He did not intend to have his squad -- or anyone in Second Platoon -- add to that statistic.

Thomas carefully observed Temple as he set about firing at the target downrange. He'd set himself up for a decent shot on it when he heard the weapon click as the firing pin struck the dummy round. The Sergeant smirked as Temple expertly handled the malfunction and chambered a fresh round. The next pull of the trigger elicited a burst of flame from the end of the barrel and a round tearing through the Grunt-shaped target down range. He nodded with an even wider grin as the man's placement landed him squarely center mass. That was exactly what he wanted to see. "Don't get too cocky, son," he reminded the man. "Ya ain't finished with the mag yet."

He was impressed with the level of improvement he'd shown thus far. However, he couldn't just praise the man for doing a good job just yet. The job wasn't finished and there was still plenty of opportunity for him to screw it up. Some people liked to call him cynical for that. Those people could go fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned. Stone was a realist. If someone wanted him to walk around giving a bunch of "attaboy's" and pats on the back, they would be sorely disappointed. Thomas Jeremiah Stone only commended exemplary performance from his people. Temple's performance, while noticeably improving, still deserved to be rated as mediocre at best. Stone was not about to reward the man for doing what should have been expected from him. He could already hear the voice of the naysayers in his head proclaiming loudly that Temple was supposed to be a lifesaver and not a lifetaker, and so his ability to shoot should have been commended as something extraordinary.

There was a special airlock awaiting just for those types of people.

"Yer still in the first half," Stone reminded the corpsman. "Let's see if ya can keep up the streak!"

[Temple, S.]

"Don't get too cocky, son. Ya ain't finished with the mag yet." Sergeant Stone's reminder brought an abrupt end to the Doc's shit-eating grin.

"Yer still in the first half, let's see if ya can keep up the streak!" Stone pressed on. Temple nodded, turning his gaze back towards the target downrange, his weapon still at the ready. He hovered his iron sights over the target's center of mass once more, pulling the trigger back with the same smooth precision as before. Another round escaped the barrel with a thunder-like roar following suit, the projectile hitting the target with lightning speed. The bullet pierced a few centimeters to the right of the first impact, leaving two overlapping holes just above the bullseye. Temple stared in disbelief, knowing he'd just miraculously achieved the modern equivalent to splitting an arrow. It was so improbable that he'd likely never see it happen again, especially not from himself.

Shaking his head out of the daze and closing his currently dropped jaw, Temple pulled the trigger again, this time a little faster than he intended. Click. Without missing a beat, Temple cleared the malfunction. Tap the mag, rack the slide, chamber a round. Ready. Click. Once again, Temple cleared the malfunction, although with a little more frustration this time around. Aggressively, he went through the motions again - tap, rack, ready - and sighted his target as quickly as he could. He made sure to pull the trigger nice and slow with a relaxed posture, but perhaps it was the unaccustomed speed at which he performed his otherwise instinctual actions that caused him to hiccup at the last second. A slight jerk - no, twitch was more like it - of his hand caused the round to impact the target's shoulder, no where near the torso area where he was aiming.

Shit. Temple thought to himself. Perhaps he was going a little too fast for what his muscles were used to. He needed to work the motions relentlessly before he could start placing the shots effortlessly. Slow was smooth, smooth was fast - and fast what was going to save the life of himself and the Marines under his care. With this in mind, he squared himself away for the next two shots. Doc corrected his posture, steadied his breathing and pulled the trigger with an almost impeccable set of timing and precision. Both rounds landed just underneath the bullseye, with even spacing between each impact point. Predictably, there was no overlap this time around.

Click. Not wanting a repeat of earlier, Temple patiently corrected the malfunction with ease. No frustration, no rush, no bad shots. Wanting a little more of a challenge, Temple changed his sight picture. Rather than aim for center of mass, he aimed for the silhouette's head. While it was never a good idea to aim for an enemy's head during real combat, Temple just wanted to see if he could actually hit such a precise target. With a small prayer, Temple sent the round downrange, striking the target right between the eyes. The slide on the Magnum retracted all the way back, indicating an empty chamber and an empty magazine. No more rounds. Lowering his weapon, he turned his head towards the Sergeant. Temple's sarcastic demeanor was completely gone. His poker face emanated an empty expression, nothing more.

"Verdict?" Temple asked, with an undertone of seriousness that was rarely ever heard from the Doc.

[Wilkas, G.]

 Grace paled at the thought of being responsible for Durant. He had been responsible for her, the poor officer saddled with her green and unreliable butt from the moment she somehow passed out as a soldier back on Earth. Though Wilkas considered the matter to be less an achievement and more the training corps giving her the papers and quickly showing her the door. "I'll keep him safe." She promised, not sure how she was going to do such a thing. But she liked to hope she was a better solider, a better marine and maybe even a better person now than when she first arrived in the platoon. "You can watch out for Furby and Avery and the rest." She told him, Grace quite liked their banter and honestly did not know what she would do if anything happened to any of them. She might not always join in their banter or understand just what their conversations were about, but they were good to hang out with. 

Wilkas nodded, the corners of her soft lips twitching into a thin smile. She squeezed off a handful more rounds. A couple missed the target narrowly, but the majority hit the Grunt she happened to be aiming at. "I think I'm getting the hang of this." She told him, she had been better with pistols, the smaller and much lighter weapon felt a lot easier for the small form of Wilkas to wield. But the rifle happened to be the main weapon and she wanted to get much better with it, passable might be acceptable in training, it might be acceptable in peace time, but when alien monsters were coming to kill everyone, including her... Passable needed to be greatly improved upon. Especially, if she needed to protect the LT, Durant was not going down on her watch, not if she could do anything to help it at any rate.