The exact origins of the Zealots are still uncertain and their appearance on Proxima Prime has never been explained. Many colonists brought their sects and religions to their new homes but this cult quickly spread through the workers in the mining community. From there it spread like wildfire in the impoverished sections of society until they exploded into violence. Their demands have always been simple. They are a brotherhood that provides moral and physical guidance, their way is the one true way and it is their duty to help others come to that realisation.
It took less than six months for the cult to build their first bomb and to claim their first victim. After the Ontario incident, it took just weeks for similar attacks to spread. The message is clear. The Zealots will accept full conversion, nothing less. In the years and months that followed the terms insurgents, terrorists and Zealots came to mean the same thing.
A Brief History of the Zealots
This was no fancy yacht or military ship, the TS Younara Glory was one of the largest transports in the shipping industry. A single shipment from this vessel promised massive profits for the company and this was no doubt why their competitors were all racing to produce vessels of a similar capacity.
Since her launch four years ago, she spent her time ploughing the trade routes of Proxima to deliver her cargo of freshly mined minerals and materials. The ship was nearly two kilometres long and almost entirely automated. In theory the entire operation could be conducted without human intervention of any kind. In fact, there were many reasons why taking humans out of the loop entirely would be advantageous. Nonetheless, with such a high price tag on both the vessel and the cargo it was a requirement for any shipping insurance that a small crew was present at all times. If nothing else, should the ship end up crashing into a station there would be humans to blame, assuming any lived of course. A computer or mechanical failure could cause all kinds of problems in deep space and a crew could provide options a computer system might overlook. For those who might be aesthetically minded, she would appear to be an ugly ship. The basic shape was like a giant bell with the rear of the ship massively larger than the front. The great mess of metal expanded in all directions to provide for the numerous storage areas for the raw materials. All around the outer rim additional gantry sections provided mountings for cranes and tooling to use in the movement and extraction of storage containers. Towards the front were three lifeboats, all accessible from the crew’s habitation module, each able to carry all the members of the crew.
At the rear were a dozen massive engines, each running continually to provide the thrust for the return voyage. The ion thruster was a very common form of advanced electric propulsion used for spacecraft propulsion. The basic principle was that they created thrust by accelerating ions. The electrostatic ion thrusters used Coulomb force and worked by accelerating the ions in the direction of the electric field. The ion engines were commonly used on this type of vessel. They were extremely efficient and could provide continuous, reliable thrust over years and years. The only downside to these engines was that they took weeks to be able to start pushing such a mass through space. This was why the Younara Glory followed a continuous elliptical orbit that was beautifully timed to allow her to pass both collection and delivery points on her voyage without stopping. This was a major feat of navigation as it required the vessel to match the orbital stations positions long enough to move materials before moving on. For the time when the ship needed extra power at short notice the manoeuvring engines were available. These huge power plants were even more substantial than the ion drives. But they had couldn’t provide the continuous power of the ion engines and would burn up all their fuel in less than a week compared to the forty year power plant lifespan of the ion system. This long, monotonous journey was why so much automation was required, and why the crews were able to command such high salaries.
Down the side of the vessel was a thick double white stripe, the famous symbol of the Trans Shipping Corporation. At the front was a large rotating wheel, much like a Catherine Wheel. It added a peculiar look to the already angry looking vessel. This section provided all the facilities the small number of crew would need for a twelve-month assignment.
She had been in transit now for two months and was coming to the end of her voyage. The twin stars of Alpha Centauri burned brightly but at this distance the refinery and space dock were impossible to see. It would take another week for them to reach Proxima Prime, the largest colonised planet in the Proxima Centauri System though they were not visiting the planet. The drop off point was the Titan Naval Station, a massive complex that had been built into Kronus, one of the planet’s smaller moons. At some point in the past it looked like any other rocky satellite, but decades of engineering, terraforming and heavy work had turned it into a habitable and busy colony in its own right. From space, the surface of the moon looked completely man-made.
It was one of the most important ports and transport hubs in the entire System with a combined civilian and military population in excess of two million people. All major freight and passenger transport vessels used the Station when on long journeys or transporting major cargos. Due to its orbit around Proxima Prime it also served as the perfect jumping off point for anybody looking to leave the planet. At any point in the day there were at least a dozen shuttles moving between the planet’s surface and the moon base. With around one quarter of normal gravity it was much easier to build and maintain craft, as opposed to trying to get them through the planet’s atmosphere and all the problems that entailed. The Titan Naval Station was also home to the Proxima Squadron, the elite and most well trained part of the Confederation Fleet and responsible for the defence of this area against terrorism, piracy and hijacking. The Proxima Squadron was based around two battleships and over a dozens frigates and transports. It had the numbers and firepower to settle any problems or disputes that might arise.
The huge transport was a tiny spec in comparison to her destination docking point. At the front of the vessel the crew module contained several small rooms including a canteen and kitchen, fitness room and navigation centre. At first glance, it might appear over generous but after the first week it was well known how irritable and troublesome a crew could be.
The crew were sitting around a small round table in the mess. It was dark and cramped but there was little space available to them that wasn’t packed full of cargo. On the centre of the table was the usual collection of artefacts signalling the closing stages of a card game where the players had taken things possibly a little too far. The large pile by far was the luxury food items, closely followed by coins and then a spurious pile of oddities that must have been added as the desperation stakes climbed.
Captain Thomas checked his cards, it wasn’t going well for him. The last card had put him in the unenviable position of having to withdraw and he was less than impressed. Dropping his cards onto the table he looked at Casey, his adversary rubbed his head.
“I fold!”
Casey smiled and made to move forward to grab his winnings when he was interrupted by the emergency alarm. As the sound reverberated around the room, the lighting cut to emergency mode. As with most vessels of this kind the low level red lighting used minimal power and didn’t interfere with night vision as much as the normal harsh lights.
“What the hell?” said Jackson, as he looked around.
“Shit, that is a bad sound, I know that!” Traci replied with a slight hint of sarcasm.
Captain Thomas, the older but experienced officer was the first to stand and made his way out of the door. He ignored the rest of the crew as they tried to catch up. This was his first emergency on this ship and being as they travelled along a clear and safe transit route it must be serious if the computer system was reporting it. As they made their way through the corridors, the ship’s built-in computer system was activated.
“Proximity Alert! Proximity Alert!” The message repeated as they entered the bridge area.
The screens were all live and Captain Thomas jumped into his chair, waving his hands as he moved through the pages of data. He stopped on one that displayed a number of small objects.
“I’m getting readings on twelve small vessels, they look like life pods to me,” said Jackson.
Wilkinson arrived and checked his screens. “I have life readings in all of them, it looks like two people per pod.”
“Two per pod? That is strange, can you confirm that?”
He continued looking through the screens of data on the various displays, checking on the communication and navigation logs for signs of trouble. One entry got his attention, it was concerned with a missing tug. Bringing up the story it appeared a vessel had disappeared in this same area two weeks ago. The crew compliment was forty-two including several passengers.
“Sir, I’ve got a report here on a missing vessel, it could be them, if so they’ve been out here for some time.”
“We don’t really have the space for them but we can’t leave them out there. Wilkinson, get down to the airlock and help them in. Mathews, get the bots out and bring in the pods.” The Captain ordered.
The only woman in the crew, Traci, was the medical officer and doubled as the security chief. She moved to the weapons’ locker on the wall with a look of someone who always expected the worst.
“Traci, get down to the airlocks and help Wilkinson, they may have casualties amongst them.”
She flipped open the cupboard and removed a firearm. It was a civilian issue C14 carbine fitted with ultra low velocity rounds designed for use against un-armoured targets. Anything more could risk a breach in the habitation section and a breach quite simply meant death. The weapon was quite rounded, partially for aesthetics and to ensure it didn’t catch or damage anything important when being used in space. Military grade firearms were only available on military vessels and even then usually issued prior to action, due to the inherent danger of weapons in space. She moved into the side corridor that led down to the main access section and airlocks. The room was hexagonal shaped and equipped with four airlock seals. As she reached the computer terminal between two of the seals she felt the clunk of the first of the pods pushing against the sprung section.
“Weird?” She checked all the valves prior to starting the airlock sequence. The changes in pressure could be fatal and must be normalised safely prior to anybody coming aboard.
Wilkinson was already lowering a set of doors that operated as beds or seats as he checked the status of the pods on his hand-held computer.
“I don’t get it, these readings show they are over a minute away, the bots have only just started.”
A loud noise hit the side of the section and then a dull throbbing sound started pounding on the furthest airlock door. It sounded like a badly aligned motor or a wheel on an automobile that wasn’t properly balanced.
“Get back!” Traci shouted as she moved away from the airlock and back into the corridor. She pulled the carbine from her should and held it in front of her. It seemed like any other weapon apart from having a much wider muzzle and a magazine that held six shots. The wider muzzle was due to the large, low velocity rubberised slug the weapon fired. She reached out to a panel on the wall revealing an intercom system and hit the button.
“Captain, what’s going on out there? We’ve got something at the airlock already. Captain, please respond, we’ve got a situation down here!”
There was no response and they stood in silence, watching the airlock with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Traci hit her fist on the seal button and an additional seal came down in the middle of the corridor, cutting them off from the airlock section in case of a breach.
Then the airlock seals blew. The pressure change was not as great as she would have expected but it was enough to make her stumble as the section shook from the movement. The entire section was temporarily flooded with a mist that blocked visibility up to the sealed area.
“You okay?” Wilkinson asked her as he held onto the wall.
“Yeah, what was that?” She tried to check the screen to her right. The display was showing garbage, as though the software had crashed or been jammed. Another series of blasts shook the habitation part of the ship and they were forced to hang onto the sides of the shaft. Casey’s head appeared at the far end as he shouted down.
“We’ve got breaches in the loading bay, Jackson is checking it out. You okay down there, Traci?”
“Yeah, I’ve closed the shaft seal for now, looks like one of them must have hit an airlock mount, the pressure just shifted, nothing too serious though.”
There was another clunking sound followed by noises at the bridge. Casey turned and disappeared from view. There was a shout then nothing.
“Come on! The bridge!” Traci shouted as she rushed along the shaft to the Captain and Casey. As she rounded the corner she came face to face with Casey. His hands were low and holding his stomach. A dark red patch spread across his clothes and then she noticed the tip of a weapon extending from his flesh. With a sliding sound it disappeared and he slumped forward. Wilkinson jumped ahead, catching the dying man as he fell.
Traci lifted her carbine to her shoulder and quickly scanned the room. Just beyond where Casey had been standing was a man in a long flowing robe. She could just make out sections of scale-like armour, though they were so thin it looked more like a patterned tunic. The man’s head was covered in the traditional hood of the Zealots.
Without pausing, she fired a round directly at the man. He was taken by surprise and it hit him squarely in the chest, kicking him back almost a metre before he managed to straighten himself up. He looked down at the hole the bullet had made on his robe and with a snort ripped it off, exposing his body armour in all its finery.
Though Traci had never met one, she had heard of the Zealot infiltration teams from the security briefs they held every six months. These men were notorious for their attacks on civilian transports but never this far from the planet. He didn’t appear to be carrying any firearms though he did have a short, savage looking blade attached to his right arm. It was serrated along its back edge and reminded her of something from a pirate adventure in books she had read as a child.
“He’s dead.” Wilkinson stood up and grabbed an emergency axe from the wall. “This bastard is mine!”
The axe was light and balanced for single hand use. As he swung the weapon the Zealot leapt to the side, parrying it with a single neat move and then counter slashed into Wilkinson. The technique was perfect and left a great wound from his thigh to his armpit. Wilkinson cried out in pain before collapsing near the Captain’s chair. It was then that Traci spotted the Captain’s body slumped in the chair. He had multiple wounds on his torso.
The man turned to Traci, a foul sneer forming on his lip.
“What is a woman doing working as crew on a commercial vessel? Do you not have a family to attend?” he said angrily.
“A family? What the fuck!” She cried out and then emptied the rest of the carbine’s ammunition into the man. Though they were obviously incapable of penetrating his armour they could certainly incapacitate anyone they struck in the face.
The shots were well aimed and the first struck him in the cheek causing a superficial but bloody wound. The subsequent rounds hammered around his head and shoulder but he managed to twist bringing his left arm up to absorb the impact. As the kinetic energy blasted him backwards she rushed in, the carbine held high and with the butt facing forward. As she moved ahead she heard screams coming from below, presumably the loading bay. She reached the wounded man who moved to get up from the floor. Her combat training kicked in and she didn’t give him the chance to get up as she slid down and slammed the carbine into his face. There was a sickening crunch as the weapon crushed his nose and sent blood spraying into her eyes. It wasn’t enough though and she struck again and again until he moved no more.
Traci rolled away from the bloody body of the man and looked back towards the badly injured Wilkinson who was still crying in pain from his wicked wound.
“Wilks, hey, Wilks!”
He was in too much pain to notice her shouts and continued to roll back and forth in pain. Traci moved along the slippery floor until she reached the hurt man. As she bent down to help she spotted two figures stood in the room staring at her. They were dressed the same as the first man but didn’t wear cloaks. Each carried the same vicious looking blades in their hands and both had seen their dead brethren in the corner of the room. Traci stood up, still holding the now damaged carbine and lifted it up, ready to fight.
The man to the left reached down to a pouch on his right leg and pulled out a heavily modified pistol of unknown manufacture. Like the rest of their equipment it had a blade fitted to the muzzle with ridges running along the barrel. Traci knew it was over and rather than wait she rushed. The men were taken by surprise and her speed truly was impressive. Her first three steps brought her almost within striking range before the man fired. The first bullet struck her in the shoulder and then more spread across her chest. She collapsed just in front of the men, blood pouring from her wounds. She tried to get up but it was no good, she was finished. As she slumped down she heard the intercom crackle, it was Jackson.
“I’m hurt, some guy just broke in and tried to space me. I need medical attention down here. Hurry, please hurry!”
Traci tried to speak and then the darkness crept over her eyes and her pain vanished.
They had just finished a gruelling three-hour mixed martial arts session and Spartan was exhausted. He stood in the shower, both hands hanging low as the water poured out and down his back. He’d not been expecting showers but the water reclamation and recycling system on the ship seemed pretty efficient, certainly better than no showers. Around him the rest of his platoon were doing the same. At first it had been odd, but after weeks of training he and the rest of the mixed unit were too tired to really care anymore. As far as he could see a line of naked men and woman simply used the opportunity to relax. As he washed away the sweat and grime he spotted the Hispanic woman he’d first met when leaving the station.
“Teresa,” he muttered to himself as he remembered her name.
After just a few seconds he went across the shower block, moving the odd person who always seemed to get in the way. As he approached he felt a pang of embarrassment as he saw her naked. Her skin was dark and the water ran down her making her body glisten. Her black hair seemed longer in the shower, it ran down to her shoulders and for some reason all Spartan could think about was that surely it was against regulations. He was about to speak when he noticed her looking at him.
“Spartan, you okay there?” she said with a smirk.
He stood for a moment, a little surprised before regaining his composure.
“Of course, what are you doing here? You’re not in this platoon, are you?”
“Haven’t you noticed you’re down a man? Apparently, somebody has been getting a bit physical in the close quarter combat classes and they needed somebody new, I’m a replacement for your platoon. I volunteered.” She smiled at him as he laughed.
“Ah, I see. Am I supposed to be flattered?”
Teresa turned back to the shower, letting the water run over her face for a little longer before turning back to him.
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, how is the training going? We have Harris, he’s got a major hard on for bayonets,” she asked as she brought the subject back to their training.
“Yeah, same for us, these guys do like their little knives! We’ve done some marksmanship with the training rifles and loads of physical training.”
Teresa came out from under the shower, moving a little closer to Spartan. “Physical training, huh?”
The buzzer on the wall indicated the end of their shower. The water cut abruptly with just warm steam spreading through the room.
“L48 Rifle training to start in eight minutes,” came the voice before the system went silent.
The recruits left the shower area, drying themselves and getting dressed. Teresa and Spartan stood at the end of the block. Teresa noticed some of the scarring running down Spartan’s back.
“God, what caused that?”
Spartan stopped and tried to work out where she was looking. “Which one?” he asked, finding it difficult to identify the exact injury.
Teresa reached out and ran her hand along a scar from his shoulder to his ribs. Her unexpected contact made him jump a little.
“Ah, yeah, that one. It was from one of my last fights before I volunteered.” He put extra special emphasis on the last word.
“What kind of weapon could have done it?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“You’d be surprised, it was a blunt mace fitted with dull studs. It wasn’t supposed to cut the flesh, that was supposed to be part of the deal but somebody, I don’t know who rigged the fight and replaced the stubs with small spikes.”
“Christ! How did you get out of that one?” she asked as she pulled on her top.
“Well, at first I didn’t. The wound was massive but the guy was cocky. He made the mistake of getting too close to check on his handiwork.”
“I take it you explained this to him?” She stood there grinning at him.
Spartan looked away and at the recruits leaving the room, he took in a deep breath, remembering the bloody fight and the injuries involved. It was strange, at the time he had hated every single minute of it, but now that he looked back to the events just months ago he almost missed the action.
“Something like that.”
It had taken over a month for the CCS Santa Maria to make her way around the storms that surrounded the planet Prometheus. Spartan had heard the Marine Corps actively recruited from the gangs and captured criminals. In fact it was the only reason the ship made the dangerous journey, to collect the toughest and most violent men in the Proxima System. Apparently now they were in open space the vessel spent most of its time coasting so that training could begin. They could fire up the engines and be anywhere in the sector in no more than a few weeks but they had another dozen stops and new recruits arrived with each new planet or station they passed by. Spartan barely noticed any of this though, he was determined to make amends and if this meant being a Marine then he was damned sure he was going to be the best!
Training had now progressed to the firearms stage and Spartan was starting to feel the competition. Unlike most of the recruits, he had little experience with shooting and actually found the action of waiting and taking careful aim to be less than exciting. All of his combat experience had been in the brutal close quarter brawling of the illegal pit fights. In those fights it was all about individual combat, fighting skill and attitude. There were few that could face him in a fight and expect to win, but that didn’t involve the use of firearms. This was a total change for him and he was having a problem getting around to the idea that even the weakest, most inexperienced recruit could bring him down with a standard issue firearm.
The Drill Sergeant was certainly not going any easier on them. But at least he seemed to have a minor measure of respect for the improvements in discipline and close quarter combat they had worked on. They had already been issued with their weapons, though it had been made clear from the start that they were being loaded with safe ammunition that would cause no more than bruises.
This was the largest training hall on the ship and reinforced with three layers on the outer hull proofed against all the weapons they used. Even if anything did go wrong there was an additional section fitted outside, but that had apparently never happened. They had already trained in this section and the space was big enough to conduct anything up to platoon-sized actions, with or without weapons. Now, the one end was equipped as a firing range although Spartan had seen it previously equipped as a mock village and tunnel sequence for use by the recruits.
The Sergeant stepped forward and held a weapon up in front of him.
“This here is the L48 rifle. It is the standard ranged weapon of every marine and you will carry it wherever you go. It is available in both rifle and carbine versions. The default round is 12.7mm, this makes it a large calibre weapon but with improvements in recoil reduction, you will notice almost no different to the 10mm training round. The selector will choose proximity modes on the bullets giving you flexibility in combat. As with every marine rifle the M11 bayonet will easily fit without affecting the balance of the weapon.” He walked down the line.
“Each magazine carries twenty rounds of variable operation ammunition. You will not waste these. In combat, you must make every round count. If you need greater firepower, we still have the modular 6mm module that will allow you to fit the smaller calibre box magazine to both the rifle and carbine variants. These are recommended for close quarter assault roles only or for use in sealed environments where armour penetration could be a problem. For most occasions, you will want the flexibility of the new 12.7mm VO rounds. These will give you the most tactical advantages.” He held up one of the rounds.
“Now, watch carefully whilst I demonstrate the use of this damned fine piece of equipment!”
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed down the range. At the far end was a line of cardboard shapes that looked very roughly man sized. He squeezed the trigger and fired a single round. There was a muffled report as the round blasted from the weapon and smashed straight through the target’s head leaving a milk bottle-sized hole.
“Now, that was the standard mode and uses none of the advantages of the new VO rounds. The next mode is what we call armour-penetrating mode. It will trigger a small explosive blast at a distance of one metre behind the first object it strikes. This means you can put a round through a wall or lightly armoured vehicle and still take out the man inside,” he said with a wry grin.
The Sergeant flicked the selector on the side and fired again at the next target. This time there was a sheet with a gap behind and then another target set up. The round ripped through the first as before and then a short distance behind spread a cloud of silver dust on the target.
“Obviously we do not use live weapons, unless we want to get blasted into space. Now don’t worry too much. From what I have been following you will get plenty of opportunity to put these weapons to the test against our Zealot friends.”
Turning back to the range, he flicked the switch to the last mode.
“Now, this is the piece de resistance for the L48. For those of you with the IQ of a drainpipe that means this is the single best feature of this great weapon.”
A dull grumble spread through the group though it was a fair split down the middle, half unimpressed with the criticism, the rest not quite sure what had just been said.
“What do you do when Z-Man is hiding in a bunker or building of some kind? Sure, you could pop a round through the wall but that assumes you can penetrate it. The L48 is good but it isn’t magic. Reinforced concrete and heavy armour can stop a weapon but this guy can hit round a corner.”
A murmur of surprise continued through the group.
“Just watch!” The Sergeant swung the weapon around.
At the far end of the hall was a mock wall with a small window beyond which was another target. The Sergeant waved his hand and one of his assistants pushed the man-shaped target down into a crouching position so that it couldn’t be seen through the window.
“Note how our cowardly foe keeps his head down so we can’t hit him. Well, tough shit pal!” He pulled the trigger. The gun fired and from their perspective the students could see a cloud of silver dust behind the wall. The Sergeant signalled to his assistant who then lowered the wall so the recruits could see the target covered in powder.
“What you see here is the laser rangefinder capability being integrated with the advanced projectile. The way this works is simple. Aim for the outer wall that your guy is hiding behind. Hit the range button, this will set the sight for your weapon. Then hit the armour penetration mode, the same mode you used at the start. The shell will explode one metre behind the range you selected. Recruits, to your places!”
They spread out into the twelve places designated for the marksmen. Spartan lay down in the third and checked his weapon as he had been taught. The gun was certainly far from new but it appeared intact and nothing was broken or missing, as far as he could tell. He checked the chamber was clear and the magazine was out of the weapon. One final check ensured the gun was on safety before he put up his hand to signal he was ready.
“This will be a precision round. Each of you has a twelve-round training magazine. You will be presented with a random selection of targets and will have to choose the correct weapon mode to claim the kill. Once you take out the target the next will load in automatically. There are ten targets, that gives you two spare. I want to see spare rounds by the end of the shooting. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” came the chorus in response.
“Make ready!”
The targets loaded into position, the first being a simple man-sized target, nothing fancy. The recruits readied their guns, aiming carefully but waiting for the signal.
“Fire!”
A volley of fire like that of a Napoleonic battle erupted down the line as the guns fired in unison. Every single target was knocked down and the second targets moved in to replace them. This time they faced the man behind a wall. The change in target resulted in a few of them pausing whilst they considered what to do, followed by a ragged volley of gunshots. Only half of the targets changed and it became instantly clear that it was a trick round. The figures behind the walls were positioned off to one side. Only those that selected the armour-penetrating mode, or the laser rangefinder with the extra metre selected, hit the man first time. It was all a bit confusing.
Spartan was having fun and so far he’d hit two out of two, he seemed to be in the top few of the group. The third target popped up, it was two men, one next to the other. Without thinking he fired one round then another. As the target dropped a bunker appeared. It seemed to only take about thirty seconds and the shooting was over.
“Clear your weapons and show me what you have left!” The Sergeant shouted.
Each of the recruits made their weapons safe and then ejected the spare training rounds from the chamber and magazine. Of the twelve recruits only one had two spare rounds, the rest were a mixture.
The Sergeant walked along the line, stopping at each recruit, berating them for their shooting. When he reached Spartan he looked less than impressed.
“What is this?” he asked sarcastically.
Spartan had the weapon laid out before him but with no spare rounds.
“I hit them all, Sergeant,” answered Spartan, though he was starting to realise he had done something wrong.
The Sergeant moved to the next shooter, it was the ginger-haired man from the incident when he first arrived. The man held up two rounds.
“I’d be so impressed if you’d actually hit the ten targets, look again.”
The recruits all looked down the range to find one of the targets still standing. As they watched, the Sergeant whipped out his pistol and fired a single shot down the line, striking the head of the target. It fell back and the course was finally complete. The Sergeant moved back to Spartan.
“You wasted rounds on targets that one round could easily have done. Remember number three? The one with two guys stood close together?”
Spartan nodded, realising what was coming.
“You fired at each. Why not used the timed-mode with range finder? One shot, two kills. The round can easily take out three or four targets in one go. That means a shot like Ginger here can still get kills even if he misses. You understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” answered Spartan.
The Drill Sergeant turned to the ginger man and raised his eyebrow.
“Uh, yes, Sergeant!” he added, looking a little sheepish.
“Back in line, next group front and centre, let’s see if you can do any better!”
As Spartan moved back in line, he walked past Teresa who moved to take his position. As they passed she gave him a single raised eyebrow. He turned his head and watched her as she moved into place and lifted the rifle to her shoulder.