Scouting For Romance

Entry 46, Part 1

Day 3, Month 20, Year 572

The military reserved a dozen shooting ranges across the city to let us practice with the THC-9, the pistol we'll be using on Basugio.

A massive, bulky hand cannon that weighs several pounds. It has a handguard, a nub just under the barrel to give a bit more oomph when we bash it against some alien's skull, and a large hole where we slot in each individual bullet. Said bullets are massive cubes, with a firing pin in the back, a hollow chunk of steel in the front, and the insides packed tight with a load of gunpowder. The weight of the gun is necessary as, without it, the structure would fall apart every time one of those bullets is fired.

The damage the THC-7 could do to a body was... gruesome. Meant to inflict terror in the alien's comrades just as much as it's meant to kill the alien you shot. If the THC-9 is meant to fight against those monstrous 'star people', I can only imagine the kind of damage it does to a normal human.

Because Tytus and I will always be alone and outnumbered, this kind of psychological damage is important to get right. Our enemies will always have the option of running away, so the opening two shots will have to make that the idea scenario for them. Just run away and leave us alone, or your torso will be ripped to shreds like your buddy's. The only problem is that we only have one shot each before we reload, which won't be easy in the middle of a fight, so we can't miss.

But that's what today's training was for.

Our class split up to train in ranges across the city, and Tytus and I went with the usual suspects. The leftover women, Anatol's group, Teodor, Marian, those guys.

Since dislocating our shoulders was a real possibility (as I learned previously), each group had their own small medical staff.

The range has a dozen individual lanes set up for shooting, and targets set up on the far side. The range we went to had four stories, so there were three more classes above us, and the furthest target was about two hundred feet away, as that's really the max range on the THC firearms. For the 9, you should never aim at a target further than 50 feet away at max. Preferably closer.

"Remember, everyone!" Anatol called out as he put his earmuffs on. "Keep a tight grip on the handle, shoot it with just one hand, and let the recoil bend your elbow instead of letting all the force go into your shoulders." He glanced to me for a moment and smiled.

I didn't return his smile.

Jovaisa, who started with our group but then would go on to leave and give each group a bit of attention, got to one of the lanes and raised his pistol. "If you need two arms to fire accurately, do that and learn how to absorb the recoil. Making sure you hit your target is more important." He raised both hands to aim, then squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot was like an explosion. I mean, all gunshots are, but it was just so violent and pronounced. This is a savage weapon designed to obliterate, not simply kill. The flash was blinding, and the blast was like a crack of thunder sent directly through my hearing protection and rattled my eardrums.

My body didn't jump, but I was left frozen in shock at the sudden noise.

"Whew..." Jovaisa said as he set the gun down and rolled his shoulders. "In a few days, we'll start classes on how to use these pistols as a makeshift shield to help your swordplay. No blade can get through it, so it's a natural addition." He undid a small latch, pressed a button on the side of the barrel, and the front half 'broke' forward, allowing the spent, hot, cube-bullet casing to pop out. He didn't put a new one in, but instead holstered it and walked to the door. "The goal today is to improve your accuracy and resistance to the blowback. Have fun. If any of you shoot your comrades you will be kicked out of the military, and I'll make sure you can't reenlist for a thousand years."