"So, blondie... are you ready to get your ass handed to you this afternoon?" James asked with a grin on his face as we sat for breakfast.
"As I'll ever be boss," I replied coolly, "I could have done with six months more practice I have to say. I'm pretty rusty."
"You'll be fine," Becky said emphatically, "more than fine... don't forget you have your secret weapons."
"Secret weapons indeed," James said laughing, "that c-mag of yours is gonna jam harder than a stubborn mule and your day will be done, Blondie. Armstrong Industries has sold you a lemon there!"
"You know nothing, James Porter, less than nothing in fact..." Becky said indignantly, and theydescended into a discussion of the pros and cons of the weapons solution she had supplied. Ishook my head as she began rattling off technical specifications, totally oblivious to the rest ofthe world. For someone who doesn't like guns, she knows one hell of a lot about them, but then I guess that goes with the job.
The rest of breakfast was actually fun, James toned down his posturing, Becky eased up on her teasing and stopped trying to get me to be something I'm not. With all that pressure gone, I could sit back and enjoy the meal, knowing it would probably be the last thing I ate until this evening.
I've never really been the nervous type, certainly not with something like this competition but this was different. This felt as strange as my first day at work, my first time at Armstrong Manor. I guess I spent so much time convalescing my brain has decided to betray me and make me nervous enough to know I wouldn't want to eat until it was over and done with.
I had the opportunity, as I ate, to listen to the conversations around me; the easy going banter and the pleasant exchanges between Becky and James. It was all too easy for them it seemed, the social interactions like this; it was a far cry from the mealtimes I'd had in the army which ranged from absolute silence of a team in mourning, to the raucous denouncement ofthe pervious evenings debauchery.
I felt like a stranger in their ranks once more, like I didn't really fit. It didn't even help that they had welcomed me into their world. I still felt like someone would be showing me the door at some not to distant point, finally realizing that I wasn't one of them, not part of the clique.
-----
There was a shock waiting for us as I escorted Becky across the conference hall to the Armstrong Industries stand, three figures were stood talking to one another as we walked up.
"Becky, dear, there you are," Jenna called out, holding out her arms to her daughter for a warm hug. "and Freen, dear, so nice to see you, too."
"Mrs Armstrong," I said formally, keeping up my CPO role despite the stand being pretty much clear, "Mr Armstrong, nice to see you both."
"Freen," Rob said nodding his welcome.
"What are you guys doing here, I thought you weren't coming?" Becky said, stepping back and staring at them.
"Well, I couldn't miss the big showdown," Rob said, those whiter than white teeth on full display. "Besides, I wanted to see you and Richie. Well, I'd love to hang around and chat, but Richie here has arranged for me to meet with a rather important African General; looks like a promising partnership if we play our cards right, eh Richie?"
"Absolutely dad, General Kazir is quite keen to do business with us; for a little accommodation or two if you know what I mean." Richie made a great play of winking 'conspiratorially' at Rob, who beamed proudly.
"Well, I'll leave that up to you, son. Let's go land ourselves a fat one, eh? See you later everyone, good luck for that competition, Freen."
I nodded as he walked away, one eye on Becky as she glared at Richie's back with hurt and tears in those expressive eyes, another deal she had worked hard for stolen from under her eyes.
"Gently does it, Bec," I said softly as I reached out to touch the back of her arm reassuringly, glancing worriedly at her mother. With a sad smile, Jenna took a step closer to her daughter and linked arms with her.
"Ignore him, dear, you know he's totally blinkered when it comes to Richie. You also know he's an ignorant twat."
Jenna beckoned for me to follow as they went into the room, I shook my head and looked around me. People were starting to fill up the hall, staff making ready for the morning throngs; vendors opening and cleaning down their stands to make them their best and, everywhere I looked, people carrying gigantic cups of coffee.
It was business as usual at Arms Expo, and it was business as usual for me. Competition or not, I had a job to do, and, stowing my kitbag in the back of the stand, I went about it like the professional I was. Love, jealousy, hate and tears had no part of what I needed to do this morning; and I left the mess Rob had made for Jenna to sort out.
Perhaps it was cowardly, but I had faith that Becky would come to me if she needed me. For now, it was my job to keep her safe, and I would do that in the only way I knew how.
The morning dragged on inexorably as the great and the good of the military world strolled around the stands looking for that career making deal. Becky had appeared from the meeting room with a big smile on her face long before the hall officially opened, fifteen minutes spent talking with her mother perking her up to no end after that unfortunate start to the working day.
I even got a warm, if a little formal, thank you from her for organizing her team to get set up in her absence; it wasn't exactly a difficult job though, they were well drilled in what to do, they just needed a little nudge from Sarn't Sarocha to get them going.
Once the hall doors opened though, it was back to prowling the outside of the stand, standing unobtrusively at the back, or sneaking off for a break here and there. This time though, I didn't join the runners; not for any moralistic, Becky-related, reason though, it was simply because my mind was too tied up on other things to be sociable.
I was relieved that Becky claimed to understand my fears. I'd be more relieved if I managed ever to explain them to her, or even better, have them proven false; as false as Joanna had proven mymemory of Paul's death to be. But even with that fear pushed to one side, I still had a competition to worry about.
I know nerves are a good thing, but they're still nerves; they're still uncomfortable.
"You'll be fine," Becky had said on one of her brief forays out of her room for a sit-down and a chat.
"I have faith in you."
"Misplaced faith perhaps, Miss Armstrong," I replied as one of the stand 'monkeys' came across to speak to her.
"Shush, Freen. We're all behind you, you know that, don't you? Everyone here thinks you can win this afternoon. We all want you to win."
I didn't care what they wanted, but I did feel the pressure of her expectations pressing on my shoulders. She'd arranged for the best kit she could buy for me, planned everything to give me the greatest chance of beating James, if not winning the whole fucking event itself; yet still, I had my doubts. I didn't know if I even wanted to win this fucking thing, I mean.. what would it give me? What difference would it make to my fucking life?
Except perhaps piss my boss off, of course, he seems so anxious to win the damned thing, yet another concern to add to the pile. Becky wants me to win, James wants to win himself. Poor old Freen Sarocha, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. I glanced down at my watch as the 'monkey' leaned down to whisper in Becky's ear, only a couple of hours to go and we'd be out of here, heading off to the event location on the far side of the complex for the competition.
"Oh for heavens sake, Dave, can't one of you guys deal with this? I was going to have a five minute break, I haven't stopped all morning."
"I'm afraid not, Miss Armstrong, Mr Erickson was most insistent to see you personally."
"Fuck's sake, ok give me a second to grab a drink and I'll be right there."
The monkey nodded and vanished, as they left her let out a tired sigh. "Sorry babe," she said quietly, rubbing at her eyes, "I was hoping to finally have a break and try and have a coffee with you."
"Not in public, Miss Armstrong," I admonished her in my best 'plummy' English accent, knowing that no one was really near enough to overhear us. "Please, do remember where we are, and do try to maintain a sense of decorum."
"Quite so, Miss Sarocha, please accept my most sincere apologies." she replied faking her own accent, adding a slightly raised eyebrow and a smirk on her shiny, gloss covered lips for effect.
"Would you like me to get you a coffee while you go into your meeting, Miss Armstrong?" I asked seriously dropping the accent. "I can pop over to the coffee stand and get you one, have it ready for when you get out."
"Would you mind, Freen? Oh that would be heavenly," she said getting to her feet and fluffing out her hair. "They always get the fucking client a drink, never think to bring me one when I go in, though."
"You should train them better," I told her stepping away from my usual hidey hole. "Caramel Latte as usual?"
"Yes please, could you get them to shake some extra chocolate over the top. I feel the need for chocolate today."
"Yes Ma'am," I said slipping past her, "coming right up."
"Freen?" she said as I walked away. I turned to see her beckoning me back. "A quiet word?
I stepped up to her and bent down, placing my ear next to her cheek. "I've been watching you wandering around fretting, babe. Stop worrying about the competition. However you do I'll be proud of you," she whispered making my heart swell. "I love you," she added.
I nodded and straightened, my heart deflating wrapped in an icy grip.
"I'll bear that in mind, Miss Armstrong," I said loudly, letting people think she'd just given me a warning or something. "If you'd like, I'll get that coffee for you now."
"Thank you, Freen, I'd appreciate that."
"You're welcome.
----
Three and a half hours later it was over, Thursday afternoon was upon us and for Becky, the pressure of the Expo was all over bar the shouting, all that was left for her to do was shake a few more hands and take down the stand. For me, however, the pressure was building. I'd got changed, collected my weapons and set up in the staging area, the sound of gunfire already ringing out from the pistol range.
I was actually quite intimidated by what I'd found as I'd entered the fenced of competitors area. I'd expected this to be a small event, but there were about a hundred people here taking part. Not all of them were in the competition that I was entered in, the triple challenge, however. There were plenty of other events that people were here to show off in. Frankly, as someone who was ex military, some of the events were just fucking weird.
Still, there was no time for me to consider the unimportance of a 'quick-draw' contest, or ponder the relevance of a trick-shooting competition whatever the hell that was. I had ten minutes to prepare for the first event, and it was one I was reasonably confident of doing well in. I used to be a pretty proficient pistol shooter back in the CPU, even managed to win a few merits for it during training. This was going to be different, though. As good as the toys that Becky had got me in the UK were, they weren't the real thing, and I was hoping that I didn't embarrass myself with my lack of practice.
I read through the rules once more, though they were pretty much engraved into my mind. Each competitor had ten shots in the combat stance, ten shots kneeling and ten shots rapid fire and that was it. Thirty shots, best score takes the prize and a lead into the next round. In the event of a tie, there was one more ten shot rapid fire round to decide the winner. It was simple and uncomplicated, something even my squaddies brain could understand. In fact, it was just how I liked it.
We had faced one tiny problem with Becky's grand plan, however. The Ruger subcompact pistol she had bought me had only come with the standard six shot magazine. It was Tuesday afternoon before we realized our error; the rules clearly stating that I needed be able to fire ten shots without reloading. To my relief though, she came through for me again; a quick word with one of the 'stand monkeys' had seen him scurrying off into the exhibition halls and ten minutes later, he returned with a handful of Promag Industries ten shot magazines rather than a new pistol I'd need to get used to.
"They could have got a fifteen shot one for you, but I didn't think the extra would help", Becky had said as she slipped the four magazines over to me.
"You're a very handy person to have around, Miss Armstrong," I said nodding my thanks to the 'monkey' as well. "Very handy, indeed."
"You have no idea how handy I can be, Miss Sarocha," she replied as the 'monkey' vanished, leaving us alone for the first time all day. "But I'll show you later if you're lucky."
"Behave, Miss Armstrong," I said grinning, knowing that we were safe for the moment at least.
"Not a chance."
Carefully, I stripped and checked the Ruger, removing the batteries from the laser sight, unfortunately banned from the competition. I had a smile on my face at the memory of how handy Becky had been on that Tuesday night, or I guess I should say 'handsy', that would be more accurate at least. Still grinning at the thought of her touch, I shook my head and attempted to focus. Those memories not really conducive to my concentration on the task at hand.
Carefully, I slipped those four special magazines into one of the pouches on my belt, securing them in place but making sure they were easy to access. That done, I dropped the pistol into my leg holster and fastened the Velcro retraining strap into place, testing that it was securely fastened before wiping my hands on a clean cloth to remove the grease and oil that had transferred to them. For the first time in days I felt a wonderful sense of calm overtake me, this was it. There was no more time for messing around, no more time for worry. It was me against, well, everyone else and for the first time since I arrived, I felt ready; completely and utterly ready to perform.
"Could we have competitors, Freen Sarocha, to lane number one, James Porter to lane three and Ben Deakin to lane five, please?" the loudspeaker over the area sang out. "That's competitors Sarocha, Porter and Deakin to lanes one, three and five. Ladies and gentlemen, the second round of the pistol shooting event is about to begin."
Here we go...
I stepped into the small booth, placing my pistol on the surface in front of me. It was pretty much a standard outdoor range that had been set up for the event, the main difference being we were in the middle of fucking nowhere and there was a crowd of people around watching what was going on. Fuck knows who they were. As far as I could tell, you'd have to be sad, or committed or both to want to watch a group of people shooting paper targets. Still, there was a sizeable noise behind me as I tried to get ready, the fancy electronic ear defenders we'd been given doing their best to filter it out.
"On the sound of the first horn, you will load and holster your weapon, raising your arm to indicate that you are ready to continue, " the range officer shouted to the three of us. "On the sound of the second horn, you will fire your ten shots in your own time. When you have fired all your shots, place your weapon down on the table and step backwards, raising your arm to indicate your weapon is safe. When the third horn sounds, the round is over. Does everyone understand?"
I signaled the range controller with a thumbs up, staring downrange at the series of colored circles that constituted my target. The air horn signaled the start of the round and I stepped into the booth proper and slipped the oiled magazine into the receiver and slapped it home. With a smooth click, I cocked the pistol and applied the safety before sliding it back into the cordura holster on my leg. I raised my right arm over my head to indicate my readiness, my left hand resting lightly on the grip. Within seconds, the horn sang out once more and I closed my eyes to center myself and went to draw the pistol.
It was a funny feeling that overcame me as I tried to slip the Ruger out of its holster. I heard the loud sounds of shots ringing out from the booth along from me, James and the other guy already letting rip at their targets. I found that the signals from my brain weren't getting through though, it was like there was something in the way that was preventing me from joining in. As the shots rang out, I could feel the old wound in my shoulder aching, as if new, as my left hand tried to work.
My nostrils were suddenly filled with the stench of burning rubber and death, and I could see, as if it was real, Captain Thomas' dead body lying on the range in front of me; a vivid memory of a terrible time. I froze as my mind went into total panic, the pistol only half drawn; my mind was filled with the sight of the insurgent , his clothes billowing in the breeze, his AK47 pointed right at me, and I lost myself in the fear I had experienced as I struggled to draw my pistol clear.
For a brief second, I was once more in that tiny rocky hollow, by the side of a road, ten miles from Grishk on a cold December day; a day when everyone died. I let go of the pistol, allowing it to slip back into the holster. I was ready to call it a day, the pressure had finally gotten to me. I'd not lifted a weapon in 'anger' since that fateful day; and now, with the added strain of having everyone watch my every move, it was all proving too much.
I was halfway through raising my right hand, indicating I was dropping out when I heard a single voice ring out above the cheering and jeering behind me. One single, unforgettable voice that cut through everything, including the sound of gunfire that reverberated around me...
"Come on, Freen, you can do it!"
...and with that one sentence, everything around me stopped, the visions faded into the past and I was left with the sight of the range, and, in the distance, the thin paper target. I closed my eyes once more and took a deep breath, holding it for a second before releasing it through my mouth, forcing out the stale breath and clearing my lungs. The noise around me faded into nothing as I opened my eyes once more, staring downrange at the colored circles.
It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as I carefully drew the pistol and sighted it, thumbing off the safety. I brought the iron sights to bear on the center of the ten ring as I had done so barely seven months before on the center mass of the insurgent that had nearly ended my life; and slowly, and carefully, I squeezed the trigger.
I didn't register the sound of the gunshot, I was suddenly so utterly focused on what I had to do. I was saying a mantra as I repeated the actions I'd been taught to do so long ago, by a grizzly Corporal in an outdoor range half a world away. 'Acquire the target, line up the sights, squeeze the trigger,' it had started; then, 'recover, re-acquire and fire again'
"Recover, re-acquire, line up the sights, squeeze the trigger", I muttered to myself over and over again as I sent round after round after the first to perforate the paper target. Ten times I repeated this mantra, finding the repetition as calming as it had been when I first learned it. Everything unfamiliar looks difficult to the layman, but really every task can be broken down into a manageable set of steps like these. As my penultimate round headed on its way, I went through those steps one last time.
'Recover' I brought the pistol out of its recoil and began bringing it down to where it needed to be.
'Re-acquire the target,' I opened both of my eyes and spotted the sheet of paper still suspended from its frame in the distance.
'Line up the sights,' Carefully I brought the iron sights into a line with my eye and the ten ring, the dead center of the target. I willed the pistol to become a part of my body, aiming it as though it were an extension of my hand; a single, stubby, black finger that dealt death and destruction.
'Squeeze the trigger,' I gently eased back the sensitive trigger, trying not to jerk the pistol off its aim point as I fired it, allowing my body to relax so the bullet would leave the barrel on exactly the right trajectory.
As I recovered the pistol for the last time, I noticed that the slide was locked open, the magazine clearly spent. Regretfully, I placed the Ruger down onto the table, and stepped backwards raising my arm above me; almost immediately the horn rang out for the third time and the crowd cheered behind me.
"What kept you, Blondie?" James called over from his bay, his ear defenders around his neck, a grin on his face. "I thought you weren't going to come and play for a second there."
"Can't rush things, boss," I told him casually, ignoring the adrenaline fueled heart rate. "I wanted to make sure things were just right before I fired, make sure I got the best score I could, you know?"
I turned to the crowd and saw Becky near the front with her family, all of them applauding the competitors. Jenna waved at me as she looked at me and I waved back, feeling really good about myself. As my eyes met Becky's, I watched as she mouthed 'well done' at me. I smiled back at her and she took a quick sidelong glance at the rest of her family before mouthing 'that was so hot' as a follow up.
At least that's what I thought she mouthed at me, I wasn't totally sure. Knowing Becky though, I was probably right. At a signal from the range controller, we collected our weapons, holstered them again and then readied ourselves for the next stage. Once more, we were given the drill from the controller and once more, I loaded the Ruger.
This time, however, there was no flashback, no bad memory to affect my performance. As the second horn rang out, I cleanly drew the weapon and knelt, running through my mantra as I sent the bullets on their way, raining hot lead on the poor unfortunate paper. This time it felt good, it felt really, really good. In fact, I was on top of the fucking world, it was like Grishk had never happened, banished by a loving word from a loving girl...
And for the first time since yesterday, I wasn't scared of how I felt about her. I wasn't scared at all.