The three helos touched down lightly, and recruits began spilling out into the snow. Within thirty seconds, the helicopters were away again, cruising off into the southern sky with the dying chatter of their rotors. The voice of Sgt. Weaver rang out across the snowscape, calling his platoon to rally around a cargo crate. The lids were unlocked and set aside, and thirty chilly bodies crammed around to look inside. A couple of smaller boxes lay near the top, but these were quickly removed to reveal the real goods. For many of them, it was their first time seeing a rifle up close. Weaver pulled one of the rifles out of the foam padding and held it aloft.
“The R14, standard assault weapon of the Confederate Naval Forces and Marine Corps. Developed jointly by BAE Systems and Thales Defense. Fires a 7mm bolt round from a thirty round magazine.”
Eight rifles were laid neatly into the foam pad, minus the one Weaver held. There were also twenty-four magazines arrayed around the empty spaces between weapons, making three mags per rifle. Weaver passed the R14 to a recruit beside him, then began handing out the rifles one by one. There were four layers of foam stacked inside the crate, barely filling it halfway. Veraa guessed that if it was stacked up completely, a standard crate could hold about eight foam layers, totalling sixty-four rifles. Two platoons worth of weapons, from one crate. At last, an R14 was handed to her. She had to resist the urge to break it down and start poking through the insides, as that would probably be seen as showing off, but a quick visual inspection certainly got her hopes up: the R14 seemed to be a solid, capable weapon with no obvious flaws.
Sergeant Weaver had the recruits sit down in three rows, like a classroom in the snow. He began the lesson by describing the parts and features of the weapon, how they work, and how to use it most effectively. He talked about the basics of ballistics, kinetic energy, ‘stopping power’, and how to make shooting less of a chore. After a chilly hour of theory, the ten recruits in the front row of the class were lined up facing a blank expanse of snow. Weaver walked along the row, handing each student a magazine loaded with blanks and a packet with a pair of squidgy, bright orange earplugs. He instructed them on how to load and ready the weapons, while the other students watched. Some of them ‘played along at home’, looking at and fiddling with their rifles as Weaver spoke, practicing the motions; the majority, however, simply stared at the backs of the ten shooters with a mix of awe, fear and excitement. Veraa already had a solid idea of how to operate the R14, but some hands-on practice wouldn’t go astray. Finally, Weaver told the ten shooters to unlock their weapons’ safety switches, fire once, and replace the safety. Ten recruits raised their rifles to their shoulders, laid their cheeks on their stocks, and looked through the simple iron sights at the blank horizon. There was a crackle of gunfire, and many of the spectators flinched. Veraa glanced across at Amy, sitting beside her, who was covering her ears with her gloved hands and looking positively terrified. She smiled and glanced to the other side at Tahj, who was cradling his R14 in his lap like someone who was already comfortable around guns.
“Cadets?” she asked him quietly.
He glanced at her and nodded with a small smile. “Yeah. You?”
“Same. I was a sharpshooter in the Volunteer Militia for a while, too. Forty-second Precinct, Helzaash Ward.”
“Impressive. Very impressive,” he smiled broadly.
Veraa felt herself getting hot under the collar, and thanked him quietly before fixing her eyes back on the lesson.
Life on the Fringes 