ALT #300: Assume the Position
Assume the Position
Summary: On a wet and cold day, Reed gives weapons training to Samtara
Date: 3/11/2014
Related Logs: NONE
Samtara Reed 
Firing Range - Piraeus
Located just outside the fenceline with its own restricted gate access, the firing range covers ranges from five yard targets to two-hundred yards. Each lane and position fires into their own targets they set up with large berms behind them to trap incoming rounds. There is corrugated sheet metal over the firing lanes and dug fighting positions to provide some cover during the rain, also.
Wed Nov 02 2005

There is the sound of a single shot. A lone shooter is in the prone position. His SMI is fitted with the 4X scope, next to him on a small tripod is a spotting scope. After the shot Reed moves his head and looks through the scope. "Damn," he mutters, reaches over to the rifle's scope, makes a slight adjustment. He settles down again, cheek on the butt stock, another round is fired off. "To much," he says with out even bothering to look at the scope. The target - as far down range as can be set here. It's full of holes, all center mass, most are grouped right in the center. Though the last is a bit high and right.

<FS3> Reed rolls Firearms: Success.

The cool rain that's blanketed the colony, this part of the world in fact, continues to fall in sweeping sheets that drift across the camp, not quite sleet but the mist is heavy enough that it's almost fog. The sound of the rain falling on the corrugated sheet metal that protects the firing lanes and the fighting positions is quite the sound, and the sound of the single shots being fired is one of the other notable sounds along with the rain hitting the metal. She doesn't immediately spot the shooter, rubbing at the back of her neck with her right hand while flexing her left hand over the gun that's wearing holstered at her left, the weight of it - the weight of the gun and the weight of the rounds in the clip - is noticeable. Very.

Reed takes up the small jeweler's screwdriver and makes a few more adjustments. He sets it back in it's place. It seems that everything around him has a place. All are laid out carefully, in order - in it's proper place. Obviously the Marine takes this very serious. As for the weather, it's as if it's a forgotten thing. For at the firing range there is only one thing on Reed's mind, nothing else seems to matter. He settles his cheek on the butt stock, almost as if he were placing it against a lover's as his hand grips the weapon. Hand on the grip, finger resting on the outside of the trigger guard. He sights, and only then does his finger slip inside and lightly wraps against the trigger. A breath, half let out and the trigger is squeezed. Boom!

<FS3> Reed rolls Firearms: Good Success.

The sound of another round being fired blends with the sound of rain continuing to hammer down on the corrugated metal roofing, Sam's eyes narrow subtly as she sweeps the firing range with a long look and spots - finally - the shooter. She stands several feet back, well behind the shooter in fact, and since this is the ideal time to do so, she studies the shooter with intense curiosity. Another not subtle flex of her left hand, a speculative gleam in her eyes, studying the shooter and each well taken shot, at least what she can see from here - squinting seriously squinting - down the firing lane.

After the shot Reed lays the weapon on it's side before shifting his head to the spotter's scope. He studies down range. Only then is there a smile "Perfect," he says to himself. He looks over to the weapon, pats it as if had done good. "Don't change a thing. Now to get the gunsmith to work on the pull," He doesn't finish it, has no clue that there is anyone behind him. A hand goes back and scratches as his butt, the right cheek to be exact. Taking up the riffle again he releases the mag, checks the rounds, which is only a matter of double checking, he knows that that last round was the last one in the clip and jacks the charging handle back to make sure that it is in fact empty. Yes, the Marine follows all the rules.

Doctor that she is, surgeon that she is, Sam has seen every possible aspect and facet of the human body, that doesn't mean she can't be amused. And, more specifically, that she doesn't have a sense of humor. Caught by surprise she lets out a startled laugh, quietly, but audible all the same.

Reed's head jerks around as he does hear the laugh, even over the pounding rain. "Oh, Doc, I mean Sir." he rolls over and sits, legs bent at the knees. "I didn't know you where there," then his eyes squint a bit "How long have you been there?"

"My apologies," Sam says as she steps forward, "I wasn't trying to intrude. You were in the zone, in think is the correct phrase, and I didn't want to start firing off shots in the next lane over and throw off your focus." She also doesn't answer his question. "Are you done at the moment or just pausing to reload?"

With a dismissive wave of his hand "No problem Sir. What good is a Marine that can only shoot in the quiet, eh?" He starts to get his stuff, the small screwdriver, matching pliers, and even a tiny hammer are put into a leather tool pouch, each tool held by velcro in it's proper place, is then rolled up and stuffed into a pouch. Next lens caps over the spotting scope and it follows as well. All the while he is giving Samtara glances "So you come to shoot?" How obvious, a shooting range, she has a weapon. He points to his own weapon, "Care to try it out?"

Sam eyes the weapon that Reed is holding, a silent moment of consideration. "I did come to shoot, I need to brush up again, and no," she shakes her head slowly. "Hand gun, yes. Some breed of over sized assault weapon? Thank you but no thank you," is her very polite answer and glances instead at the hand gun at her side. "This is as much as I'm willing to take up, and I only have to qualify at the range every few months," not sounding all that thrilled by the prospect.

The SMI is set aside, he crosses his arms over his drawn up knees, his head tilts a little to the side "So Sir, you have gone down with the Marines right?" Reed doesn't really wait for an answer before he continues on "Say on the next mission you happen to find yourself on a mission that the Marines with you are shot up, the canners are closing in. YOu know that they don't take prisoners, that they all will be killed, including you. The only weapon at hand is one of these," he motions to his SMI "What are you going to do? Ask them to let you get a hand gun, ask them to wait till someone else can show up and pick it up and protect you and the wounded Marines?" He shakes his head "You are to preserve life, that is what Doctors do, right?" He pauses a moment before continuing on "What about in that case, are you not as obligated to preserve those lives that now depend on you and your actions. Are you going to let those Marine's die?"

Sam's eyes narrow ever so subtly, "In order of inquiry. Yes. What's necessary. I don't ask the Cylon's anything. Yes. And.. no," she parses all the questions in logical order. Each response spaced with a measured pause to delineate the answer. "The first oath that a doctor takes it to first do no harm. Every time I do inflict damage, do inflict harm, I'm as required to repair the damage that I do. I'm as oath bound as I am duty bound, and it's not something I take lightly. Protecting the marines who are in my care is as tied to my oath to serve the Colonies," she flexes her left hand again, visibly annoyed and throttling it back with effort.

Reed chuckles "What?" He asks as she answers the questions in the order given. it takes him a moment to fill in the blanks left by her straight answers. "Sir, with all respect, while you might be able to keep track of the questions and thus answer them with little detail and such a way makes perfect sense for you," he runs a hand over his face "for most normal people it's confusing." He stands and with both hands dusts his legs and then his butt off and moves a bit closer to Sam. In her space perhaps. His eyes meet her's fixed on them as a matter of fact. "So, with never fired a SMI, you figure to jut pick it up, start shooting to protect those Marines that are now your responsibility?" He shakes his head "That's kind of like me strolling into your Med Bay and start treating your patients with no training, isn't it?"

"Who doesn't keep track of the questions asked, and in what order, thus making it more difficult to comprehend the answers given to the questions asked?" Sam asks in return, sounding - logically - baffled by this idea. "That's . . absurd," she shakes her head then frowns slightly as Reed moves closer, the frown remaining in place as she eyes the SMI - which must be the weapon he's holding - and back again. "And you wouldn't do that, that's absurd," she says this again, because honestly, "why would I let you work on my patients? that's . ." she draws a slow breath, smooths one hand against the back of her neck again, "a comparison that I understand. Are you suggesting that I need to learn how to use that . . thing," yeah that's exactly what she's calling the SMI, "because I may have to use it at some point. You do realize that I can mostly hit the target half the time, and this is with a hand gun. You don't want the math on what's likely to happen if I try to shoot that thing."

Reed inches in closer, the weapon between them, "Sir, again with all due respect, every time you go on a mission with the Marines, or find yourself with Marines in a combat situation and not knowing what to do in that situation, you are then a liability to everyone on the team." He pulls no punches. Taking a bit of her logic to speak in facts only. "Why are you a liability? Because, Sir, now Marines have to divide their attention to protecting you. A Marine's attention divided in such situations is a dead or wounded Marine. When Marines go out, they know one another, they know what the other is going to do, what they are capable of, what they are not. Each team," he pauses "When in surgery you have a team, yes? You rely one each member of your team to do what they are supposed to do when they are supposed to do. What if I came in to your surgery room, not sure where to go, where not to go, what to not pick up? Would I not endanger the patient at that time?" He rises the rifle up so that it's right bellow their eyes. "Yes Sir, I want you to learn how to use one of these, as a start." There are only inches between them. His left hand holds the forward grip, he, with out looking at it, begins to field strip the weapon right there, his eyes never once leave her's. Each part that is removed, it's put into the cargo pockets of his pants. Once it's down as far as a field stripping will go, he then begins to put it all together. The fresh scent of fired gunpowder is thick between them, as is the smell of the gun oil. Once the weapon is back together he smiles "I bet you could do similar in your surgery room, with a patient, no?" As for the questions and details he grins "We will work on that, Sir, but first," he raises the weapon just slightly higher, brows raised, waiting for her to take the weapon.

Sam's eyes narrow subtly again as Reed speaks, following the logical points that he outlines - without interrupting - and only break eye contact when he raises the rifle up and begins taking it apart. They come apart? Well. . alright then."Of course I could, yes, being able to dismantle all the working part of my surgery is vital due to the necessity of cleaning and sterilizing everything on a regular and scheduled basis. Even a sterile operating theatre must be processed to ensure . . Right. You were making a point," she flexes her left hand again, fingers curled and tapping briefly against her thigh (or, more accurately, against the small notebook that's in the pocket there and the ballpoint pen tucked alongside it) for a moment before she nods. "Logical. Linear. And pointed, in short, you're right. So, what is it that you suggest then?"

Reed smiles. There is a slight nod of his head. "Good," is all he says at first. He takes a step back "Now watch," he turns the weapon over "No clip in it," he points where the clip should be, where it goes. He turns the weapon over and with exaggerated movements "Take this hear," he grips a small leaver on the bolt "Pull it back and look in the barrel." He does it "Look /into/ the barrel, make sure there is not a round in it." He demonstrates. "Once it's safe, empty," he lets the slide go and closes wit a metallic click "You can then give it to someone." He holds the weapon out to her for her to take. A nod of his head to urge her on.

Sam studies Reed's movements, her focus intent on not what he does but on exactly HOW he's doing one thing at a time. That and he's not wearing gloves . . and expects her to take the weapon that he holds out to her. "What, now?" she asks, a thread of alarm in her voice before she drops one hand to her right front pocket, palms the hand sanitizer and squirts some of into her palm, works it into her skin then returns the bottle to it's pocket before she takes the weapon that he hands out to her. "Say it again, if you would," she asks as she tests the weight of the weapon, trying NOT to hold on to it like it's liable to explode if she does the wrong thing. "Which lever?"

There is a brief chuckle as she takes out her sanitizer. "Turn it over, make sure there is no clip in it." Obviously there isn't, but this is how recruits are trained. And is she not a recruit? "Then, the bolt lever," which he points out to her. "Pull it back, hold it, tilt the weapon down so you can see into the barrel."

Sam runs through the motions, slowly, but with measured care to hammer down the words and the motions that go with, "Wouldn't it be easier to just have some sort of count on the side of it to tell you when it's empty?" she wonders but pulls back the bolt, not smoothly, then angles the weapon until finding the right tilt and narrows her eyes subtly then nods and looks back up. "Now what?"

Reed laughs "A good Marine, Sir, knows how many rounds have been shot through. No need for a counter." He taps his head as if that's the counter. He turns and picks up the empty clip and holds it up. "The clip, or mag or magazine. It holds twenty rounds of seven point nine two by thirty three millimeter rounds. In his other hand he holds up a bullet "One of these." He lets her look at it for a moment. "This," he shakes the mag "goes into there," he points to the proper place. "The curve always goes forward. You put it in and then with the bottom of her hand slap it, firmly, into place." He motions for her to take the empty magazine "Do it."

"You keep count, while being shot at, you keep count?" Sam asks, not quite incredulous but there's still a tone of frank surprise in her voice. "Let me test my understanding. You volunteer to join the Marines. You volunteer to carry half again your weight in gear and equipment. You get dropped into situations that the rest of the universe would voluntarily be anywhere away from. And while you're there, getting shot at, in the mud, in the rain, in the grime, insects, snow, what ever, you keep COUNT?" She eyes the bullet, curve point forward she's got that part, "You have no idea how many of these I've retrieved from you marines and everyone else since this war started," grim tone of voice as she takes the empty magazine, finds the right approach again and fits it into place with careful application of force to make sure that it's in sync.

"Yes sir, you have to. It's like this Sir, in the heat of battle, do you shoot the last round at the Cylon that is closing in, allowing the other one to get even closer while you get a fresh mag out and reload, or do you, cause you have counted, know you have only one round left, go ahead and reload while you still have the time, and have enough bullets to take out both?" To him it's simple. Allowing her to continue to hold on to the weapon he reaches out and tugs on the mag, it stays in the weapon. "Make sure that it is firmly locked in place, nothing worse than putting one in to only have it fall back out." He points to a button "You push that to release the mag so you can put in another. This," he points to another switch "Is the safety/selector switch. On /S/ it is on Safety, it can't fire. On this position," he shows "it will fire one round each time you pull the trigger. Here, three round burst, and here, full auto. Which means it will continue to shoot as long as you pull the trigger." He looks into her eyes, making sure she has all that.

"One for Safety, two for individual rounds, three for three round bursts and four for emptying the magazine as long as the trigger is depressed," Sam recites, still breaking down the mechanics of it. "So counting matters, alright," she agrees with another measured nod, not arguing with the expert. He's the expert. "If it's not firmly locked in it'll fall back out, if it falls back out then the bullets won't actually load and if they don't load they won't fire," see, simple logic.

"Yes sir," he says, the look on his face is much like a parent proud of his child actually getting it. He reaches into one of his ammo pouches and pulls out a fully loaded magazine. He holds it up and shakes it slightly "Ready for the real thing, Sir?" He steps out of the way, motioning her to step up to the line. "Drop the empty, make sure you are on Safe, put in the fresh mag, pull the bolt back, let it go and now the weapon is loaded and ready to fire."

"No," Sam answers in a frank tone of voice, "but that's a moot point," she doesn't exactly grumble the words at Reed. "How do I remove the empty magazine?" is wondered, even as she's checking (a trifle compulsively) that the weapon is on safety even as she has it aimed at the ground. "I imagine there's a button or a level or a switch?"

There is now a few other Marines about, watching, "With your left hand, hold the empty, push that button and it will come out." He tells her, before he jogs over to take a weapon from one of the Marines. He jobs right back, demonstrates for her. "Just like this." And there, he is holding the magazine that was in the weapon but now is in his hands.

"Ahh, see, there's a button," Sam replies and angles the weapon again until she locates it, works the mechanism and removes the empty one and eyes it. "I see why you marines wear clothing with so many pockets. You must have a numbered system," she reasons and tucks the empty magazine into one of the pockets of the parka she's wearing. "Ok. Now I need one that isn't empty. And if you drop it on the ground doesn't it then get dirty and you have to clean it before you can fill it again with bullets?"

Reed fishes out another clip, hands it over to her. "Always keep the barrel down range, Sir." He nods "It gets dirty sir, but these weapons, as long as it's not packed with mud or something will fire. It's Marine proof, Sir. Designed with the rigors of combat in mind." He keeps a keen eye on her as she handles the weapon. When she gets the clip in he motions to the safety officer. There is a voice on the loud speaker "Read on the left, ready on the right, ready on the firing line." Reed grins "That," he points to one of the speakers "means that the range is hot, you can fire. But, before you do I will show you how to hold it, aim it, how to shoot it."

"Why down range and not just at the ground? Isn't aimed down just as safe as aimed down range?" Sam wonders as she accepts the clip and, after a brief twist left then right to get a good look at it she fits it into place with another of those movements of measured force application to make sure that it's properly seated. Her head tilts back briefly at the sound from the loud speaker, "That's to ensure that there's no one down range that's in danger of being shot at, I would presume?" before lowering her attention back to Reed and then the range at large. "I'm not laying down on the ground," she cannot put enough emphasis into those words but she certainly tries. "If I can't fire this thing standing up, I'll go back to working with the hand gun, why do you need to lay down on the ground in the first place? That's where you were, I mean, when I came in. And the little tools, why those?"

Reed can't help but laugh "Sir, a bullet is going to go where ever the barrel is pointed. Always, I mean always, learn to keep the barrel in the direction you want a bullet to go. Be it here on the range, out in combat, it doesn't matter. Down range." He gives her a shrug when she talks about laying on the ground "It's your ass, Sir, if you want to stand go for it. Makes a great target to be shot at. Might as well dress you up in bright orange too. Maybe a sign that says /Shoot me/ while we are at it. And," he grins "you are more accurate laying on the ground. Nice and solid place, next best is sitting, and the least accurate is standing. I don't know about you, Sir, but I want to hit what I am shooting at." Ahh, the tools "I was setting the scope," he points to the thingy on top "to match the weapon, Sir. That one is the one I always request to carry, I spend the time to make sure it's as accurate as it can be."

"I see," whether she does or not is, again, moot but Sam studies Reed again, even after he's had his laugh. "Well, aren't you just full of good humor," she eyes Reed then the ground then Reed again. "Alright. Show me," she gestures with her right hand in a vague 'go ahead, assume the position' request. "And am I using your preferred weapon and preferred scope? Would you rather we trade so that I don't mess this one up?"

Reed is grinning, shaking his head too. He gets down, in a shooter's laying position and pats the mat beside him "Right here, Sir, just like I am." He shrugs at the question about using his weapon "If it can't take what ever abuse you do to it then something is wrong. Come on then," he pats the mat once more "Assume the position, Sir."

Sam eyes the mat that Reed pats - not once, no, but twice, in case she didn't see it the first time - with a measure of rather carefully controlled dismay. "When is the last time these things were cleaned?" she asks, not budging. Yet. working her way there. "Do you have any idea how many germs are on every square inch of surface area at any given time? Short of using special lighting to kill germs constantly or wiping down the surfaces between each shooter you are risking the transferrance of germs, bacteria, mold, other - and uncountable - detrius and debris with each pass. Communicable diseases are called thus for exactly this reason." She exhales, slowly, because it's impossible to hyperventilate while breathing slowly. It just doesn't work, one or the other. "Right. Alright. I can do this. Fine. sure. Bleach wipes, Corporal, bleach wipes would make this entire thing ever so much easier," and she takes her time, studying Reed then taking a similar - if more awkward and tense - position on the mat. "This thing smells like feet," she doesn't say that very quietly, either.

Reed just rolls his eyes as she goes on and on about germs "Sir, with all respect, get your ass down here." He waits for her to get down and nods his approval "I promise, after we get done I will have you run through decon." He takes a deep breath and puts the weapon on his shoulder, grips it and looks over to her. "Just like this, make sure it's tight against your shoulder too." He lays his cheek on the weapon, a finger instinctively goes up and switches the safety to single shot. "Do just like that, through the scope, put the dot right on the center mass of the target (the targets are out lines of the human form). Right on the center if the chest." Reed looks over to make sure she is going it right "Take in a deep breath, let half out, hold it and then gently squeeze the trigger. Don't anticipate the shot, let it surprise you." And he takes in a breath, lets half out, gently squeezes. Boom.

<FS3> Reed rolls Firearms: Good Success.

"That wasn't, ever, not going to happen," Sam mutters as she exhales and resolves to breathe through her mouth while she does this. If she can't smell the mat then maybe she won't have to think about it. At least not constantly, or in the top 10% of her processing. "Why?" she asks, curious, "Against my shoulder, I mean, why does it need to be tight against my shoulder?" and then she sees him pressing his face against the weapon. Speechless for a moment, because her skin just started to itch in that crawly sensation of germs climbing upward like ants on a slender twig crawling onto a tree. Ever upward. Her eyes close for a moment as she mutters, "I'm not a marine. I'm not a marine. There's a reason I'm not a marine. You marines touch EVERYTHING." Another slow breath drawn through teeth that are set, the air whistling slightly, her eyes open and she glares 'down range' as much as looks down range. "If you laugh I swear I will find a reason to have you in for some kind of inoculation every damned week until we run out of things to give you injections for. Putting my face against the side of the gods bedamned weapon because that's what marines do, they touch every blasted thing," and she's mimics what Reed is doing while counting through the firing positions. 1 for safety, 2 for single shot and selects the single shot firing option and squeezes the trigger.

<FS3> Samtara rolls Firearms: Good Success.

Reed isn't laughing out loud, but he his shaking as he tries very hard to not let it out loud. "Because, Sir, touching is everything." What he means by that? Not telling right now. He hears her talk, but he never takes his eyes off the target. When the weapon goes off he is looking through his scope. His shot a bit low and left, her's near dead center mass. "Nice shot, Sir!" he exclaims. Then peering at her over the stock of the weapon "Because if it's not hard against your shoulder it will hurt like frak." He smiles a moment as he looks at her. A breath before he sights down range again "Once more." he takes a deep breath, lets half out, squeeze, Boom!

<FS3> Reed rolls Firearms: Good Success.

"And there's a logical reason that these things aren't designed so that they don't do that?" Sam wonders, still glaring down range even as she's shifting a little bit on the mat, trying to find a more comfortable position to be laying in while the creepy-crawly sensation of germs sliding along her skin continues to try to drive her craz(y/ier) than normal. "And touching is not everything, only infants need to explore the world in a tactile sense. Nonsense." She does, however, narrow her eyes again and takes another shot at the same target she'd just somehow hit.

<FS3> Samtara rolls Firearms: Failure.

Reed is watching the target again, hears the boom, but there is only three holes on the target. Four shots, yea well that answers that. "Nice try, Sir. But I think you were jerking the trigger, just squeeze it." He runs his hand over his rifle, caressing it really "To a Marine, his rifle is everything, Sir. He keeps it with him always, he takes care of it, cleans it, keeps it oiled. When in the field he is never with out it, sleeps with it. Just like a lover. Then when it's needed it rewards him for all that tender care by shooting and shooting straight." He cocks his head to look at her "Do you understand, Sir?"

"So you're telling me to keep count, do all those other things, and relax?" Sam wonders in return, lifting her head slightly and eyeing Reed as he speaks. By the time he's done she's studying him with all the focus and and attention to detail that she'd levy upon any experiment that yielded some manner of unexpected result. "Intriguing." Her only remark, and not even in a tone of voice that's easy to discern, before she turns back to the target that she's missed this time around. "And no, I don't understand the semantic content of your words while, at the same time, understanding each word that you've spoken. I do, however, gather the gist and therefore the intent of same. It's a tool, Corporal, and a life saving and life taking one, at the same time. As is a scalpel or any other piece of medical equipment; to do surgery is to heal by means of blade and other instruments. A blunt scalpel will do more harm than good. Care for the equipment, care for the patient; got it," and she tries to duplicate the exact conditions for the first shot with the third one.

<FS3> Samtara rolls Firearms: Success.

When Samtara shoots again he checks the target "In the chest, a bit low, but still a killing shot, Sir." He sits up and looks at her there with the weapon. "It's something that I do not think you would understand sir. To a Marine it's more than a bunch of bent and twisted and formed metal. It's alive, its part of you. Some times I think I have carried my rifle longer than I have ever been with a girl friend." He gives a shrug. He clears his weapon, removes the clip and jacks the bolt back to eject the round that was in the chamber. "Maybe you should shoot some more, Sir. I think you have the skill to do so. A bit rough around the edges, but with enough shooting that can be ironed out."

"I don't think it's something I would understand, no," Sam agrees, still studying the target at the end of the firing range. "But I'm not sure you'd understand, Corporal, the beauty there is in the human body. How perfectly balance a healthy body is, the symmetry, the internal organs working together in a concentrated ballet to ensure that every single spare ounce of space is utilized the the utmost efficiency. To be able to diagnose, perfectly, what ails a patient and be able to repair, perfectly, that exact same thing and restore the patient to full health as a result. You talk about your weapon as though it's a part of you. And I don't want to comprehend that. Because I don't want to be a skilled shot, Corporal, I want to be efficient. So that, yes, if I have to pick up one of these again and kill someone, again, then I can do it, again, because there are no other choices. I'd like, next time, to be sure that I'm killing a centurion not just a jacked, and not have to have the body on the table in my morgue to autopsy afterward. In fact, I'd like that a great deal, Corporal," never once taking her eyes off the target before she squeeze off another round. "I'm a surgeon, a healer, for a reason."

<FS3> Samtara rolls Firearms: Good Success.

Reed, by his sitting position is able to look over Samtara as she lays there. He can't suppress the grin "Yea, the body's not to bad, Sir. I fully agree with you there." As for the weapon being a part of him "You take pride in your skills, right. You know exactly how to hold the scalpel, where to cut and no further. This," he shakes the SMI 80 he is holding "is no different sir. I feel the same as you do. I'm good at what I do, I want to be better, always trying to improve. Same as you. So you see sir, we are not that different." Well other than he kills with his, she heals with her's.

Sam makes a quiet sound, "That's four, out of twenty, correct?" she says, keeping that mental tally going because it's part of the process, right. "The body is the most efficient piece of machinery every designed. For all that our tissue and constituent body mass is made up primarily of water, and we'd die of dehydration a lot faster than we'd starve to death, it's still the best thing up and walking around. If we'd remembered that and hadn't built the machines in the first place, we wouldn't be here, no would we," and 'here' is 'laying on a mat that smells of feet, listening to the rain drum against metal, and shooting at paper targets'. "We're all unique, Corporal, haven't you heard? Just like everyone else. So why are you a marine?" she gets to ask, because the mat smells like feet.

Oh the thoughts he has as she lays there, talking of how great the body is. "Not arguing with you there, Sir." After all he is human, male. He clears his throat, brings his weapon up and scopes in the target "Nice shooting, Sir. Yea, a little rough around the edges but you have the talent. Might even make a good Marine, Sir." When she asks why he is a Marine he lowers his weapon. Looks at her, shrugs "I think you have had enough lessons for the day, Sir. I do need to get this back to the Private over there." There is something about the way he says it, his whole attitude has changed and he didn't answer her question.

"Unless you figure out a way to start having everything wiped down with germ killing compounds, Corporal, me becoming a marine is not, ever, going to happen," Sam replies as she eyes the weapon again, selects setting 1 and works through the steps to eject the magazine and makes sure that a bullet isn't where it's not supposed to be at present. "So, five out of twenty, with four actually hitting the target, that's not bad - statistically speaking." She dusts her hands off, sits up and tries to avoid touching the mat with her hands as she does so. "Thank you for the lesson, and I appreciate you not laughing out loud at me."

Reed gives a nod of approval as she steps through the process of clearing her weapon "Not bad shooting at all, Sir. Very good actually. And perfect in the count." He motions and a Private comes over and retrieves his weapon, lingers a moment "Don't you have something to do, Private?" who then scurries away. He smiles "I will work on that, Sir, making sure everything is sterilized. Just for you, Sir." He gets up, offers her his hand to help her stand. "Nothing to laugh at sir. But since you have gone this far, next I'll teach you how to field strip the weapon and clean it."

Sam glances over at the Private with a nod before she turns to the offered hand that Reed has extended, "The word 'clean' usually means something good. Why do I have the feeling that, in this instance, it doesn't mean exactly what I think it means?" she wonders. She reaches up and sets her hand just past his wrist, grasping his forearm briefly as she rises to her feet, carrying the weapon with her and trying to ignore the way the tip of her nose is itching, no way is she touching her face until her hands are clean again. "My thanks," she says as she uses her free and to dust herself off.

"Not sure what you mean, Sir," Reed replies as she, much to his surprise, takes hold of his arm and he helps pull her to her feet. He takes his weapon back, makes sure it is clear before it's slung over his shoulder. "I am at your service, Sir. I think we should have some more training though. You do need to know the weapon, how to clean it. The rule is if you use it you clean it. This time," he grins "I'll take care of it. But the next time," he doesn't finish with words but with a smile.

"When I clean something, Corporal, it's a full sweep of germs and bacteria, usually involving but not limited to the use of such compounds as alcohol or bleach, though there's a number of other chemical compounds to select from. I don't think, for example, that My idea of cleaning the weapon and your idea of cleaning the weapon are compatible. You won't, and this is just a guess, be subjecting the weapon to UV light or submerging it in a chemical solution to render all surfaces entirely devoid of bacteria before it's dried and assembled again?" A fine thread of humor shades her voice, but she's pretty certain that her assessment is accurate. "That being said, I do appreciate your time. Being able to make the qualifications every cycle is important, not just because I don't appreciate the knowing smirk on the face of the officer administering the test every damned time. Oh look, her comes Dr. Nadir, lets see if she can hit the target three out of ten."

Reed laughs "No Sir, not exactly what I was talking about. But we do use solvent, gun oil, lots of bits of cloth, which are called patches." He looks a little smug "But never fear, Sir, I will get you trained up."

"You do realize that my way would potentially be more efficient," Sam suggests in return, tucking her hands - until they're cleaned again - into the pockets of her parka to keep them warm. "Not that you'd want to take a container of cleaning solution to submerge the weapon in when you're out crawling around and getting shot at. That would be a bit cumbersome and time consuming. Which degrades the efficiency of the solution. Hmm." Her eyes focus again, yes she does that, "Trained up? Hm. Well. You made a good argument. Even if all you do is change one mind it's a victory."

All his gear has been gathered up as he listens to her. There, everything accounted for. "And your way would possibly make the weapon corrode, over time, and thus leave it so that it could not fire at the most inopportune time, Sir." As for carrying her cleaning solutions he just smiles at it. Yea, that's not going to happen. His brows go up when she actually said he made a good argument "One mind at a time, sir, one mind at a time."

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