| Home on the Range |
| Summary: | Gunplay down on the range. |
| Date: | 20 Feb 2024 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
      |
| Shooting Range - Deck 12 - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| This nearly soundproof room has ten shooting booths in a straight line that face the target field. The ranges move out to thirty yards, each booth using its own track to take targets out to the desired distance vial a simple dial at the booth. Behind the firing line is a long bench that runs the width of the room where crewmembers can load magazines and compare targets. At one end is a huge stack of paper targets that has either Cylons or a few different types of human targets on them. A large sign hangs from the ceiling that details out the rules such as wearing eye and ear protection and watching where weapons are pointed at all times. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #359 |
The range is lined up, straight and neat as only a Caprican could. Not knowing what type of turnout to expect, given the open invitation nature of the training protocol, each of the ten booths has already been laid out and equipped: ear and eye protection, and both a Picon Five-seveN and GMAR rest (empty) on the shelf pointing down the lane. Before anyone receives their magazines of range rounds, they'll have to listen to the Marine CO's spiel. Each lane already has a Cylon-shaped target hanging at the end of the row, ready to be shredded.
The bench lining the back of the room is loaded to the gills with magazines, paired off for pistols and rifles. Additionally, two other types of rifles, seldom-seen but still used (situationally) are resting empty for demonstration purposes. The set-up should be self-guiding: enter, find a lane, don't touch anything, and wait.
Entering the shooting range, Circe's dog tags gleam in the light as they shift against her chest - mingling with the two handmade medallions. She gives a roll of her shoulder back and withdraws the sweat shirt, folding the arms about her waist the corpsman steps off to the side. She bends over to fix her shoe, tying it tighter as she waits.
Rising upward again, her hand lifts to draw her hair from her face as best she can and tie it off into place. The yellow bruise is starting to fade on her right shoulder.
With time on his hands and having spent all he could already with regards to sleep, bright-eyed and proverbially bushy-tailed Sergeant Lysander can be spotted amongst the group awaiting the bounty that the shooting range can offer. His arms are casually folded over his torso and brown fatigues, leaning at a rakish angle as he stands at slot three. He's one of the earlier of folk to have arrived to the range. Enter, find a lane, don't touch anything, and wait: he can do that.
Horray! It's a Lunair. She has a polite, distant smile as she listens. Her strangely colored eyes consider people around her. She finds herself a lane. She smiles politely at enlisted as she passes. Alas, she is a relic of a distant, more proper era. When occifers were all bluebloods. Oddly enough, money can't buy height. Alas.
Speaking of bluebloods, Cora enters next, glancing about the range before moving to one of the lanes. She does not, however, wait patiently once there, instead stepping back out after a moment to locate Madilyn and greet her politely, "Major Willows-Cavanagh. Evening." She glances about at the mixed crowd, advising, "I believe several of my assistants may be joining us later, I advised they would do well to take advantage of the opportunity. There has not been a great deal of time for brushing up on auxiliary skills lately."
Noting that others are taking up lanes, Circe spots a the familiar faces and moves to line up and take her own spot. She slides into one just over from Lysander and she waves a hand in greeting. She turns to regard the others and nods to Madilyn, "Sir." She intones.
She gives a shift of the sweatshirt wrapped about her waist. Her hazel eyes lower to look over the spread of weapons - a buffet!
There's no XO to run this training exercise: no, it's all Madilyn tonight, boys and girls. As more and more Marines file in, it turns from casual educational event to more formal firing range exercise. When your lifeblood, bread-and-butter skill is shredding stainless steel at 350 meters, you better damn well be able to hit a paper target down here in the comfortable confines of your shooting gallery.
"Come on, come in," she instructs as people file in, as per the fleet announcement. "Find a lane, and get situated." Each person is observed, cataloged: pilot, marine, tactical, command, whatever they may be. Do they know how to shoot? Are they wide-eyed youngsters? Have they even seen/held/fired a weapon beyond boot? The Marine herself is sitting at the end of entryway there, clipboard in hand, ear protection about her neck, safety goggles piled up on her head.
"Do you know how many we might expect then? And have they ever fired a weapon in their time since boot camp? As you can see, the majority of folks taking advantage of organized training right now are Marines. They'll require less attention - but more exercises - than less experienced shooters." Madilyn addresses the questions to Cora, making notes on the clipboard the entire time.
Lysander lifts a hand in quietly greeting Circe but the Major is speaking up and so his attention drifts in Madilyn's direction. In the process, he offers brief, short-lived smiles to those he knows: one of his squad, Cora, Lunair, there aren't many beyond that but at this point he is reaching to the side for his safety equipment in order to hold them at his sides. While the officers talk it out, the sharpshooter slides on the eye protection with relative ease before shifting the ear's into both of his hands for the time being.
"I believe there will most likely be three or so," Cora replies to Madilyn, "One of whom has certainly continued training since bootcamp, the other two I could not say for certain. In these times, however, I think it is important even for those most often found behind a desk to prepare for as many potentialities as they can."
Magus arrives from the Deck 12.
Magus has arrived.
To the ship's TACCO, Madilyn nods. "Understood. There should be plenty of lanes available to them. I've reserved the range for organized exercises for the next few hours, on the understanding that it won't just be Marines." In fact, there's more than enough lanes for the pilot entering as well. "Pop quiz: Crewman Lagana, caliber round does the pistol in front of your fire? How large is the magazine?" While she talks, Madilyn walks the line, picking up magazines for distribution when folks have found their lanes and gotten situated.
She is pulling the earcovers over her neck to get them into place as the glasses are lifted next. The corpsman gives pause as the Major addresses her. Oh gods. Circe lets her eyes flicker over the weapons spread out and she focuses on the pistol. The Five-seveN is considered and she draws a breath. It had been a little bit she had to admit and her fingers were used to needles and tweezers. "28 mm, sir. I do believe." She wets her lips and the magazine is then given scrutiny as she moves it just a bit where it lies but not picking it up. "The magazines can be 10, 20, or 30 rounds…the latter being two inches longer past the butt." She explains, giving her gaze back to the woman. Slowly weapons training is coming back through the fog of medical terms.
Magus Boreas makes his way up to the shooting range, running a few minutes late due to his just returning from the CAP and having had to take time to change out of his flight suit. Arriving just as Madilyn begins questioning Circe, he grabs the handle on the hatch, and opens it — the hatch giving way with a metalic clank. The Raptor Pilot steps in through the hatch, closing it behind him as he does. He moves to take up a position at one of the open stalls, but turns then to pay attention to the corpsman and the Major.
Well done! Lunair smiles at the Corpsman's answer. She's distantly polite, and quietly keeping to herself for the moment. She glances over, seeing Magnus come in. A polite lift of the hand (Really, the only thing impolite she might do is bite someone. Or something). She watches for now.
Lysander leans forward in his quiet observation, checking out one person and then the next as his gaze bounces from one point of interest to the next. So long as he isn't being drilled about the basics, he's fine and dandy in just watching the others.
"Partially correct, crewman. The Picon Five-seveN is the standard-issue sidearm for Colonial fleet operations. If you see an officer carrying a sidearm on-duty, it's very likely this weapon. It fires the 5.7 mm round, and the magazines you'll find are often 10 rounds." As she speaks, Madilyn walks down the line, handing each person a magazine…only if they've gotten their ear and eye protection secured. "To get warmed up, to get loose and ready for the bigger guns, we're going to have a little competition with the pistol."
"These, of course, are our rubber range rounds. There are ten of them in each magazine. We're going to shoot five rounds. The winner is going to get a pack of smokes, from my own stockpile that I've been saving up, to do with as they please." With the magazines handed out, Madilyn stands back from the line. "Load your magazines, unsafety your pistols, and we'll see who can get the tightest grouping of body shots on their target. Recall, NEVER point your weapon anywhere but at the targets. If you turn around, your weapon is safetied and set down in front of you."
<OOC> Madilyn says, "And now for the mechanics of this thing. For the shooting part, you're going to roll your firearms skill. Success, Good Success, and Great Success are each worth 1, 2, or 3 points. The sum of the points represents how well you did on grouping them, hitting the target in general, whatever. Penalties to the roll will be used for moving targets, shots in specific locales, etc. Grouped body shots I'm treating as the 'base line.' Pick a spot on the body, put three bullets as tight as you can, together, anywhere on the body."
Cora nods to Madilyn, and then steps back towards the lane she has nominally claimed. As a question is lobbed at Circe, she watches the corpsman, not the type to pass answers, it seems. Lysander, when she spots him, gets a nod of greeting, but then it is time to get down to business. Magazine is clicked into weapon, safety removed, and she steps up square to the target for the first challenge.
Magus listens silently to all that the Marine Major has to say on safety, and how the competition will run. He quickly dons his safety gear. Safety glasses cover his ice blue eyes, and large plastic ear muffs are slid over his ears. The magazine is received from the Major, slid into the pistol, and the first round is chambered. The Lieutenant JG squares up to the target, and then prepares to take on a challenge that is far outside his normal daily routine.
She takes the magazine handed to her and nods, listening closely as she is given a refresher. 5.7 mm. She clears her throat, turning about as she sets down the magazine to favor the earcovers. She pulls them up, the sounds muffled and the own ringing in her ears magnified for her in the sound buffer. Circe squares up at first, loading the magazine and keeping the safety on. Facing down the target range, she checks over the gun and then slides her finger up against the side of the trigger without looping around it. Her left hand cups the bottom and she holds it angled downwards as her right foot shifts back a little, easing into a ready stance. Her eyes focus down the range, studying the targets given to each armed student.
Lunair smiles and listens. Though it fades to a more sturdy bearing. She will step up in turn, clicking the magazine into her weapon. She considers it, looking thoughtful for now. So ferocious, this Marine.
<FS3> Magus rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Magus rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Magus rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Magus rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Magus rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms: Great Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms: Great Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Great Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Failure.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Success.
Good ol' Lysander inclines his head to the side and pivots his gaze off towards Cora, offering the officer a cheeky grin. "Think you can beat me with that peashooter?" Then again, he has the exact same peashooter. With his ear protection on and double-checked he accepts his magazine from Madilyn and promptly turns around. He looks to his Five-SeveN and then reaches for it with his right hand, tilting it to the side in order to slide the magazine within before checking the slide. The safety is switched off with his gaze looking forward. The marine takes form and begins firing.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms: Good Success.
Cora lifts a brow at Lysander and replies with a shrug, "The peashoooter is my weapon of choice. Think you can manage without all the fancy scopes and laser sights?" She adjusts her ear protection just before they all begin, taking aim and rapidly squeezing off five rounds and then lowering her Five-SeveN to wait for the results.
The Raptor Pilot sights down the barrel of his pistol, closing his left eye as he does. The gun is held in his hand, but in a slightly unsteady fashion. Five shots come in rapid succession from Magus, and pepper the target in a less then efficient manner — two shots missing outright here. Magus closes his eyes for a moment after the quick succession of shots, and then lowers the gun. The results are not impressive, but they are a start. The Pilot's face remains calm here though, despite the disapointing performance.
Cutting through the relative calm of the shooting range, there is a beep and static on the ship's intercom. "Lieutenant Boreas, please report to the portside hangar immediately. Repeat, Lieutenant Boreas, please report to the port side hangar." With that said the intercom blips and the static dissipates to the shuffle and movement of bodies within the range.
Squeezing off her own shots, the corpsman lets out her breath slowly to keep her hands steady. She sights down the gun as she squeezes gingerly. One, two, three, four, five. The echoing sound lasts for a few seconds and her hands tingle from the recoil of the gun cradled in her grasp.
Lunair is apparently a fair shot with a pistol. She quirks her brow at the call over the intercom. She smiles, taking five quick shots. She seems pleased but waits to hear the results. She looks over to Circe. "Are you alright? Don't grip it so tightly or you'll give yourself blisters."
As the rounds are popped off down the range, Madilyn holds her sport at the end of the line. Everyone is given as much (or as little) time as they might need to group their shots. Do they squeeze off five rounds in rapid succession, treating them like a burst-fire? Do they take their time, lining up each shot? Only when the sound of gunfire stops does Madilyn stand and call out the end of the round. "Alright! Hold your fire! Weapons down! Call back your target sheets so we can compare."
Long story short, recall your target, and see how well (or poorly) you grouped your five rounds.
Magus pauses as his name is called out over the intercom, and then sets the pistol down in front of him. His brow furrows briefly, the Lieutenant no doubt wondering why he is being called down to the flight deck again. He steps back out of the lane, and turns to face the Major. "My apologies, Major… It would seem I am needed again on the Flight Deck, one of the other Raptor Pilots must be unable to go out." Lieutenant Boreas says deeply, and moves to excuse himself from the Firing Range.
Her gaze flits over to Lunair and Circe smiles warmly to her, "Thanks, yeah. Its been a bit. Don't normally get down here." She explains. She takes the advice, easing her grip and lowering the gun at an angle and pointing it towards the floor. She releases the gun to one hand and lets it rest to her side as she hits the recall for the target. It starts it's way back to her and is comes into view she takes note of the areas hit. In general her try for the chest to begin with is not badly off. Four shots are a bit wide, but still in the general area. One however is closer to the heart and she nods her head. Not too bad, at least all hit the target.
Magus leaves, heading towards the Deck 12 [Out].
Magus has left.
"My scopes aren't fancy and they only let me use the lasers for the high-profile targets," but looking over the results of his shooting after recalling his target back makes Lysander glance over towards Cora before down at the GMAR stationed next to him. His sidearm has since been lowered at the counter before him with its safety placed on. He makes a face, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in obvious distaste. "The fates don't favor my hubris is all." It's muttered dryly before he looks up to the intercoms and then with leaning back he spots the departing officer. The NCO lifts a hand in quiet farewells before directing himself back to the range.
Cora recalls her target, setting her sidearm on the counter, safety on, before removing her earmuffs. "Funny," she replies to Lysander with a quirk of a smile, "They didn't seem to mind mine." She glances after the wave just in time to see the back of Magus's head, which she apparently (unsurprisingly) does not recognize. Back to her target she looks, gaze flicking over the tightly-grouped shots, and then over at Lysander's and down the line, trying to catch a peek at the competition.
Lunair is - remarkably quiet. "Hm. I seem to have done well," She waves to Magus politely. She smiles and nods at Circe. "It's alright. Just tensing up alters your aim and gives you a lot of ache on recoil," She notes quietly. She's doing pretty well, as she recalls her target. "Ah… that's good. I think." She peers around. How did she do relatively?
The paper targets recall smoothly, with an electric hum on the rail system. Far less than arm's length in front of the lanes, even shorties can put them up and take them down. Madilyn walks down the line, collecting the targets, marking the shooter's name, circling shots that went wide, or high, on the target, but not in the lines on the body of the target.
"What I'm seeing is that you all seem fairly well-versed in using the pistol. Our TACCO even more so than you Marines. I'll have to owe her a pack of smokes for five, well-grouped shots. If you want to up the challenge…let's try headshots. See if you can put five shots grouped right through the target's head."
Lysander pushes an index finger through a puncture wound that had simply gone through the paper outside of the target. It's a horrible failure on his part. He should visit the range more often, clearly. "Keep it up and we'll see, Captain." He glowers quietly to himself upon that. There's the small realization that a TACCO can beat a Marine. With the next challenge, he replies with a chipper'd, near-smug, "Yes, sir."
Cora smirks faintly at Lysander's glower and just nods, "We will see, Sergeant." Not quite arrogantly… well, maybe a little. She hangs up a new target and sends it back, fixing the ear protection back on her head and checking her weapon, removing the safety and once again taking aim, this time at the target's head. Five more rounds are squeezed off, again in quick succession.
Lunair is quiet. Oh so quiet. "Congratulations," She chirps towards Cora. She seems genuinely pleased. She replaces her target, reloads and settles in. She has a polite smile all the while. And then it's back to shooting around the head.
Upon hearing the new objective, she clicks her gun's safety on and sets it down. She rolls her bruised shoulder and reaches out and unclips the used target, folding it over and setting it aside before she clips a new one into place and hitting the release. It sails back, the paper fluttering a little before she adjusts her earcovers and picks up the gun once more. She waits, watching the other targets sailing back in their own time and as they settle, she clicks her safety up. She raises the gun and aims down it. She slows her breath and then eases into a large full draw of air. With slow release of air past her lips, Circe squeezes off five rounds again.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-5: Failure.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-5: Failure.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-5: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-5: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-5: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-5: Good Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-5: Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-5: Success.
When given the green light to shoot stuff again, and with wanting to prove himself - thanks to Miss Nikephoros - Lysander reaches for his sidearm and rolls a thumb over the safety in switching it off just so he can aim downrange. He looks down the pistol's sights before lowering it a hesitant moment later. The man then focuses back on the task at hand and unloads the remainder of the magazine into the target, firing at a steady pace until the slide draws back from the dried clip. He then pushes the release and catches the falling magazine with his offhand. Safety back on, the both are placed back down for the time being.
As the rounds are fired this time, Madilyn walks up and down the line. From well behind the shooters, she observes their posture, their grip. It's becoming clear who's gotten comfortable with pistol shooting and who hasn't. More notes are laid down on the clip board until everyone's guns run empty. No sense in telling them to hold off, since their magazines empty out now, after two rounds of target shooting.
"I certainly hope you're going to have more success with the rifle, sergeant," she says to Lysander. "Which means, maybe you can tell us a little about the GMAR, while everyone looks over their targets from this round?"
That's Captain Miss Nikephoros, thank you! Cora finishes her magazine quickly and recalls the target with the others, nose wrinkling faintly at one of her shots before glancing over once again at those around her. She looks faintly less displeased afterwards (though she only looked faintly displeased to begin with). As Lysander is voluntold to give some info about the rifle they're about to use, she turns and leans against the wall of her lane to listen.
"It's not my preferred, but, the Gemenon military assault rifle is the standard-issue rifle around these parts. I'll skip over the borin' history and provide the interesting facts: it using a seven point six-two caliber cartridge in your standard twenty-round detachable magazine. The gee-mar is selective fire, gas-operated, and your basic Cylon-neutralizing arm." The marine Sergeant clicks his tongue into silence and takes a half-step backwards from his lane in order to look in the direction of Madilyn. He offers a short smile before asking, "Should I continue, sir?"
As the paper flutters back towards her, Circe counts four shots. One didn't even hit the target. Pressing her lips firmly together, she clicks her safety and unloads the empty magazine to the pistol. Setting it to the side along with the empty magazine, she traces her fingers over the shots. One in the general head area, two others very close to each other. But still, two didn't even hit inside the target area..one not even on the paper. So three good shots. She shakes her head and then states, "Need to practice more."
Lunair watches and sees thhe totals out. She looks over as Lysander is pointed out. There's definite sympathy. She goes quiet to listen for now.
"Well, if that's not your preferred, would you rather tell us about SMI 80? The Picon P90? We've got them, old and new." While Lysander talks, Madilyn collects the targets as before, labeling them, circling, letting them string up new targets. "Once again, your TACCO outperforms you all with the Five-seveN. Another pack of cigarettes to her. I wouldn't worry too much, though. Pilots and command, those in CIC, often go to their sidearm as the third line of defense." The first line of defense are the alert Vipers, the second the MPs for boarding operations, and third their small-caliber sidearms. "That doesn't mean you should ignore your pistol. You will one day run the risk of running out of rifle ammunition. You need to know what your pistol can do, and you need to know what you can do with your pistol. You need to know when you squeeze, when to breath, when to loosen up, and when to adjust."
"As the sergeant said, the GMAR, or gee-mar, is the workhorse of the CMC. We do have a smaller, more compact set of rifles for urban operations, but the GMAR is the everyday rifle. Semi-auto, three-round burst, or full-auto. Let's see who can take out the shiny red eye on a Centurion with this guy." There's a few clacks of metal as Madilyn picks up four magazines and hands them out.
<OOC> Madilyn says, "This is going to be firearms-10. Not only a headshot, but you're aiming for a particular point on the head: the thin band where a Cylon's eye would be."
Rifle work and as Lysander explains it, she watches him. She can forsee more time spent in the range soon. As she afixes a new target, she waits for her magazine. Once its being sent back the other way she adjusts her ear protection with a lift and brush of her hair away from her face. Circe clears ther throat and gives a hand's touch to the healing shoulder.
Cora listens to the information Lysander and Madilyn offer, nodding once, though it doesn't seem new. One would hope it wouldn't be, really, as it's not as though the Captain is new to the military. "What is your favorite?" she inquires of Lysander as they turn back towards their lanes, waiting just long enough for the answer before headphones go on. Magazine is slotted in, safety off, aim taken, and she fires again.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-10: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-10: Failure.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Cora rolls Firearms-10: Terrible Failure.
"The Scorpia Military Industries-Eighty is another standard combat rifle used by the Fleet. One of few, it has a distinctive bullpup design. Other than that, you're looking at a larger seven point nine-two caliber round, with a similar thirty-round magazine." The Sergeant's voice continues to flood the shooting range the less others talk and fire their weapons. In the meantime, he is preparing his GMAR for use. "The Picon Pee-Ninety also has a bullpup design, functioning as a close-quarter to medium-range rifle. Though its transparent magazine is vastly different than any other rifle we have, it uses the same caliber as the Five-seveN."
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-10: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms-10: Great Success.
Lunair seems pleased mostly for the company. She seems to watch over Circe a bit, likely feeling protective. She beams at Cora, pleased for the TACCO. She nods and listens, as information is dispensed. With that, targets are shifted, guns reloaded and she gets to it once again.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-10: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Lunair rolls Firearms-10: Success.
Receiving her clip, she reaches for the rifle and loads it. Turning about she aims down the gun for the small line that would be the eye opening of a Cylon. She braces the butt of her rifle against her right shoulder and already cringes in anticipation. Circe narrows one eye and releases, squeezing off the five rounds required of all.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-10: Success.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-10: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Circe rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
"Millirem Seven-hundred if we're talking standard issue, but I've fallen back onto both the Gee-mar and Es-Em-Eye over the years depending on my mission's parameters," answers Lysander before he brings the rearstock of his rifle to his shoulder. He holds it in place for a moment longer and then exhales. It's easy for him to count his shots when he takes his time and once disarming himself and looping his ear protection around the back of his neck. "I've been meaning to see what happens when you use a Grizzly on your friendly neighborhood Centurion."
She lowers the rifle slowly, the recoil causing her shoulder to ache deeply. Circe sets the gun down and knocks the safety into place. She leaves her gear on for the moment, just in case and begins to rub the heel of her hand into the musckle of her shoulder. Digging in, she draws a long breath and then rolls it. The medic gives a look down to her arm, removing the air covers and slowly letting them rest about her neck as she lets the target race back towards her on the line. She narrows her eyes upon it and steps forward to rub a finger over the shots. "Not too bad." She looks to Lunair and notes the same amount of success. She gives the woman a thumbs up.
Lunair seems a bit concerned, and smiles. She thumbsups back. "Careful. Lean it more against the muscle. If it hits bone, it feels like someone's punching you," She offers quietly, seeming pleased. "Well done." She nods, happy. "I - am afraid though, I forgot your name if we've met. Please forgive me."
Cora nods to Lysander, not replying until they're finished. She does not look at all pleased with her shooting. "I really ought to spend more time with the rifle," she admits, "I generally focus on the sidearm, since it seems unlikely I'll find myself with a GMAR very often. Still." Her head shakes a little at the result and then she replies, "I would not mind seeing what happens then either. There are several big guns aboard, I believe. I remember helping retrieve some Karlstovs from above Virgon at one point, I think."
Drawning her hand away from from the defiled target, she turns to look at Lunair more directly. Circe offers her hand over to the other woman, "Crewman Lagana. Circe." She then says. "I think we have seen each other, just have not had the chance to speak." She intones with a warm smile. The medic then note her shoulder. "Swimming accident. It's just sore is all."
"It's good to set goals for yourself, and strive to reach them. If your pistol performance is sub par, take more time here with the pistol. Play games like this by yourself. Group shots, shoot at a specific limb, a specific organ. Are you going to splash full-auto rounds center of mass, or are you going to put a burst in your target's head? Are you," Madilyn turns to Lysander, "going to try and put a single shot through your enemy's brain stem…or whatever approximates it in a Cylon?"
As they work through the rounds, completing the tasks, it becomes clearer and clearer who needs to work on what. "The range is open twenty-four hours a day. The trick is finding time to practice, practice, practice," Madilyn reiterates as she walks up and down the line. "Sergeant Lysander would appear to have earned a pack of cigarettes using the rifle."
"There's nothing wrong with a good missile launcher to play with in your free time," chimes Lysander offhandedly, grinning to himself: it's such a pleasant thought. He pulls down his safety shades to the tip of his nose and then draws them up to rest in his dark hair so that he can check his shots' results. "One shot, one kill, sir," is replied at the thought of putting a single shot through a Cylon's proverbial brainpan rather than spray and pray. He turns and offers an appreciative nod of his head. Sidelong to Cora, he says, "Good shooting, sir."
"Congratulations," Lunair smiles to the winners. There's a look over. "Pleased to meet you. I am Raine Lunair-Scaurus. Just … Raine or Lunair is fine. It's a mouthful," She remarks wyrly. "I see. I hope you feel better soon then," She nods. She accepts the hand gently then. "Well done today," All of them likely.
Her hand hold is firm and she releases after one shake. Circe nods her head, "A pleasure." She intones. She had see the woman and heard the name, but the chance to meet had never arisen. The Corpsman smiles at the others she congratulates the winners. Tugging the eye gear off, circe folds the sides of them against her collarbone as she nods as well. "Very well done." She intones. Her smile warms and she gives a look at the weapons and then back to the Major. She had a lot of improving to do.
At one of the other lanes, Madilyn decides to take a few shots down the range. Picking up the assault rifle, slapping in one last magazine, she shoulders the thing, and aims to take the same number of shots down range. "Let's see if I can backup what I'm trying to teach," she says, a little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
<FS3> Madilyn rolls Firearms-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Madilyn rolls Firearms-10: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Madilyn rolls Firearms-10: Failure.
<FS3> Madilyn rolls Firearms-10: Great Success.
<FS3> Madilyn rolls Firearms-10: Success.
Cora smiles and nods, "Hard to go wrong with a missile launcher. I've always wanted to try one of the shoulder-mounted RPGs, personally." She listens to the others, and then shakes her head at her target sheet once again before turning to Lysander and replying, "Not bad yourself, sergeant. Maybe you could offer some tips for the rifle. Obviously that's where my focus needs to be."
"I could likely use some work on my aim," Lunair considers quietly. She's modest at least. "There will be time for practice." She seems to think she needs it. "Though I suspect with a big enough shoulder cannon, aim becomes less of an issue." A wry smile. Perhaps Lunair would like a bazooka too… mwahaha. "We'll see how it goes." She watches as Madilyn steps up, fond of her CO.
The rifle comes away from Madilyn's shoulder, and sure as not, there's three grouped shots. Problem is, she shot five times. One is errant on the target low, and the other is not on the target - likely high. "And that proves how important it is to properly sight your rifle and keep it that way before going into combat. This one is sighted low." Recoil might be blamed for missing high, but she's not saying! "Regardless, it's an uphill battle. Like everything else, you need to practice regularly, keep your skills sharp, to keep your body and mind focused on making the shot."
Circe removes her draws back on the earcover as Madilyn shoots. Once the CO is done, she takes them off and deposits them on the counter before then giving up the eye wear next. She steps away from her section, rubbing at the sore inside of her shoulder. She folds her arms before her, giving a glance back at her shots taken and thinking over them. This was in an ideal setting - she wouldn't be any better in the field and most likely worse.
"Maybe, I owe a couple of people lessons…" Lysander trails off from having a proper conversation with Cora since he would like to see what Madilyn can bring to the table. He steps out of his lane and moves closer, just enough for him to have a clear line of sight while looking through one nearby. "Not the best, but uh, clearly proves why you're the Major." He glances over towards Cora and nods, "Sometime soon, yeah?" He comes to place himself nearer to Circe and Lunair, offering the latter a subdued, "Sir," before looking to the results of Circe's shooting. He doesn't say anything just yet.
A polite smile to Lysander in turn. "Well shot," She nods. Lunair seems to respect that. But then - she's hard to read sometimes, always so damn pleasant and polite. And those freaky ass violet eyes. Seriously. Madilyn's shooting is appreciated in turn as well. She folds her hands neatly in front of her.
Her fingers working the sore muscle in her shoulder, she watches as the Sargeant steps up, "Not all of us are marksman.." She says with a smirk. Though she hasn't done half bad herself. The hand rubbing her sore muscle draws over to the hand tamped medallions. She stands to the side, watching his reaction before she steps forward to grab out the two other paper targets used before and tucks them beneath her arm.
Cora nods to Lysander, her attention also on Madilyn for the moment. "Sure," she replies to the marine, though it's not entirely clear that she remembers exactly what they are agreeing about now. She smiles politely at Circe and Lunair, greeting them with a nod, and then remarks, "I should be going, I have a shift in CIC. Major, thank you for running this. It's always good to have an opportunity for comparison and expert advice. And I am assuming you have half-decent cigarettes, as well." She flashes a brief smile, and then adds, "Evening, all," before heading towards the hatch.
It would seem that this night's session is coming to a close. The rounds and magazines that were passed out are collected to be reloaded and used by the next folks down the range. Targets are pulled down, and folks are free to take them back to compare, to display, to throw away or whatever. "For the Marines, this should show you where you need to improve. For the non-Marines…well, feel free to buddy up, to find someone to show you the intricacies of shooting. They can teach you the basics in boot, but there are things you can only learn by firing a rifle in the field. The range isn't just for shooting. You can also learn cleaning, assembly, maintenance and care. Those are the things that will also help keep you alive." MAdilyn busies herself with replacing all the equipment, leaving the crew to hang out and practice, or get rack time or whatever else they were doing.