DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to the characters or storylines of SWAT. I just write fics for the entertainment of others, and do not recieve payment for this service. Please do not sue me.
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.
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"So, you speak Spanish, huh?" Alex asked Sanchez as the once more fully manned SWAT team filed out of Fuller's office.
"Yeah. Name's Chris Sanchez." Her left arm was in a sling. "Got hit by a bullet."
Alex nodded. "Figures."
"So where'd you learn Spanish?" Street asked.
"Army brat," Lewis quipped.
"And proud of it too," Alex reminded his partner.
Hondo came up behind the team. "I want you two kitted up, then we'll check out the gun cage for you."
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"Got any weapons preferences?" Gus asked to two rookies.
Alex nodded. "USMC M40A3. Five pound trigger, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. 1000 metre range."
Daniel looked at Alex, eyebrow raised.
"My dad was quartermaster with the marines for a while," Alex said with a shrug. "I think your best weapon would be a Sig SG550. 5.56 by 45 mill caliber. But they don't stock those in SWAT, so... a Tac-ops Tango 51. Guaranteed .25 MOA accuracy, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. And since I doubt the Marines have been reduced to hocking their A3s, we'd like two 51s please."
Hondo looked at Alex, who shrugged again. Gus got two cases, and signed them over to Hondo, who handed them to the two rookies. "Pistols?" the sergeant added.
Alex pulled a cop-issue beretta left handed, and had it cocked and pointed at Hondo, just as a camera crew started filming in the gun cage. "Safety's still on, Rider," Hondo admonished the youngster, although he knew the youth had meant to keep the catch on. Alex spun the gun in his left hand and holstered it. "Sorry sarge," he said with a grin, as Street, Sanchez and Deke moved the camera crew on.
"I think we should get you to training before we run out of things to teach you," Lasquez said, looking at the pair of rookies.
"But first," Hondo added, "We're gonna go visit Boxer."
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Boxer looked up and grinned as Hondo entered the room. "I hear you got the bastard who shot me," he said, looking at Street. Street nodded. "Yeah. I got Gamble. McCabe... well, 66 million bucks ain't in his account. Nor would it help him where he's gone."
"Didn't know you were religious, Street," Boxer said. "You speak to my sister yet?"
"I'm waiting 'til your fit enough to attempt beating me at target practice again."
"So who are the rookies? not replacing me are you?"
"Just temp-ing, Boxer," Hondo assured. "Alexander Rider and Daniel Lewis. Traffic Cops."
"Traffic? They look a lil wet behind the ears to me."
"You should see them shoot. Point 25."
"51's?"
"Berettas."
"Shee-it. How old are you boys?"
"Class of '99," Alex answered.
"Twenty-two? You're shitting me."
"Yeah, Alex, don't play games," Daniel said with a grin. "Alex is nineteen. I'm twenty-two."
"We finally got some certified smarts on SWAT. Instead of the usual suspects. Street smarts and academic."
"Either of you grasses?" Boxer asked. "Can't have grasses on SWAT. Fuller'd fry us all if he knew half the shit we get up to."
"The day I grass to Fuller is the day the world goes to hell in a hand basket," Daniel said. Alex nodded his agreement with the statement. "SWAT don't grass. you don't want your life depending on a man who doesn't trust you."
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A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.
--------------------
"So, you speak Spanish, huh?" Alex asked Sanchez as the once more fully manned SWAT team filed out of Fuller's office.
"Yeah. Name's Chris Sanchez." Her left arm was in a sling. "Got hit by a bullet."
Alex nodded. "Figures."
"So where'd you learn Spanish?" Street asked.
"Army brat," Lewis quipped.
"And proud of it too," Alex reminded his partner.
Hondo came up behind the team. "I want you two kitted up, then we'll check out the gun cage for you."
--------------------
"Got any weapons preferences?" Gus asked to two rookies.
Alex nodded. "USMC M40A3. Five pound trigger, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. 1000 metre range."
Daniel looked at Alex, eyebrow raised.
"My dad was quartermaster with the marines for a while," Alex said with a shrug. "I think your best weapon would be a Sig SG550. 5.56 by 45 mill caliber. But they don't stock those in SWAT, so... a Tac-ops Tango 51. Guaranteed .25 MOA accuracy, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. And since I doubt the Marines have been reduced to hocking their A3s, we'd like two 51s please."
Hondo looked at Alex, who shrugged again. Gus got two cases, and signed them over to Hondo, who handed them to the two rookies. "Pistols?" the sergeant added.
Alex pulled a cop-issue beretta left handed, and had it cocked and pointed at Hondo, just as a camera crew started filming in the gun cage. "Safety's still on, Rider," Hondo admonished the youngster, although he knew the youth had meant to keep the catch on. Alex spun the gun in his left hand and holstered it. "Sorry sarge," he said with a grin, as Street, Sanchez and Deke moved the camera crew on.
"I think we should get you to training before we run out of things to teach you," Lasquez said, looking at the pair of rookies.
"But first," Hondo added, "We're gonna go visit Boxer."
--------------------
Boxer looked up and grinned as Hondo entered the room. "I hear you got the bastard who shot me," he said, looking at Street. Street nodded. "Yeah. I got Gamble. McCabe... well, 66 million bucks ain't in his account. Nor would it help him where he's gone."
"Didn't know you were religious, Street," Boxer said. "You speak to my sister yet?"
"I'm waiting 'til your fit enough to attempt beating me at target practice again."
"So who are the rookies? not replacing me are you?"
"Just temp-ing, Boxer," Hondo assured. "Alexander Rider and Daniel Lewis. Traffic Cops."
"Traffic? They look a lil wet behind the ears to me."
"You should see them shoot. Point 25."
"51's?"
"Berettas."
"Shee-it. How old are you boys?"
"Class of '99," Alex answered.
"Twenty-two? You're shitting me."
"Yeah, Alex, don't play games," Daniel said with a grin. "Alex is nineteen. I'm twenty-two."
"We finally got some certified smarts on SWAT. Instead of the usual suspects. Street smarts and academic."
"Either of you grasses?" Boxer asked. "Can't have grasses on SWAT. Fuller'd fry us all if he knew half the shit we get up to."
"The day I grass to Fuller is the day the world goes to hell in a hand basket," Daniel said. Alex nodded his agreement with the statement. "SWAT don't grass. you don't want your life depending on a man who doesn't trust you."
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