"Good morning, troops!" the clear voice of Lieutenant Lewis rang out in a British accent. The lights flared as he entered the room. Jonathan shielded his eyes and sat up, his head aching from the glare. The Lt. waited. The green Marines around the room groaned, tired. The vets were already up and showered, putting on their uniforms. "Company, I want you up and ready in ten minutes for some announcements." All the new recruits stumbled to the showers. Wondering what the Lt. was going to say, Jonathan took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and threw on his new uniform. All of them stood in a line and waited.
"All right, here's what I've got. Turns out we won't be leaving for a few days; apparently the repairs are going to take some time. I don't think that we were that heavily damaged, and I've got wind of an overhaul of the engines. Maybe an upgrade. This ship could use it. After a few days we will be leaving for Reach, and are scheduled to be in dock there for at least twenty-four hours. Can't tell what for.
"Next on the list," he fiddled with a datapad, "ah ... Greenies, even with you onboard we are understaffed. So, all of you will receive assignments for alternate duty. The duty roster will be posted outside the mess hall. Also, for you new men there is a mandatory firing range practice after breakfast. I'll see you there. In the mean time, report to the mess hall for breakfast! That said, you are dismissed!" The Lt. waited for them to leave, then took a place at the back of the line.
The men of the 25th all marched to the mess hall, and waited in line. There were not many troops in the cafeteria, aside from one company at almost full strength. Jonathan moved down the line, behind some of the veterans. They picked up trays and were served a slab of meat covered in a grayish sauce.
"That's downright disgusting!" a Marine said, staring at the stuff and holding his stomach.
"What's the matter, son, your stomach too fine for this stuff?" one of the vets asked mockingly. He lifted a spoonful of the stuff and jiggled it in the air before putting it slowly to his mouth. "Mmm, good stuff," he said, licking his lips. The first Marine looked sick.
Jonathan got through the line and looked to the tables. He spotted a table with only three Marines, and sat down at it. They looked up at him, and went back to chewing. One was husky, the second thin, and the last average. Jonathan put his tray down and poked at the meat with his knife. He juggled it between knife and fork and stuck a piece in his mouth. It tasted and chewed like rubber. "Wonder what they make this crap out of? It tastes like cardboard," he said, hoping to elicit a response from the others at the table.
They sat silent, chewing. Finally the husky one spoke up: "I don't know, but it's sure not meat." Jonathan smiled a little. He read the man's name tag: Pearce, J. His uniform made him to be a Private. They once more ate without speaking for a while. Pearce looked up thoughtfully. "I'm not sure about you guys, but I'm not looking forward to fighting any Covenant. I hear they have guns that'll burn through your leg in a second. And armor that reflects our bullets."
"That's bull. Just rumors," the thin Marine -- Schneider, M -- said.
Before anyone could respond, a man at a table nearby turned toward them. He had a patch over one eye, and a hollow-looking face. He spoke in a gravelly voice. "You may scoff, greenhorn, but that one's right," he indicated Pearce. "At least, it's true for some of them Covenant. They're two and a half meters tall and covered in blue armor, with slits for eyes. You can shoot all you want, the bullets just bounce off." His manner became more frantic. "Their whole right arm is a huge gun. Just one of them roasted my whole platoon. They'll go through you in a second! A freakin' second!"
Another vet reached over and firmly grasped the first's shoulder. "Leo, stop scarin' the greenies. They don't need that." He gave them an apologetic glance and pulled the man away from them.
"Pssh. He's just trying to freak us out, that's all," Schneider admonished. "One good shot between the eyes will take down any Covenant bastard you can point a gun at," he said. The rest of them weren't so sure.
Later all of the new Marines left the Winter Moon and met at the firing range on the Station, for weapons practice. They assembled in rows and waited for instruction. Lt. Lewis was there watching, and the rangemaster soon began giving orders from the head of the range.
"All right Marines, today we are having a firing drill, to get you more familiar with all the standard-issue infantry weapons. You may consider this a test, so do your best. No screwing around." He went over to a desk behind a wire mesh screen, and the Corporal there handed him a weapon. He held it up for all to see.
"This will be the weapon most of you will be issued. It is the MA6C2, a.k.a. the 'Battle Rifle', the standard rifle of the UNSC Marine Corps. Most of you will be familiar with the MA5B used in training, but this is a whole different animal. Though it is also a bullpup design, this gun fires a 9.6mm armor-piercing bullet from a full-size gas-propellant rifle shell. It is much more accurate and powerful than the MA5B, but its automatic fire rate is slower, due to the recoil generated by the 9.6mm cartridge, and the Kessering-design action. They are issued with a 2x magnification scope which can be smart-linked to your eyepiece. Or you can use your eyes, like you will be doing on the range today. You get forty shells per mag. Two mags, one practice, one for credit. Step up, get a rifle!" the rangemaster finished. The Marines quickly did so, each taking a battle rifle and moving back to their spots on the range. The targets slid on tracks backwards, until they were much farther downrange.
"Range is hot! When you are ready, commence firing!" the rangemaster barked. Jonathan took a moment to examine the gun in his hands, and already liked it. He had an affection for guns, especially rifles. As he picked it up, the gun automatically released the safety. Jonathan guessed it weighed at nine and a half pounds. He shouldered the weapon and sighted down the scope at the target. He pulled the trigger and the gun boomed. It had surprisingly little recoil considering the size of the cartridge. He put the gun down but realized he had forgotten to see how he'd shot. He lifted the gun again and looked through the scope at the target. There was a large hole carved an eighth of an inch from the bullseye. He smiled appreciatively. He rolled the scope aside--it was hinged--to look down the steel sights, and used the rest of his magazine for short, controlled bursts. Only seven shots missed the target. One of the vets looked over at him, showing his approval with a quick nod. Jonathan changed magazines quickly, grinning.
For Jonathan, the rest of the day went quickly. Sometimes it was just fun. They went through firing drills with a number of weapons, including the M6D pistol, M43R sub-machinegun, the M80 shotgun, and even the S2AM sniper rifle. They also got to try out the Jackhammer rocket launcher, firing dummy rockets at solid targets. Jonathan didn't fare too well with that; he found aiming the launcher from his shoulder cumbersome.
During the practice, computers tracked and logged each 'credit' shot they took, and sensors in the target judged the accuracy of each. After drills, each of them was given a card with their performance on it. Number of shots fired, accuracy, and points scored were all represented. Jonathan looked at his card. He was average with most of the weapons, but had been bad with the rocket launcher. His scores with the MA6C2 were good, though. He smiled looking at the accuracy: 77 printed on the card. That earned him the Sharpshooter designation. Good, but not good enough to qualify for sniper training. It didn't matter to him anyway. He liked the feel of the MA6C2 in his hands. Hearing scuffling feet, he looked up and realized everyone was leaving.
The other Marines filed out, and Jonathan wondered where he would go. The Lt. had told them they had free time until lunch. He wandered down the hall. He knew some of the other Marines and thought about following them, but decided not to. He hadn't had time to make any real friends. He thought of the people he used to know back at home, but pushed the thoughts away. They only served to make him homesick.
"Hey, wait up!" someone yelled behind him. He looked back to see two figures jogging up behind him. One was skinny, the other husky. As they approached he saw that it was Schneider and Pierce from the mess hall. The moved up beside him, panting.
"Where are you going?" Pearce asked.
"I don't know, just wandering. We have a couple hours until lunch," Jonathan responded.
Schneider spoke up. "You know, they have great pool tables on the Station. Why don't we head down there?"
"Aren't we supposed to stay on the Winter Moon?" Jonathan pointed out.
"What else are we going to do? There's no harm in it. And the Moon's gonna be stuck in dock for repairs for at least another two days," Schneider countered. Pearce showed his agreement, nodding and gesturing as if he was playing pool.
Jonathan thought for a second, and then put on a grin. "Why not?" They walked nonchalantly toward the elevator. It cruised downward and let them off; they slunk through to the halls to the airlocks. One of them was open, with a connection running to the Station. Making sure nobody was watching, they sneaked into the airlock and from there to the tunnel to September Station.