A&A&A Boarding School

Authoresses's Note: We thank cordially SteelFlame, Kit Cloudkicker (the French Revolution come from Les Misérables. In case you have no idea what that is, the French Revolution are a gang of over-enthusiastic French students who are under the impression that they are soldiers fighting for the freedom of the Republic of France), Celias23, Crow (we are glad you like our swift updating. But when the school holidays are over…sigh…), Gavvie, hidden darkness, aknightofni (queer name you have, no offence), and Asha Ice (sorry about the summative assessments, says Lydia. Your precious James Bond will get his little cameo in this chapter.) Rukuelle points out disapprovingly that Lydia forgot to mention that the button-ripping scene in the last chapter would have gone best with the music of 'The Blue Danube'. Oh yes, and our fifth chapter, which we hope lives up to expectations.

5. Crossfire and the Commander

The first-years discovered that recess was generally full of nice things – courtesy of the lady Galadriel – and they settled down for the first half of recess to try out the nicer-looking tarts. The second half most of the girls devoted to getting into more outdoor-friendly apparel. Elizabeth happily ditched her ladylike outfit and her corset, emerging in what looked like a stolen pageboy's costume. Aragorn observed that Arwen looked quite as lovely in riding wear as she did in embroidered gowns.

Cosette and Helen were highly upset, mainly because they had no outdoor-friendly apparel. Cosette fretted greatly all through recess (to the sadistic satisfaction of Eponine, who was still in her motley set of rags that were slightly too big for her).

According to Galadriel's instructions, half an hour later the class of first-years trooped onto the first floor of the spacious firing range. Holly blinked as she recognized her old litigant, Commander Root. He was waiting with barely hidden impatience by a large pile of rifles.

Root faced his class, several of which had taken a step backwards at the sight of rifles. "Don't look so shocked. This is a firearms class. Now, how many of you can fire a rifle?"

Quite a few raised their hands, including Holly, Trouble Kelp, all of the French Revolution except Gavroche, Anna, Van Helsing and Jack.

Root glared at the last two. "Take off your hats. They don't help in the shooting."

Van Helsing replied as politely as possible. "Sorry. I think I shoot better with my hat on."

Root shrugged. "Suit yourself." To the rest of the people with raised hands he said, "It's good that there're so many of you. I hope this class doesn't end up like the one last year. Freaked out. All of you, take a rifle and watch how I load it."

There was a rush for the rifles. Some, however, were not so keen on getting their own guns. Cosette, for one, handled hers like hot metal fresh off the forge, and barely paid attention to the short briefing on loading a rifle.

For Holly, the briefing took an achingly long time. She badly wanted to get to the range and start pumping away. Beside her, Éowyn was examining her rifle in great wonder. "This a gun, you say? Well, I can see why you like it."

Holly flashed her a grin. "Wait till you start firing."

Before them, Root had finished his briefing. "Okay!" he roared. "Get onto the range! Load your rifles! Start firing!"

They rushed to comply. Despite the order given, however, none of them seemed really eager to be the first to start.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Root edgily.

Holly glanced at Root, and then at the target. Then she lifted the rifle to her shoulder, sighted briefly through the magnifier and yanked the trigger back.

The recoil kicked her hard in the shoulder and jarred it, but she was prepared for that, and braced herself as the gun jerked in her arms. Even then she felt the rush of adrenaline as she saw her bullet burn through the air, in a perfect line, and at that distance, she could hear the satisfying thud of missile through paper.

The target paper came swaying back on the connecting wire. Smack in its middle was a perfect hole. Éowyn and several others applauded. Even Root looked impressed. "Good," he muttered as he peered at the hole. Then he turned to the rest. "Well, Cadet Short's done it. What about the rest of you, eh?"

They got the message and hurriedly started firing.

Commander Root strolled behind his class, watching with a hawks' eye as he noted the good and bad points of this lot. Good points like Holly Short. Bad points like Cosette.

"I...I can't...I don't dare..." Cosette was still clutching the rifle the wrong way, and holding it as far away as she could from her body. Root rolled his eyes. "Hold it this way. Pull the trigger. Yes, pull it." Cosette's trembling finger rested on the trigger and tugged weakly. With, of course, no effect on the gun itself. Root lost his temper. "CADET! WILL YOU PULL THE DAMN TRIGGER!"

Cosette jumped in fright and pulled the trigger. The gun went off and the bullet smashed into Hector's target two places further up. Cosette screamed and dropped the rifle. Eponine glanced over at her and smirked as she fired a shot herself, neatly hitting the target paper. Root gave the traumatized Cosette an exasperated look and marched off.

The French Revolution were firing like mad, and not necessarily at their own targets. There were exclamations of annoyance further down the line as a revolutionaire's bullet knocked yet another missile off target and ruined a perfect shot. "I thought," roared Root, "you said you could shoot?"

"We did," replied Enjolras in between outbursts of maniacal laughter. "We didn't say we could aim!" With another series of wild cackles, the French Revolution launched yet another volley of bullets at random targets. Several indignant "Oi!"s were heard from the other people whose own bullets had gotten knocked away.

"Hm," muttered Briseis. "I'm sure I can do this."

"Of course you can," Andromache reassured her, although she hadn't fired a shot either.

"Sure you can," called Achilles, and fired at his own target. Andromache gave him an aggravated look.

Briseis raised the rifle to her shoulder and fired. The bullet lodged itself in the metal floor. "Higher," said Andromache encouragingly.

Briseis accordingly aimed higher and fired. This time she hit the wall below her target. "Higher," advised Andromache.

Briseis aimed as high as possible and fired. The bullet shockingly punched through the ceiling. There was a loud "OW!"

Muffled voices followed.

"Look! He's shot! Bond's been shot!"

"Ooh! Where?"

"Ow! Stop touching it, Lara!"

"Lara, stop poking James in the foot, he's injured Someone should call Vinyáya."

"Go get her yourself, Trinity."

"Yeah, that's the best – OW!"

Andromache and Achilles turned to stare at Briseis's guilty face. "Oops," she whispered. "Sorry."

Anna sighted carefully and fired. The bullet landed in the target paper, not too far from the centre. She grinned.

Van Helsing glanced at Anna's shot, then fired his own rifle. His bullet landed even nearer to the bull's eye.

Anna grimaced. She fired again and hit the smallest ring. She turned to smirk at Van Helsing.

Van Helsing rolled his eyes. Again he pulled the trigger. The bullet lodged itself in the centre of the target.

"I hate that guy," Anna muttered to herself.

"Trubs," complained Grub Kelp, "this is so tough."

Trouble ignored his kid brother and squeezed off another shot.

"It's so heavy," went on Grub, despite the lack of a willing listener, "and every time I shoot it hurts my shoulder. I want to stop. Trubs, are you listening?"

"No," said Trouble matter-of-factly.

"Trubs! You're supposed to take care of me. Mummy said so."

Trouble gritted his teeth and groaned. "Brothers!"

Somewhere further up the line, Boromir sighted through his magnifier and tried to block out Faramir's incessant singing. Not only was it incessant, but it was absolutely meaningless. The longest word in that song had to be "La".

"Faramir, stop singing for a second. I want to aim properly."

Faramir obliged, and continued his singing a second later. Boromir's temper snapped. "Faramir! I said, stop singing for a second!"

"I did," pointed out Faramir. "For exactly a second, like you asked."

"Oh, save me," wailed Boromir. "Brothers!"

Root reached the end of the row and strode back, propping Frodo's rifle higher up, reminding Pippin to reload his. "Stop shooting at the floor, cadet."

Mulch looked back at him over his shoulder. "I can't shoot any higher, Julius."

Root was taken aback for a moment. "And how..."

Mulch pointed a stubby finger at Root's nametag. "Fairly obvious, eh?"

Root recovered composure. "You can adjust the angle of your rifle. And it's Commander Root to you, cadet!"

Mulch shrugged and turned back to firing. "Titles, titles." He sighed.

Root glared at the dwarf's back and continued reviewing his students. He reached the French Revolution just in time to witness Grantaire blow another bullethole through the ceiling and elicit the resulting "OW!"

"Ow, damnit! Ow!"

"Quatermain! Keep still, let's see that wound. Can't you keep still, man?"

"Lee Scoresby! Don't you dare touch that – ow!"

"Dearie me. This looks bad, doesn't it, Lee?"

"You shut up, Vittoria. Where's Vinyáya?"

A new voice cut in, clear, crisp and no-nonsense. "Julius! Will you please tell your students to stop shooting mine?"

Root had turned the approximate colour of boiling volcanic lava. "Yes, of course, Vinyáya," he called up to the hole in the ceiling, voice deceptively calm. Then he turned to Grantaire, the angered swelling now visible. "You hear that? Do that again and I will personally see to it that your detention is the worst in the history of this school so far. And that goes to the rest of you," he hissed at the rest of the French Revolution.

"Yes, sir!" chorused the French Revolution, in voices that were almost too cheerful for Root to believe that they were taking him seriously.

Some time later, the bell rang, much to Root's relief. He ordered them to leave their rifles in a pile by the door and go for their next lesson. Then he busied himself with collecting target papers and considering whether trusting them with more explosives next lessons might really be wise.

End of Chapter

Next chapter coming ... History and the Haunted Library