Prompt: 024 Isolation
Character: Peter
Peter liked this time of day, when everyone else was at the mess hall eating. It meant that he got some time all to himself to just focus on his training. He knew that in combat he wouldn't get this sort of calm but that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy his quiet time.
Peter carefully checked each of the stations of the firing range. He'd set up each station with a different weapon and planned on testing himself in their use. He moved to the first of the stations, carefully putting in his ear protection before he picked up the pistol that lay on the counter. He ejected the magazine and checked it before slipping it back in with a satisfying click.
He raised the weapon let out one long breath before he started. He took aim and fired all twelve shots from the pistol. As soon as it was empty he set it down and moved to the next station, a DMR. A proper marksman weapon that could be used at any range though worked best at mid to close range. He emptied it was well and continued on to the next station. Next was an assault rifle, far from his favorite as it lacked accuracy. When the counter read 00 he set it down and moved to the next weapon. This was the last station and his favorite. The SRS99D AM Sniper rifle, a true piece of art. He lifted it with ease and emptied the four rounds in quick succession.
Peter put down the spent rifle and carefully removed the ear protection. He'd just hit the controls to bring the targets closer when someone shouted. "What in hell do you think you're doing on the range, boot?!"
"Target practice, sir." Peter had thought of making a smart ass comment but he didn't really feel like being on latrine duty again so soon. He'd give it another week before he made trouble, at least then he'd miss Mexican night.
"And why aren't you with the other trainees at breakfast?" The drill instructor moved over and picked up the DMR. "You're not even rated to use this weapon let alone a sniper rifle. Some of you damn trainees just don't know your limitations and now you've gone and wasted ammunition."
That annoyed Peter. What he hated the most at this military school was that the instructors all thought they knew better. He didn't mind the rules; he just ignored those that he didn't like so they didn't bother him. The problem was the drill instructors treated them all like kids. Just because he wasn't an adult didn't mean he couldn't handle some simple weapons.
"Hell you could have put your eye out. An injury like that won't get you out of here any time soon. A soldier with one eye can still be a meat shield." The drill instructor was going to continue ranting but stopped as the targets reached each station. Whatever insults he was going to hurl died in the instructor's throat. The man scowled and glared at Peter. "Just get your ass to the mess hall for breakfast."
"Yes, sir," Peter answered a bit more cockily than was really acceptable. Luckily the instructor was focused, staring at the targets Peter had shot. He'd hit all of them in kill zones. Lungs, heart, and head at each station. In Peter's mind he deserved to be a bit cocky for showing the instructor he was wrong.
Peter joined the other trainees at their usual table, once more sitting in the loud conversations of friends, teammates, and enemies. He wished he could go back to the quiet isolation of the firing range. Oh well, he could really just hoped they wouldn't ban him from the range.