NOP: The Rejects of Sillis (4)

Chapter four is here! And I got it out in a timely manner! Hope you enjoy.

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The Nature of Predators Universe was originally created by u/SpacePaladin15.

Chapter Four: Emotional Moments Behind the Firing Line

Memory Transcription Subject: Private Tiel

Date [standardized human time]: October 26th , 2136

In my lifetime, I have only fired three weapons: my father’s rifle, my own rifle, and the service pistol that the Space Corps issued to me. I never would have considered myself a firearms expert. In spite of that, I could tell that the ‘Kalashnikov’ on my shoulder was from a bygone era.

In all the media I’ve seen depicting human soldiers, they carried plastic and aluminum guns that radiated high technology and modernity. The rifle Alek chose for me was hewn from wood and steel [a hundred years] ago.

Yet it was completely unblemished by time. The finish on the wooden stock and foregrip was impeccably preserved, allowing me to admire the flowing curves and layering in their grain. The rest of the gun was black like obsidian, with not a scratch or spot of rust to be found. When you turned it over in the light, the metal even reflected a subtle sapphire hue.

If the Exterminator’s Guild ever learned of me admiring a gun like a work of art, they would have another excuse to try and throw me in a PD facility again. But I was on Earth, and there were no exterminators here. That was the best thing about this planet, not counting Alek.

Though I do have a few complaints about the weather, the morning’s gentle drizzle had become an incessant afternoon shower, and Lieutenant Yankovic took some perverse pleasure in marching us through it like it wasn’t even there.

Everyone was soaked down to their skin, but Vil looked the most miserable. She had been going through great efforts every morning and night to keep her wool elegant and tangle-free, in spite of all the abuse it suffered during training. Now, she looked more like a wet mop than a woman who took pride in her appearance. This, combined with the day’s earlier events, had beaten her down to the point that she was on the verge of tears.

From my position behind her in the marching column, I used tail and ear signals to get Alek’s attention. When I finally got it, I dipped my eyes down toward her. The Platoon Sergeant nodded with understanding but couldn’t help at the moment–he was carrying an armful of metal tins from one of the shipping containers in the warehouse. Hopefully, he would get to Vil before Yankovic or Raksim.

I breathed a small sigh of relief as the gun range came into view. A wooden pavilion shielded its firing line from the rain. At the very least, we could dry out a little as we shot.

Our Lieutenant began giving orders as we trudged past him and into the structure’s shelter. “Place your weapon on the line and stand back. Hold on to your magazines.”

He picked one of the rifles at random and used it to demonstrate. In the meantime, Alek set the metal tins down and began punching through their edges with a hand tool.

“How many of you have fired a gun before? Show of hands.”

Everyone in the group raised their paw except Vil. I had to tap her with my tail for her to register the question. When she did, she lifted her paw meekly. Raksim, who was acting as Yankovic’s shadow as usual, was glaring at us.

“Good, then you know the basics already.” Yank pointed to a piece of metal on the right side of the weapon. “This is the selector lever. It has three positions: up is safe, in the middle is full-auto, and all the way down is semi-auto.” He took a feeding device from one of the gojid and inserted it into the rifle. “These magazines can’t be loaded straight in; they have to be rocked in.” He demonstrated what he meant a few times. “And you have to pull the charging handle back to advance a round from the magazine to the chamber. Everyone got that?”

I was going to ask him to demonstrate one more time for Vil’s sake, but he continued on before I could get a word in.

“Good.” Yankovic handed the magazine back and set down the rifle. He reached into one of the metal containers Alek was opening. From within, he pulled out a handful of small paper packages. He tossed one to every other person in line, which resulted in more than half of them being dropped onto the ground. We didn’t have the same evolutionary adaptations as humans when it came to throwing and catching. Alek, being much more considerate, handed us foam plugs to use as hearing protection.

“Everyone load three rounds into every magazine you have,” the Lieutenant directed.

I pulled at a staple on the side of the package, and it tore open. Inside were a handful of bullets stacked on top of each other, separated by thin pieces of paper. I gave some of them to Vil, who struggled to put them in her magazines with her shaking paws. I did my task quickly and helped her. Raksim continued to observe us with a quiet menace.

Yankovic spoke again once everyone did as ordered. “Private Tiel, step forward to the firing line and pick up your weapon. I will hold your magazines.”

I handed my feeding devices to him and took up my rifle gingerly to keep it in its flawless state. The Lieutenant pressed a button on one of the pavilion’s pillars, causing a line of cardboard targets to pop up from the ground at around [50 meters] away. There were small human silhouettes on each of them.

“Load your weapon and engage the target.” He said this while holding out one of the magazines.

I took it and rocked it into the magazine well. Then I pulled the charging handle back and let it spring forward. The sights were just like my father’s rifle. A simple post up front and a small notch at the back. I lined them up over the silhouette, exhaled a breath, and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced right through the center of the target. I lined up the sights again and pulled the trigger twice. The rounds landed in the middle of the torso.

“Reload,” Yank said.

I pressed the small lever behind the magazine, rocked it out, handed it the Lieutenant, and inserted the fresh magazine that he was holding out.

“Engage the target.”

I put three rounds in the middle of the target again.

“Reload.”

I repeated the process of reloading.

“Engage.”

Three rounds on target.

The Lieutenant looked downrange at the nine tightly packed holes in the torso and nodded with satisfaction. “Well done, Private. Looks like you’ve set a high bar for everyone else. Show clear and stand behind the firing line.”

I made sure my weapon was ammunition-free and turned to rejoin the line of nonhumans, feeling quite proud of myself.

My heart sank.

Vil was up next, and she was not in a state to suffer the Lieutenant’s wrath right now. I took my spot next to her, praying that Alek would be able to step in soon.

“Private Vil, come to the firing line and pick up your rifle,” Yankovic commanded.

The black venlil remained motionless, save for her trembling paws.

“Private Vil,” he said more forcefully.

Raksim stalked closer to her. “Your Lieutenant is giving you an order. Respond to it.”

Vil couldn’t bring herself to move. Saline began flowing freely from her eyes.

The krakotl sneered at her. “Looks like this one’s only good for the Space Corps, Lieutenant. You might as well send her back.”

“No!” Vil suddenly spoke through her tears: “You can’t send me back! I don’t want to go back.”

“Quiet,” Raksim snapped, and he began circling her. “You have failed to follow every simple instruction or direct order given to you. Now, you’re wetting yourself at just the idea of holding a gun. That makes you a coward–unfit to serve in this unit. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from a venlil.”

“She’s not a coward; she just needs help!” The words ejected from my mouth without me even realizing it.

Raksim stopped for a moment and slowly turned an eye toward me. There was a glint of pleasure in it, like he had been waiting for a moment like this all day. “Help?” He said this as he invaded my personal space. “There's a word for soldiers who need help: liabilities.”

I prepared for another staredown with the krakotl, but I couldn’t keep my attention on him. The Lieutenant was much more concerning at the moment. Unlike most venlil, I never found binocular eyes–like that of an arxur or shadestalker–intrinsically frightening. However, Yankovic’s seething stare awoke a primal instinct in me to flee from him and cower. Except it wasn’t directed at me or Vil. Instead, his eyes were boring into the back of Raksim’s head.

The krakotl continued, “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you shielding that little runt. You could be much more than a private if you stopped wasting your time doting on her like a pup. Not to mention the little games you play with the–”

“Enough!” Yankovic yelled louder than he intended, causing everyone to startle. He took a moment to collect himself. “Raksim, I’ve had enough of you being a pain in the ass today. Stand aside and let me handle this. You're an advisor, not an instructor.”

The avian turned to face our Lieutenant. “You want my advice, Isaac? Send her back to Venlil Prime. She’s of no use to us.”

The magazines Vil held clattered to the ground, and she buried her face in her paws. She begged in a small, quivering voice. “Please don’t send me back, Lieutenant.”

“You will not speak unless spoken to, runt!” Raksim squawked at her. “Come tomorrow; I’m putting in for your transfer-”

Yankovic shoved him against one of the pavilion’s supports faster than my mind could even process. Vil yelped at the sudden movement.

“You aren’t doing shit! I am in charge of this unit! Not you!” He slammed his advisor against the pillar again. “If you can’t get that through your head, then we can step into the rain and settle this right now!”

Kaero and Daego, who were at the other end of the firing line, waggled their ears at each other, silently making bets on who would win a physical altercation.

Raksim fixed him with one eye and raised his feathers. He flexed his talons, ready to use them.

The intimidation display had zero effect on the Lieutenant. He loomed over the krakotl, daring him to make a move with a look so fierce that it would have given even an arxur pause for thought.

Raksim hissed and tossed his beak. “Very well, Isaac. If you want to keep that useless runt in your unit, then that's your choice.

“‘Yes, sir,’ is enough, old man.’” Our Lieutenant growled.

“Yes, sir.” Raksim said it begrudgingly.

Yank let go of him. “Good. If you call her a runt again, I’m putting my boot so far up your cloaca, you’ll feel it in your gizzard. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lieutenant Yankovic took a deep breath. He turned to the black venlil next to him. “Private Vil, pull yourself together and pick up your weapon, please.” He ordered with surprising patience in his voice.

Vil couldn’t do anything but sob and hide her face.

The Yank sighed and looked down at her. Hints of pity flashed in his hazel eyes before he started to move on to the next person in line.

“I will handle this, sir,” Alek suddenly cut in. In the commotion of Raksim and the Lieutenant's quarrel, no one had noticed his approach. He stood in front of Vil for a moment before he sat cross-legged in front of her. “Sit down, please.” He said it gently but sternly.

Vil swiveled her ears in confusion, but she slowly lowered herself to the ground nonetheless.

“Give me your paws.”

She did as directed. Alek lightly squeezed them to comfort her.

“Are you afraid, Private Vil?” He asked softly.

“Y-yes! I’m always afraid! I-I can’t be like humans; you’re all so strong and fearless and…” She trailed off.

“No, my friend, we are all afraid like you. But what separates cowards from heroes is action. Heroes act in the face of fear. Cowards, let fear control them.”

“Is that what I am? A coward?” Vil asked bitterly.

“No, my friend, you are bravest one here because you are afraid.”

Her ears came unpinned from her head, and her eyes met his.

“You have made it this far while terrified. Not a lot of venlil could do that. A coward could not do that.”

Vil’s ears perked up the tiniest bit.

“I know you are emotional right now, but you must stop crying. It’s hard to aim with tears in your eyes.”

She nodded, and they stood up together. Alek gathered up the fallen magazines and passed them to Yankovic. Vil picked up the rifle. Her smaller stature made it look awkward and oversized in her grip, but she was able to make it work by holding the magazine instead of the foregrip.

The Lieutenant held a feeding device out for her. “Load.”

She took it and inserted it into the weapon with some difficulty.

“Engage the target.”

Vil was still shaking, but as she lined up her shots, she was able to steady herself for brief moments.

“Reload… Engage the target.”

Bang, bang, bang.

“Reload… Engage the target.”

Another trio of gunshots.

“Show Clear.”

Vil removed the empty magazine and opened the action of the gun.

The Lieutenant looked downrange at the target. The holes were not as tightly packed as mine, and three of them were completely outside the black torso. I held my breath as I waited for his assessment.

“Well done, Private,” Yank said. “A little bit of practice and you’ll qualify just fine. Stand behind the line.”

I exhaled.

Vil set the rifle down again. Instead of following orders, she rushed over to Alek and threw her arms around him. She was balling her eyes out again, but this time they were happy tears.

The Lieutenant shook his head slightly and began instructing the next person in line. Alek remained where he was and gently stroked the wool on Vil’s head.

“Venlil,” Raksim said contemptuously as he passed. “So emotional.”

The Platoon Sergeant raised his middle digit and showed it to the krakotl.

When we met in person for the first time, Alek and I had a very long, hushed conversation about what he had done in the service of the Russian Army. He told me about fighting in Grozny and Makhachkala. The horrible things that he saw humans do to each other and had to do to keep his men safe. If they knew what I knew, no one would have blamed him if he became bitter and mean, like Raksim. He had a depth of kindness and compassion that remained in spite of everything. He was living proof that humanity was unquestionably violent and predatory, but if given the chance, they would be tender-hearted to a fault. That’s why I decided they were worth fighting for.

Eventually, Alek was able to coax Vil into letting him go. He ran a hand through her head wool one last time and tapped the end of her snout with a finger before continuing with his duties as Platoon Sergeant.

He met our Lieutenant halfway down the firing line, where he was teaching another venlil. They had a brief, quiet conversation that I couldn’t hear. Yank nodded at what he was told and carried on with his work. I took it as a good sign.

Lieutenant Yankovic was more perplexing to me now than ever. One only had to look into his eyes to see that he had some form of human predator disease–his doubts of fiery rage were even further proof of that. But he hadn’t turned his fury on Vil or me, even though he very well could have for speaking out of turn or blatantly failing to follow orders. Instead, it was directed at Raksim, our tormentor. Perhaps he had the same kindliness in him as Alek, but the only way he could express it was anger.

I was brought out of my musing by Yankovic himself, who had worked his way down the line of non-humans and was walking back in my direction. Raksim gave me a dirty look as he passed.

Needless to say, I cared very little for that krakotl. If he thought I could become a corporal or sergeant by turning my back on Vil or others who needed help, then I would gladly remain a private until this war ended. That may have been how he rose the ranks in the krakotl military, but I would never stoop that low.

Yankovic pressed the button on the pavilion’s pillar again, and a fresh row of cardboard targets replaced the old ones. He ordered us to fill our magazines completely this time. Alek kept us supplied with more of the little ammunition packages. Vil, having mostly recovered from her emotional moment, did not need help this time.

The Lieutenant called us up to the firing line and gave us permission to fire at will, with the only stipulation being that we had to keep our weapons in semiautomatic mode. As we began sending bullets downrange, he and Alek worked with individuals to improve their posture, stance, and trigger pull. Raksim just stood behind the firing line and stewed. Yank didn’t seem to care much what he did, as long as he was out of the way.

Over the rest of the afternoon, we mastered how to shoot and reload from the standing, crouching, and prone positions. We were allowed to switch our rifles to full-auto halfway through. I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that it was a highlight of the day for me. I’d never fired an automatic weapon before, and my Kalashnikov was surprisingly easy to control due to its gentle recoil impulse.

Vil still struggled with them due to being smaller. Alek taught her to lean further forward and take on a wider stance to absorb more of the recoil. When she used that posture, she looked like an arxur, hunched over and ready to strike, but her groupings on the target were much improved.

As the finale of the day, Lieutenant Yankovic had us all load one final magazine and dump it all in one trigger pull. The sound of thirteen automatic weapons blazing at once made the gojid raise their quills and forced the venlils’ ears to press against their head. But our swishing tails betrayed us and showed our enjoyment. The two yotul medics were the only ones who displayed it openly by whooping and cheering with delight.

As much fun as it was, my arms were sore from holding my weapon steady all afternoon. More than anything right now, I would have loved to go to bed and be the little spoon to Alek’s big spoon.

Our Lieutenant had other plans. We expected an order to begin marching through the downpour again, but he took on a cruel, mischievous look–the same one he had when he ordered Alek to hose me down yesterday. “You’ve done very well today. You should be proud of yourselves.” His eyes flicked very briefly at Vil. “Now clean up your mess, you slobs.” He kicked some of the paper packaging and spent casings that littered the floor.

We let out a collective groan and bent over to collect our trash. It was put back into the metal tins that it came from. The worst part was picking through the muddy ground behind and in front of the firing line, where some of the empty casings had been ejected or rolled.

Once the range was spotless again, Yank finally gave the order to begin marching. For what was hopefully the last time that day, we marched our way through the rain and back toward Warehouse 1480. On the way there, Alek and the Lieutenant hucked the containers of paper and spent cartridges in a dumpster.

The warehouse finally came into view. As we approached, I could feel the soreness in my muscles sink further in and my eyelids grow heavier. Nonetheless, hope stirred in my heart. The safe haven of me and Alek’s barracks room was so close. All I had to do was put this rifle away, and I would be free to go back to it.

When Yankovic crossed the threshold, two military police officers emerged from the warehouse, seized him by the shoulders, and tightened a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

All hope I had of going to bed soon vaporized in an instant.

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