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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 6] Side-story : Lead Chorus

ShotJon

ShotJon

Well-Known Member
ON! - 4th Fleet HQ

Lisa Simmons was in a hurry. She had a good news. Some really, really good news. Her slender feet moved fast, one moving before the others through 4th Headquarters. Soon she was back in the barracks, where the Minutemen laid down. Her eyes quickly sought out corporal Henry Morris. When she spotted him she ran to him, kicking into the bed he was laying on to get his attention.

"Oi Corporal," She greeted him. "I got great news!" The Corporal in question was lying on his bed dressed in a tracksuit and t-shirt. His face was under a book he'd picked up and never quite bothered to put down. He tipped the book upwards to look at Lisa and gave her an upwards nod, pushing the book over his forehead and letting it slide backwards into the pillow behind him, looking like a hat. He was all ears.

"Hear what," Lisa continued as he gave her a nod. "I got us a time on the HQ firing range. With all the toys and whatnot. The WO that handles us did not like it too much, but I told him that we marines need downtime after all that shit that happened and if we won't get then who knows what bunch of bored marines can do. Anyway we can go there and go all out. Cavaliers can come too!"

He leaned up and the book fell off of his pillow and down into his bedding. "Smart thinking. Who knows what a bunch of bored, stressed out marines would do without stimulation?" He smiled weakly and looked over to the uniform folded on his dresser that had been burnt during the Dauntless evacuation. He sighed lightly and looked back to Lisa. "Let's do it."

"Get into uniform then! I will have Drei message everyone." Lisa gave the corporal a smile. "Might get blood flowing for the evening and what no. Oh and could you send a message to sarge Volkov?"

He got off the bed and opened his dresser. Since he was waiting for a new set of uniforms after his supply had burnt and spaced on the Dauntless, all he had for now was a tan shirt with a Marine's jacket. A sort of varsity item for long-serving marines. He donned the shirt and jacket and buttoned it up. Everything else that wasn't uniform related was safe in this room here at the headquarters. He picked up his Datapad and started sending Volkov a message.

Code: 
TO: SGT. Volkov, Phaedra
CC: SQD Minutemen; SQD Cavaliers
FR: CPL. Morris, Henry
MSG: Henry here. Simmons managed to get the Minutemen and Cavaliers some time on the range to unwind. Bring the whole team along - apparently we've got the the arsenal at our fingertips.

Cheers,
-H

-

The 4th Fleet HQ firing range was a thing to behold. Not too far from the famous Fun House. The range was whole under ground as an attempt on security by nepleslians. Only people in danger would be the one shooting down under. The range was build for training at medium ranges, its lanes being only about 300 meters long. Good enough to train precision shooting, far enough to fire a bazooka and be fairly safe from the outcome.

The Range master was a surprisingly small guy. Short, slim with fashionable ginger moustache. The man sporting rank of corporal looked at Henry and Lisa with a slight scorn.

"I am Corporal Dewon Wilson. Try to not destroy my range or shoot your brains out. Guns are on the tables, ammo is in the boxes. Knock yourself out," he said and walked away into his little boot.

"Yes sir. Rest assured we know which end the bullets come out of." Henry replied in jest before grabbing some ear protection and shooter's glasses. After donning the glasses, he walked over to the weaponry on the table and inspected the goods.

"If i had a DA each time I heard that I would buy myself a moon," the range master simply replied and close his little shack.

Lisa moved to one of the tables covered with rifles, pistols, shotgun, sub-machine guns, grenades and other very nepleslian ordnance. There were couple of seized Impalers too and most of the Origin stuff. Two HPAR's and an LPA were also easy to notice, though why were they in range made for personal weaponry was a good question. Henry whistled at the sheer variety of the weapons on hand.

"Well now we just need to wait for the rest of the blokes." Lisa commented the situation. Henry nodded.
 
Laying near the back of the Minutemen's barracks dead asleep and completely oblivious to Lisa's excited tone as she spoke to Henry. Still unsure as to how the squad viewed him and his past fuck up during the snatch and grab on the NMX ship, he figured that charging in to Henry's rescue during the ground assault would at least lighten his squad leaders mood toward him. He had yet to hear about any disciplinary actions from Ironsides given her new command which was fine with him.

Like most of the Marines, his equipment had been torched when the Dauntless went down. All he had was what he had been wearing when the exhausted private hit the bunk which wasn't much. Standing from the bunk and stretching to his full height of 7'5", he grabbed his t-shirt from the end and pulled it over his head before tucking it into his trousers and pulling his boots on despite the slight protest his injured arm gave him. Flexing the bicep that was wrapped in gauze, he checked how much motor function he held which was all of it to his surprise if he was okay with the slight discomfort. A few bandages covered some minor burn areas that he had recieived while they had evaced the Navy personnel of the now gone Dauntless.

A moment later his datajockey screamed its new message alert at him as he pulled it up and grinned at their luck. Downtime on the firing range was always welcome news. Seconds later the datajockey's of the other sleeping marines began their annoying little beeps and screams. Stuffing his own jockey in his thigh pocket and grabbing one of the few cigars he had left until he bought more, Aleksei bit the end off and lit it before making his way out of the barracks and toward the range.

Due to his lack of rank insignia thanks to having no jacket to show that he was but a private, most of the other privates hopped out of his way as quickly as possible. No doubt the Hybrid looked like a man on a mission from some long forgotten gods. The occasional mutter of "Whats his problem?" Was often followed by a quick turn around glare from Aleksei.

Showing the appropriate salute to officers and warrant officers he passed, they saluted and gave a small nod. Not many marines had injuries in the headquarters and so it was obvious he had been aboard the Dauntless on it's final return trip. As he made his way past the medical station, he bumped shoulders with a fellow private, practically knocking the man to the ground if not for the wall he hit first. "What the fuck is your problem, man?!" Challenged the marine as a medic poked his head out of the door. "Best leave that one alone. He just got back from the front. One of those Minutemen. Watched the Dauntless burn from his armor." Spoke the medic before returning to his duties. Completely oblivious to the conversation as he continued through, he finally got to the range where he found Henry, Lisa, and the range master.

Catching the ass end of the conversation as the RM walked away muttering something about buying a moon. "Mornin." Spoke the rookie as he attempted the stifle a yawn behind one of his giant fists. "Heard we get to take out some pent up aggression on some innocent targets." Added the man with an enormous grin, his grey and purple eyes flitting across the laid out weaponry.
 
Bored.

Zyv Rakowski was bored out of his mind as he waited along with other 4th fleet personnel, who were not on active duty but not permitted to go on leave, watching a rerun of some sort of TV show which whole purpose seemed to be convincing people to make fools of themselves. If it wasn’t for the ample amount of snarky comments he and the other marines could throw at the “performances” the man would have gone and found something more entertaining to do, like counting the cracks in the wall.

Needless to say when he read the message on his datajockey he was rather quick in evacuating his chair and made good time on his way to the firing range.

- ‘Corporal. Simmons. Voronov.’

Rakowski greeted the marines already present before planting himself in front of the weapon strewn table and proceeded to load slugs into a CQBS-A2 magazine planning to shoot some rounds for fun before he would have a look at more practical shooting practice. As his fingers moved he looked up at Lisa.

- ‘I hear you’re the one who got us this chance to shoot stuff. What sort of unspeakable acts did you have to do to get permission?’

He asked, hoping that he managed to convey that he was attempting to be humorous.
 
After ushering the in the new replacements and completing several administrative tasks in Chief Santiago's absence, Phaedra was more than ready for some time to unwind. So when she received the message from Henry that Lisa had reserved the firing range, she was greatly delighted at the opportunity. Having had little time to shoot any of her personal weaponry, Phaedra wasted no time in retrieving several items from her storage locker in the HQ.

At the risk of appearing a little gun-crazy, Phaedra arrived at the firing range with a pistol holster strapped to her thigh, a rifle case slung over one shoulder, a dufflebag slung over the other shoulder, and some type of long weapon case with a handle grasped in one hand. She chose the far side of the range to place her effects, but returned to where and Henry some of the Minutemen were congregating. She nodded in greeting to all present.

"Excellent idea, Simmons," said Phaedra as she grabbed a pair of shooters glasses.

"Just the thing the Minutemen and Cavaliers needed I think," she remarked, removing her beret and pulling her long bangs out of her eyes.

After returning to her end of the range, Phaedra began to ready her weapons. While she might be criticized for being so far away from the rest of the Marines, Phaedra was an introvert at heart and needed a brief respite from her squadmates. She withdrew a Zen Armaments .357 Pistol from her holster and set it out on a nearby table along with three magazines from her duffle bag.

Phaedra set out the rifle case on the table and retrieved a Styrling Longbolt rifle from it. She opened the bolt and laid it upon the table next to the pistol. She also removed a pair of noise-canceling earplugs from the case and set them off to the side along with two clips for the rifle.

Satisfied with her weapon selection for the time being, Phaedra put on the glasses and placed the earplugs into her ears. She checked and loaded the .357 pistol and then raised it to eye level. She then began to squeeze off rounds at the target down range with a comfortable speed.
 
Once Sawyer had recovered from his injury taken during the final moments of the battle they had just returned from he checked his datajockey and saw the alert from Lisa that she'd reserved the range. He gathered up what he had to practice with and made his way there. He'd set down the bag carrying his Designated Sharpshooter Rifle and the IAW Rifle Kit that he had as well. He'd draw his Styrling Silver Special .45 from its holster and set it on one of the benches while he started loading magazines and inserting rounds into the internal magazine of the DSR. He had a few other weapons with him but he was unsure about the safety precautions of using them since they were of a make he was unfamiliar with and had been part of a bulk lot of salvage he'd acquired.
 
Lisa turned to Zyv. She smiled widely. "Ah the usual. Few thread here, flashed my tits at othes there. Works magic. Anyway here we are!" She said and grabbed Styrling TV remote sitting on one of the tables. She loaded both shells, walked to range.

Lisa raised her arm and took the firing stance. Barrels of her gun aimed themselves on the target that was mere 5 meters far. Lisa smirked and then fired both barrels at the same time. Her hand went up and paper target was obliterated by rain of sharp projectiles.

"Wooo now this is a cool gun. Imagine if it was someone's face!" She shouted and gigled. She then turned to sergeant Volkov. "Yeah I thought as much Ma'am. Just think of me next time, they will be talking about promotions again." She added and laughed out loud.

Opening the little shotgun, she sat it back on table and reached under it. She pulled an ice box and opened it. "Hokay who wants a beer! Got some whiskey here too Sarge!" She said and sat a six-pack on the table. Taking one and opening it.

"I PROCLAIM THIS GUN PARTY NOW OPEN!" She then shouted and took a healthy swig from the beer-can.
 
Henry had bought a long bag with him, and in it was the weapon he nicknamed the Henry Rifle. He made it a couple of years ago, and occasionally made appearances at the range. Henry built it from scratch using a some scrap and parts ordered from a magazine. It fired an odd .30-30 cartridge in a lever action mechanism, and the barrel was a solid octagon shaped piece of metal.

The piece used both heavy hardwood for the stock, and lighter polymers for the parallel grips. Iron adjustable sights were on the weapon. The only place an accessory could really be mounted was on top of the barrel for a scope. Otherwise, the rest was fairly simple. Point, shoot, pull lever, repeat until empty, reload.

He pulled it out and started firing it at paper targets. BLAM! Cla-clink! Something about having to eject the round by lever rather than with semi-automatic action was just more satisfying. Perhaps the bullets had more punch because the mechanism locked up completely - and the bullet didn't have anywhere to go but forward. No kinetic energy wasted on cycling mechanisms or chambering new rounds.

It was all man power.
 
Zyv loaded the last round into the magazine and began to tap it against his chin.

- ‘Sounds like its useful to have some sex-appeal… ‘course I sincerely doubt anyone would be interested in my chest.’

That decided he put the mag down and pulled a few .45 magazines, grabbed a handful of said round and began loading. When beer appeared on the table Zyv quickly leaned over and liberated a can, opening it with an ear-pleasing hiss.

- ‘For all it is worth to you Simmons I believe that with this you’ve temporarily become my favourite female on this planet.’

He said with a grin before taking a draught and moving to his shooting lane. Setting his things down he hooked up a target and sent it down. Picking up his .45 Styrling he shot off a quick succession of controlled pairs till the slide locked back declaring the magazine to be empty. Having made sure that was indeed the case he put the pistol down and punched the button to get the target back.

Looking at his pairings while sipping a beer with the familiar smell of burnt gunpowder Zyv couldn’t help but feel somewhat pleased.
 
Standing a bit further down range from his fellow marines, Aleksei knew he was still the outsider and he wasn't about to push himself into the facets of their tightknit comradarie. Loading the cylinder of his HHG before snapping it shut with a flick of his wrist, he reached down and grabbed the nearest HPAR and hefted the large weapon. The 4 foot length and 165 pounds wasn't much of an issue for the 7'5" tall Hybrid as he loaded one of the drum mags into the magazine well and clicked the safety. Holding the weapon at the hip, Aleksei pulled the trigger and let off a few bursts, watching with satisfaction as the coins struck one of the metal targets. A moment later the target had a large melted hole at lower center mass.

Lit cigar hanging from his mouth, the marine took a few large puffs as he slammed the target return button to admire his handy work. Clicking the weapon back to safe and leaning most of the weapons weight on his shoulder while he glanced down range and saw the beer and whiskey, feeling his mouth begin to water at the sight of the alcohol. Ignoring his baser desire for the drinks, he brought up a new target with the hit of a button and began to unload bursts into them.
 
Wulfe made his way to the shooting range with a barely noticeable limp and a bag slung over his shoulder, and a somber expression. All things considered, he was almost completely healed from the injuries he sustained during his last mission. He could walk, run and jump around like before, but there was still a small residual pain that remained on his left leg and midsection that he couldn't really describe.

He had also lost most -if not all- of his belongings during the destruction of the Dauntless, but he was one of the lucky few to have been wearing his duty uniform by then, and was spared the opportunity of wearing a mix of different uniforms it like some of the other marines.

The marine saluted any superiors on his way and picked a random empty spot on the range to set his bag down, retrieving the newly issued IAW rifle and a couple of spare magazines. He inserted a fresh magazine into the weapon, racked the charging handle back and looked down the sights and fired.

He hadn't had time to do as much as relax since the last mission he was in. Being stuck into the medbay for several days and then having the space ship he was in torn in half really messed with anyone's agenda, but now that he had time to do something simple as using the shooting range he could think about past things, like he did every now and then when he had time to throw away.

So he remembered.

He remembered his first mission, which ironically enough wasn't inside a power armor. It was also the first time he killed someone who again, ironically enough, wasn't even a squid to begin with.

He fired again.

He remembered his last mission, where he took his first injury, by friendly fire. He also remembered the feeling of being buried underground and having to wait for the rest of the squad to dig him out of the rubble. He remembered that particular memory and many other nuances until the clicking of the empty gun brought him back to the firing range, staring down the smoking barrel of his weapon and many holes in the target down the range.
 
"Oh my god. These Antimatter Os SUCK," Julian yelled in frustration, spitting out the vile cereal, which has probably been stale for a year. He tossed the rest of the bowl of stale cereal into the nearby trash can, stomping away irritatedly at the lack of breakfast. Sadly, the lone box of Antimatter Os was the only thing he could find, and since he couldn't find anyone to ask where the rest of the food was, he had to settle with going hungry. Also, he was new and he didn't really want to be rude, or at least give off the wrong first impression with his new squad.

Julian went back to his bunk and checked his datapad, and saw that there was a new message waiting for him. And it was from Sergeant Volkov, leader of the Marines in the 4th.

Code: 
TO: PRIVATE 3RD CLASS Hunter, Julian
FR: Drei
MSG: Private Julian Hunter, you are requested in the firing range, where you will be designated for assignment.

Julian closed his datapad and put it away, grabbing his ESG and heading down to the range. After going underground, he entered the range where he saw his new squadmates firing away at the targets. Julian approached Sgt. Volkov and stood at attention.
 
Phaedra set down her emptied pistol on the table and drew the target paper in. Satisfied with her accuracy with the pistol, she took down the target and put up another one. She sent the target away and picked up her Longbolt rifle. She pushed a clip into the breech and then slammed the bolt closed.

And that was when her datajockey chimed with a message. Scowling, Phaedra shifted the rifle to the crook of her left arm and picked up the datapad.

Code: 
To: Sergeant Phaedra Volkov
Fr: Drei
Msg: P3C Hunter, Julian has just arrived on site and has been assigned to you, Sergeant.

Not even a minute later a tall marine with a fauxhawk entered the range and approached her position, pointed out by the other marines in the range. He saluted and waited for a response. Phaedra glanced at his nameplate.

"Private Hunter? Welcome to 4th Fleet. We are currently on a furlough, so for the time being grab yourself a weapon and enjoy."

With that Phaedra set down her datajockey and readied her rifle. She raised it to her shoulder and fired at the target downrange, the rifle booming loudly. She then worked the bolt to eject the spent casing and then slammed it closed. She took at seat at her table and set the rifle on the gunrest. After making a few adjustments to the scope she aimed and pulled the trigger, the rifle booming loudly again.

There was nothing but Phaedra, the rifle, and her target. With practiced precision she aimed, fired, and then worked the bolt to bring the next round into the chamber. A small smile had replaced the scowl on her face; Phaedra had missed this greatly.
 
As he stepped out of the transport Crispin couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of the headquarters for 4th Fleet. There was an unnerving hustle about the place. It made him feel that much more insignificant for just standing there, not knowing where to report.

A couple of the more veteran marines on his transport pushed past him, making comments about "fresh meat" that were completely lost on him in his currently dumbfounded state. His DataJocky chimed, snapping him back to reality and putting a message on the screen.

Code: 
To: Private Third Class Crispin Halford
From: Drei
Message: Report to Sergeant Phaedra Volkov in the firing range to receive your assignment. That is all.

He told his DaaJockey, "Okay... Uh, pull up a map of the facility."

"Unrecognized command." It said back

"Gah! You son of a bitch!" He mussed up his hair in frustration. "Okay, let's try this again. Pull up a map of 4th Fleet headquarters."

"Command recognized, executing."

"Hahah! That's right bitches! Okay, now I just need to go this way..."

He picked up his duffel bag, filled with his clothes and his sidearm. Then he slung his rucksack filled with experiments, tools, and his old acoustic guitar over his shoulder, and headed off in the direction of the firing range.

He had to ask for directions a few times, but he made it through alright. When he reached the firing range everyone was already at a station, and the disciplined crack crack crack of rifle fire from downrange was oddly reassuring, it told him that the people he'd be working with were professionals, they'd watch his back.

He had been told that Sergeant Volkov would be the one with the jagged scar over her left eye, and with that information he knew he'd come to the right place. He walked up to her and stood at attention with a snappy salute, "Private Third Class Crispin Halford, reporting for assignment as ordered ma'am! I would also like to take the opportunity to apologize for my tardiness, and to state what an honor it is to assigned here, I've heard 4th Fleet is one of the best!"
 
Phaedra's reverie was interrupted by yet another chime from her datapad, which she had only noticed due to it vibrating on her belt. She set down her rifle to check the message:

Code: 
To: Sergeant Phaedra Volkov
Fr: Drei
Msg: P3C Halford, Crispin has just arrived on site and has been assigned to you, Sergeant.
Shortly afterward a marine with closely cropped dark hair entered the firing range and stood at attention next to her.

"Private Third Class Crispin Halford, reporting for assignment as ordered ma'am! I would also like to take the opportunity to apologize for my tardiness, and to state what an honor it is to assigned here, I've heard 4th Fleet is one of the best!"

"Things truly have come full circle. I was in his shoes once..." thought Phaedra.

"At ease, Private. Welcome to 4th Fleet. We are currently on a furlough at the moment, so for the time being find yourself a weapon and enjoy."

Phaedra raised her Longbolt and fired the last round in the clip; the clip flew out when she opened the bolt. She smoothly inserted a new clip and slammed the bolt home before raising the rifle to her shoulder again.
 
Looking down the range to find two marines addressing the Sergeant, Aleksei hefted the weight of the HPAR off his shoulder before lining it down range again and firing another burst that walked up the target from bottom to top in a rather jagged line. Yet a line nonetheless. Letting another cloud of smoke escape his lips, Aleksei let the now empty drum mag loose before reloading another one. Pulling the charging handle back with a smooth motion, he let the weapon burp another few bursts.
 
Max entered the firing range to see that it was alive with activity. There were marines all over the place, drinking and having a great time with the weapons that the fleet had. It was a strange combination that many would think unsafe but Nepleslian Marines could handle both their alcohol and their weapons. It was something that he was extremely proud of and something he was ready to put to the test.

As Max walked over to the armory rack, he saw two PFC 3rd Classes addressing the Sergeant. "Well at least I'm not the new guy anymore" he thought. This wasn't precisely true, he had only fought with the Minutemen once on Mwigflukbajik and was just transferred over to the unit, but to him that was as good as knowing them a lifetime. Sharing life or death experiences always seemed to bring him closer to people, and after the Dauntless incident he felt confident that he would at least be accepted into the group. Or so he hoped. He would find out on their next outing he supposed.

Pushing these thoughts away, Max looked over the weapons on the rack. He saw a Na-W/P-08a Heavy Automatic Sidearm and M2 Assault Rifle sitting on the rack. "Yes that will do nicely" he said, picking up both of the weapons off the rack and heading to the range.

Max always preferred medium range engagements. Being a former police officer, most of his encounters were up close and personal so the HAS was like his best friend. So he figured he would start with that, a few close to medium range targets would serve as a nice warmup. Sliding in a fresh magazine, Max cocked his weapon and prepared to fire. He let out a slow exhale before letting loose with his HAS. The gun fired smoothly and his rounds sailed down range, impacted his target in a scattered group.

Max shook it off. While it would have taken down the target, Max was not impressed with his aim. He remembered how his first shots went wide back on Mwigflukbajik. "Unacceptable Carter, get it together" he thought to himself. Max exhaled again, aiming much more carefully this time and letting out another short burst. This time, his round went into the target in a much tighter group. "That's more like it" he thought as he continued to unload his weapon down range.
 
Lisa meanwhile finished her first beer and tossed it away. She then proceeded to grab and load two knucklers. With them she approached a simple target that was only 5 meters away from her. She then aimed at it with both hands.

"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" She shouted as she pressed the trigger and started emptying both guns into the paper. It took several seconds before both magazines were empty and there was little to nothing left of the target.

"Hahahaha! That was awesome!" She said and smiled at others. "Pffft you guys take this too seriously. Look at all the stuff we get to play with! This is Gun Party not a training you sods!"
 
Julian blasted away for a few minutes at the targets with his ESG. Firing in short, controlled bursts, he managed to totally disintegrate the head of the target. Of course he was concentrating his fire anyway, but it still gave him a sense of confidence in his abilities.

After seeing what would happen if he concentrated fire in the torso and, although he was given some weird looks by his new squad mates, the crotch area. Satisfied with his destruction, Julian sat down and sipped on a beer, watching everybody else continue to blast away.
 
Zyvs eyebrow twitched as he heard Lisa shout after her lengthy barrage. “Sod” was it? He put the holed target down, hooked up a new one and sent it down range. That done he downed the rest of the beer, slammed the can down turning it into a flat bit of scrap before turning to the loud female marine.

- ‘Why don’t you just admit, Simmons, that you simply don’t want anybody to see what a crap shot you are.’

The grin on his face slowly faded as he remembered a certain fact and added,

- ‘Corporal.’
 
Not to be outdone by Lisa's Knuckler display, Henry raised his rifle, ejected the rest of the rounds and put it over his back, looking at the table for another weapon to try and one-up her with, showmanship wise. He found something that looked as though it was an engineer's toy gone horribly wrong, and yet so horribly right because it worked.

A belt-fed ESG. Attached to the lower part of the handgrip was the box magazine, containing a chain of about a hundred tiny bullets. These guns were made for praying and spraying, and developed alongside its bigger brother, the HHG. The two were complete opposites, showing the dichotomy in design between Aerotech and Terratech, two divisions of NAM.

"C'mon kids, pick up a real gun. It won't bite." Henry teased to the two new recruits as he lifted his weapon into the air, noting that all the bullets weighed it down from its modest 600 gram weight to about two kilos.

Obviously, this was weapon a turducken of the two methodologies and several litres of standard grade cleaning alcohol. Unlike the original design, this one was made to last for longer - the parts were not made of plastic - they were made of a ceramic alloy of some sort, and the internal mechanisms had been completely replaced to accommodate the stresses of a rapid firing belt-feed mechanism.

"You call that an ESG?" He jeered to Julian in jest as he raised his ESG with both hands, pointing at a dummy target ten feet away. "THIS is an ESG!" He started firing at the dummy. Tiny shells of brass filled the air beside him and the dummy was slowly being disintegrated by each bullet as he started chuckling lowly once the 23rd or 24th round was fired. Or was it the 25th? He'd lost count in all the excitement.

He started laughing aloud once he was halfway through - the brass and disposed chain links by his side were starting to pile up into a molehill of Nepleslian-brand death shavings.

"One of these bullets? Diddly! Lots of these bullets? LOTS OF DIDDLY! Haaaaghahahahahahha!"
 
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