Die for You

Chapter 38

"Best time yet Freen, really well done!"

Jenna's voice came drifting over the range as I placed the safety onto the fake rifle and wiped my brow. My last day at Armstrong Manor was proving to be a tough one, my teasing of Rob over last night's dinner spurring Jenna and Becky to drive me to practice.

If I'm honest, I didn't need much motivation. According to Jenna, Rob didn't think I could beat James, let alone win the competition itself and that was why he had made his bet. I for one was determined to prove him wrong. James, on the other hand, was less disparaging; sending me emails from the States telling me how much practice he was getting, and how fast his times were.

His teasing was good natured, though, and he kept telling me how much he was looking forward to our little game. With little over a week to go to the event itself, however, the competition that would mark the culmination of our part of the expo, he seemed to be enjoying rubbing in how ready he was.

"Set them up again, Jenna," I shouted over to the smiling woman, "different pattern, give me a challenge."

She waved and began tinkering with the control board in front of her; and I reloaded the paintball gun and reset it, checking the pressure in its compressed air tank."

"You ok, Freen?" Becky asked as I approached the hay bales that marked the start where she was currently waiting. For some reason, Richie had come down to watch me train and attempted to do some rounds after a while.

"It's not as easy as it looks," he'd announced after competing his first attempt, breathing heavily. Becky had taken great pleasure in announcing his minus time, his penalties outweighing the time it took him, as slow as it was. Just like his mother, I'd found him to be fiercely competitive and after some pointers from me, and a little rest, he was dying to go again.

"Keep the rifle tucked into your shoulder and remember to count your rounds," I'd told him as we re-gassed the rifle and loaded his magazines. "Don't try to rush and pick your shots. It's better to be half a second slower and get a clean shot than it is to rush it and get a massive penalty. That's how it works here.

"Is that how it works in the real world as well?" He'd asked, nodding at my words.

"Depends on the situation," I told him quietly, ensuring Becky couldn't overhear, wanting to shake him of his belief that war is a game. "Sometimes that half a second is important, that's why we practice! Think of it like this, on that last run, how many bad guys did you miss?"

"Five," he replied sadly, "that's pathetic isn't it?"

I tilted my head and patted him on the shoulder, "In the real world, the first one you missed would almost certainly have killed you stone dead, and probably everyone with you as well."

He'd gulped dramatically at my words and blinked. 

"That's what it's really like out there, Richie, it's not like a video game. This... well, this is just a bit of fun to you, but to me, this was a way of staying alive. Get it right here, you stand a chance of getting it right out there when the shit hits the fan. That's what training's' for. It allows you to do things instinctively when you need to. Now get out there and show me what you're made of, you've got a time to beat."

To his credit, his second run was much, much better, and I was pretty sure that, with a bit more tuition, he could have performed even better still. He was light on his feet and his reactions were good. Unfortunately for him, before I could go right back into 'skill at arms trainer' mode, Becky had chased him off; insisting that I was cutting into my training time, and my break was over.