The bullet flew through the air, landing on the outer ring of blue. Noah stayed behind him, pushing his body up to press against Zeke’s. His head only came up to Noah’s mouth, making it easy for Noah to wrap his arms under Zeke’s, lifting him into the perfect position.
Zeke fired off more shots. Three blues. Two inner-circle yellows.
“I think I’ve got it now,” Zeke muttered, shaking him off.
Noah moved over to support Frankie, but Meredith had already corrected her aim and she was now hitting the bullseye almost half the time.
“Ready for moving targets?” Meredith asked.
“No!” said Zeke, but Meredith was already going to set up the machine. Frankie and Zeke spent the next twenty minutes attempting to hit moving blobs of cardboard, Zeke missing far more than he hit.
“You’ll like the next gun, Zeke,” Meredith said.
Aoife considered him. “I’m thinking a semi-automatic sniper might be just the thing to test his mettle.”
As it turned out, Zeke did have much more luck with the sniper, beating Frankie easily, although Noah thought she might have been deliberately shooting wide at points. He took his time lining up the shot and hit the bullseye three times in a row. Zeke looked pleased with himself: a small grin carved its way onto his face.
Next, Noah grabbed the burst rifles out of the box and explained that they would be Zeke and Frankie’s primary firearm before throwing them over.
“Can you… show me again?” Zeke asked, eyes trained on the targets as he held the rifle.
Noah hid his surprise. “Sure. Just let me know when you want me to stop.” Noah reached around Zeke again, drawing him into him. His mouth brushed against Zeke’s ear as he instructed him on how to hold it. “When we press the trigger, there’s going to be an even bigger kick back this time. Don’t panic, I’ll hold you.” Zeke closed his eyes. “Eyes open,” Noah laughed, nudging him with his chin.
Zeke mustered up the courage to pull the trigger. Noah felt him immediately attempt to let go, but he held Zeke’s hand in place for two seconds, spraying the area in front of them.
Zeke cheered. “I did it!”
Noah had done most of the work, but he squeezed him in celebration, anyway. “Let’s go again.”
Noah remained behind Zeke for a few more rounds. His body was soft and warm, and Noah relished the soft sounds of joy he made when he hit a target. He’d happily stand behind him all day. The thought alarmed him. Maybe Habib was right yesterday and it reallyhadbeen too long.
He dragged himself away, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to squash his salacious thoughts. Zeke was surprisingly lovely, but he was his CO.
“You’re on your own now.”
Zeke fired off a few more rounds solo, spraying the targets with glee.
Noah called the women back over to them.
“You both need to get your rifle reload time down to three seconds.” Noah swapped the detachable box magazine—displaying effortless grace that could only come with a decade’s worth of experience.
When Noah began timing Zeke and Frankie, Zeke’s hands began to shake again, and he dropped the entire rifle on the floor several times in his attempt to keep up with Frankie’s score.
Trying not to sigh, Noah called it a day. Zeke was clearly done with firearms training. “We’ve used the ammo pretty liberally today, but in the field, we have to conserve as many rounds as possible. That’s why we try to stick with the crossbows, and all carry these as well.”
Noah unsheathed his knife from his belt and held it up. Its long, twenty centimetre, razor-sharp blade gleamed in the light. The tan leather handle, worn from its excessive use over the last few years, was a familiar weight in his hand. He spun it around in a circle, using his fingers, before passing it to Frankie.
“In any scenario where a type has been demobilized, always finish them with a slash to the neck. Habib and Splat will show off by practically decapitating them, but the rest of us are more sensible.”
“Most of the time,” said Meredith.
Both of the new recruits stared at the knife in Frankie’s hand in awe and fear.
“And Splat is in charge of the bombs? Do we ever get to do that?” Frankie asked.
Aoife roared. “I love this one! Leave it to Splat. You don’t want to be getting anywhere near his bomb tech. It’s his baby, and he’ll blowyouup if you try to interfere.”
“What’s after lunch?” asked Zeke.
