Most of them were fair enough shots but some were really nothing to write home about, Sam thought skeptically as he watched a soldier hit the target in eight different places that didn't seem entirely deliberate. Seasoned officers, just not the ones taking fire on a daily basis.Īt the far end of the gallery, an official with a clipboard marked down results as the crew took turns shooting. To Sam's eye, the lineup mostly had the look of non-combat-duty staff-they seemed tired, quiet, with none of the simmering twitchiness of the pilots he'd met. ![]() They'd glanced at each other and Sam had shrugged- why not?-and that's how they wound up hovering at the back of the shooting gallery while a dozen or so of Galactica's crew took turns firing on a Cylon-shaped target that might once have been considered vintage. Somehow, without paying attention to where they were going, Sam and Jean had found themselves on the shooting range in the middle of weapons recertification quals. Then Booker wanted to make another detour to the flight deck, and Charlie left to catch up on sleep, and everyone else had decided to go their separate ways, too. ![]() By lunch on the second day they were down to half a dozen Caprican refugees traveling the corridors at random. They'd started out wandering Galactica as a group, gradually splitting off into pairs and trios to check out different parts of the ship or bother friends at their stations. Looking around and staying out of the way. But no one had asked Sam and Jean to leave and, after all, Sergeant Fischer had ended his recruitment pitch with the casual injunction to "Feel free to look around, just stay out of the way," so here they were. ![]() Firearms exams probably weren't open to spectators of the civilian persuasion.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |