After lunch, we made our way back to the table where my radio sat, finding Gunny already waiting for us. Next to the table stood an oddly shaped object, roughly the shape of a very narrow house, about four feet tall by five feet long, covered under a tarp. Curiosity piqued, I walked over and tried to sneak a peek under the tarp. The moment my fingers touched it, Gunny shot me a look that could have frozen fire, his hand slicing through the air in a classic knife-hand warning.
I quickly stepped back from the object, opting to wait until the others arrived. It wasn’t long before the whole team was gathered, including Steve. Gunny checked his watch, his impatience evident, when a commotion broke out near the main entrance of the fenced-off area. A red-headed woman about my height was standing by the gate, arguing loudly with one of the team members stationed as a guard.
“You know damn well I’m part of this team! You’ve seen my badge how many times in the past two weeks?” she growled, clearly fed up.
“I know, Mac, but you have to have your badge to get in. Those are the rules,” the guard insisted.
“I forgot it in my fucking toolbox inside the damn FRS! How am I supposed to show it to you when you won’t let me get it…” she shot back, her frustration boiling over.
Gunny let out a deep sigh, walking over to the two squabbling figures. We all watched as he knife-handed the woman, saying something stern before turning his wrath on the guard. He proceeded to tear the poor guy apart verbally, up one side and down the other. The woman—Mac, as she was called—now stood at parade rest, a smirk tugging at her lips as Gunny finished his tirade. A few moments later, both of them made their way back to the group. Gunny looked like he was ready to tear someone's head off, while Mac looked rather pleased with herself.
We stood silently as they approached. Gunny returned to the table while Mac started to head towards the FRS. She didn’t get far before Gunny barked out, “Marine? Did I dismiss you?”
Mac spun on her heel, snapping back to parade rest. “No, Gunny!” she responded loudly.
“Get your fiery ass over here. You’re going to help me since I had to pull your ass out of the sling,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Roger, Gunny!” she replied, marching back to the group, her previous smirk now replaced by a look of irritation.
“Now that I have all of you here,” Gunny began, turning to face us, “we’ll be doing some weapons training.”
With a swift motion, he yanked the tarp off the object, revealing a set of military rifle racks filled with M-4 carbine rifles. My mouth fell open in surprise, and I quickly glanced around at the others. Most of them looked just as stunned as I was, though a few had expressions of pure joy at the sight. I shouldn’t have been so surprised—given the nature of our mission, military-grade hardware made sense—but seeing it in front of us made everything feel more real.
“Mac, pull one out and bring it here,” Gunny commanded, his eyes locking onto the redhead. She followed his order, retrieving one of the rifles with practiced ease. After a quick check to ensure it was clear of any rounds, she handed it to Gunny, keeping the barrel safely pointed away from the group. Gunny performed his own check before holding the rifle up for us to see.
“This is an M-4 FS Military fully automatic and semi-automatic carbine rifle,” he stated in his crisp, authoritative tone. “It is gas-operated and has a maximum firing rate of seven hundred rounds per minute. Maximum capacity is thirty rounds of NATO 5.56. Overall weight is seven-and-three-quarter pounds when fully loaded. Effective firing range is five hundred and fifty yards with a maximum range of three thousand nine hundred yards.”
I listened closely, though I was already familiar with this weapon platform from prior training with Star and Cayro before the Second Twilight Winter. Still, Gunny’s precise, no-nonsense delivery kept me focused, the gravity of our situation settling in even deeper.
“There are three settings you need to be familiar with,” Gunny began, his tone as sharp as ever. “Safe, Semi, and Auto. When the selector switch is placed in Safe, the rifle will not fire. When you select Semi, the rifle will fire one round per trigger squeeze. When you select Auto, the rifle will continuously fire rounds until you either run out of ammo or let go of the trigger.” He gestured to the selector switch, ensuring everyone was following along before continuing.
“This here is the trigger,” he continued, emphasizing the importance of discipline. “You will only place your finger on the trigger when you are ready to fire—not a moment before. This is the charging handle; you pull it back to chamber a round. This is the pistol grip where you hold the rifle while firing. The collapsible butt stock allows you to adjust the rifle for comfort and storage. Here’s the magazine feed where you load the magazine, and the magazine release is located on the left-hand side of the rifle. And most importantly, this is the barrel—the business end of this fine tool. You only point the barrel at a target you intend to kill. Never point it at anything or anyone you don’t intend to kill.”
Gunny’s voice was firm as he meticulously pointed out each part of the rifle, drilling the essentials into our heads. For the next hour, he broke the rifle down into its individual components, explaining how it worked and, most crucially, how to maintain it. When he was satisfied that we had absorbed the information, he and Mac distributed rifles, six empty magazines, and a cleaning kit to each of us. Our next task: disassemble the rifles, inspect the parts, and reassemble them, all within the next hour.
I found Jake and Kira and joined them on the ground, where we set to work. They were surprised at how quickly I moved through the rifle, my hands almost acting on muscle memory. Though it had been years since I last handled one, the skills came back to me as if no time had passed. Satisfied that Jake and Kira had a good grasp of the basics, I stood up and slung my rifle over my shoulder, ready to help anyone else who might be struggling.
I wandered over to the third group and found two of the members having trouble. Tyler, the tall red-headed guy with nearly yellow eyes, was fumbling with his bolt, unable to get it back in, and had left the firing pin out. Beside him, a tall strawberry blonde woman with bright blue eyes was struggling to reinsert the buffer spring and buffer into the butt stock.
Kneeling down next to them, I set my rifle in front of me. “Alright, guys,” I began patiently, “go ahead and disassemble your rifles again. I’ll walk you through the reassembly step by step.”
They hesitated at first, glancing at each other uncertainly, but I sat down on the ground and crossed my legs, making it clear I wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, they nodded and began disassembling their rifles. I instructed them to arrange their parts the same way I had mine, neatly and in order. Once they were ready, I picked up the lower receiver and grabbed my buffer spring and buffer.
“Place the butt of the rifle on the ground,” I instructed, “and use your weight to carefully push the spring and buffer into place.”
They followed my lead, and I saw the moment of realization dawn on the blonde’s face as she corrected her earlier mistake. I gave her an encouraging smile before moving on to the bolt. Tyler followed suit, and as we progressed through each step, I saw his confidence grow as he figured out where he’d gone wrong.
We went through the process two more times until they felt comfortable enough to do it on their own. As they worked, Tyler glanced at me curiously. “Alpha, how come you’re so good with this? It’s almost like you’ve handled one of these before.”
“This isn’t my first time using one of these rifles,” I replied quietly, my voice betraying a hint of nostalgia.
“It’s not?” the blonde asked, her surprise evident.
“No,” I confirmed.
“When did you get to use one?” Tyler asked, his curiosity piqued.
“During the Twilight Winter battle when the U.S. Government fell,” I answered, my tone even as I continued to reassemble my rifle.
“You were in the Twilight battle?” the blonde asked, her voice laced with awe.
“Yes, I fought with the Zaraki’s, Lord Lycotonu, and the Night Guardians,” I said, finishing the reassembly with a practiced ease that spoke volumes about my experience.
“That’s right, I almost forgot. You’re a member of Team Amethyst,” Tyler said, his tone filled with awe.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“That’s correct, I am,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“What’s Lord Lycotonu like? I heard he was a hard-ass,” the blonde asked, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
I couldn’t help but snicker at that. “When he’s not in ‘king mode,’ he’s one of the coolest people you’ll ever meet. He and Lady Lycotonu are both laid-back punk rock metal emos who love to sing and fly around on their skyboards.”
“Really?” she responded, her excitement palpable.
“Yep. They’re not that old either—Lord Lycotonu is only about a year or so younger than me,” I explained.
“That’s badass,” Tyler added, clearly impressed.
“I know, right? All four of them are pretty badass,” I agreed.
“Four of them?” the blonde asked, her curiosity deepening.
“Yeah, Cayro Zaraki, is the current commander of the 102nd Airborne Division and Star is the command of the 588th Night Witches Stealth Wing. Which falls under the 102nd Airborne division. It’s a combat wing named in honor of the Russian 588th Night Bomber Regiment,” I answered.
“Why name an FS combat wing after a Russian regiment?” Tyler asked, his brow furrowing.
“For two reasons: first, because they use similar tactics, and second, because, by happenstance, the combat wing’s Chief Master Sergeant happens to be one of the original pilots from that old World War Two unit,” I explained.
“Wow,” they both said in unison, their amazement clear.
“I didn’t know the leader of Team Amethyst was a commander in the FS Air Force,” the blonde said, her voice tinged with admiration.
“Yep, Star and Cayro are pretty badass,” I said again, pride evident in my voice.
“Alpha, how come you’re here and not working with them or Lord Lycotonu?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
I paused, looking down at my rifle as memories flooded back. “In truth, I wanted to stay with them. They’re my family. I would have served by their side for as long as I could. They were my Alpha and Luna,” I replied softly.
“What happened?” Tyler asked, his voice gentle.
“I’m a natural-born alpha, and they wanted me to form my own pack. I wasn’t ready, and I still don’t feel like I am. They sent me out on my own, and I decided I didn’t want to create a pack until I was ready,” I answered, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
“Why don’t you think you’re ready to be an alpha?” the blonde asked, her voice laced with concern.
“Charlotte, we shouldn’t pry into her past. That’s private,” Tyler chided gently.
“It’s okay,” I interjected, my voice steady. “My first alpha broke me, and I reached a point where I turned my back on my alpha nature.”
“Oh, that’s almost like cutting off your hand. A wolf denying its nature can turn very bad,” the blonde—Charlotte— said in a whisper, her voice filled with understanding.
“Lord Lycotonu said something similar to me,” I replied, nodding slowly.
“Well, if it’s any help, Alpha, I think you’re doing great,” Tyler stated, his sincerity evident.
I blinked, feeling something tighten in my chest—a mixture of gratitude and fear. They were counting on me, and I just hoped I wouldn’t fail them. Standing up, I slung my rifle over my shoulder and gave them both a small smile. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m going to see if anyone else needs help,” I said softly before turning to leave. They nodded, returning to their practice.
For the next half hour, I walked around, observing the others and offering help where it was needed. Eventually, Gunny made his way over to me, his expression serious.
“Hey, Lyra, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Tyler and Charlotte earlier,” he said quietly.
“Oh?” I asked, unsure of what was coming next.
“Yes, if I’d known you already had training, I would have had you teach the weapons course,” he replied, a hint of regret in his voice.
I gave him a quizzical look. “Why?”
“Because you need to establish your role as a leader. I watched how you took the time to teach those two how to disassemble and reassemble their rifles. You were patient and set an example. That’s the kind of leader this group needs,” he explained, his tone firm.
“Yeah, I just don’t know if I’m the right person for the job,” I admitted, my voice tinged with doubt.
“Stop doubting yourself, Lyra… You’ve always shown leadership skills. You just need to embrace them,” he retorted, his words carrying the weight of experience.
I let out a huff, feeling the pressure from all sides now. Looking down at the ground, I kicked a small rock, debating what to say next. “What if I turn into someone who ends up hurting them instead of helping them?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I seriously doubt that. You don’t seek power over them. You want to see them happy and healthy. I’m not worried that you’ll turn into a tyrant," Gunny answered, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen both sides of leadership.
I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him that I had the potential to be dangerous, but he cut me off before I could even get a word out.
"Don’t try to argue with an old Marine. I’ve seen my fair share of tyrants, and I can tell you’re not one of them. Now, let’s get everyone gathered so we can do some live practice," he encouraged, his tone brooking no further discussion.
Together, we walked over to the table where my radio had been earlier. It was now gone, replaced by several ammo cans. I noticed a large mound of earth and sandbags at the far end of the fenced-off area, with targets mounted on wooden backboards in front of it. This makeshift berm looked like it had been purpose-built for live-fire exercises. I turned to Gunny, my expression still questioning.
"Are we seriously going to fire our weapons here?" I asked, skepticism creeping into my voice.
"Yep. We’ve got a solid earthen berm reinforced with sandbags as a backstop. It’ll absorb the rounds without any risk of ricochets. Plus, there’s an additional barrier behind it made of stacked tires filled with sand, just in case. We’re all set," he explained with calm assurance.
"Uh, okay…" I muttered, still not entirely convinced but trusting Gunny’s judgment.
"Call everyone over," he directed.
Nodding, I turned around, placing my index fingers at the corners of my mouth. I let out a loud, sharp whistle that echoed across the yard, grabbing everyone’s attention.
"Please gather around!" I announced, my voice carrying authority.
It took a few minutes for everyone to make their way over, some of them still practicing with their rifles. When they were finally gathered, I turned to give Gunny the floor. Instead, he slapped a fully loaded magazine into my hand, grinning like a wolf who’d just cornered his prey. I narrowed my eyes at him, sensing what he was about to ask.
"Show them who you are, Alpha Acosta," he said, pride evident in his voice. I huffed, grabbing a second magazine off the table and shoving it into my left back pocket. If he wanted a show, I’d give him one.
Walking up to the firing line with my rifle pointed towards the ground, I twisted it to the right and slammed the magazine home with a satisfying click. Keeping my finger off the trigger, I pulled the charging handle in one smooth, fluid motion, hearing the round slide into place. I brought the rifle up, bent my knees slightly, and aimed. With my thumb, I clicked the selector switch to Semi. In my head, I counted to three, then pulled the trigger.
As soon as the first round went off, I took a step forward and pulled the trigger again. Rapidly, I sent rounds downrange, pushing forward with each step. When I heard the bolt lock back, I quickly released the empty magazine, letting it drop to the ground. Using my left hand, I grabbed the loaded magazine from my back pocket and slammed it into place, smacking the side of the rifle to send the bolt forward. Throughout the entire reload, I hadn’t broken my aim.
Pulling the trigger once more, I stepped into the recoil and continued pushing forward. By the time I reached the target, I had emptied the second magazine. The target’s head now had a roughly three-inch hole, and its torso sported another precise hole in the center. All my rounds had hit their mark near perfectly. If I’d zeroed the rifle earlier, the grouping would’ve been even tighter. Turning on my heels, I marched back toward the group, picking up my empty mag on the way.
When I reached the group, I saw that they were all staring at me again. Gunny was beaming with pride, while Kira looked like she might faint. I released the empty magazine from my rifle and placed both mags on the table, doing a quick clearing procedure in front of Gunny so he could verify that my rifle was empty and safe.
"That’s one way to do it," he said, pride in his voice.
"Go big or go home," I replied with a grin. Firing the M-4 again had felt amazing—I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the raw power of it. Slinging my rifle over my back, I turned to face the group.
"Alright! Who wants to have a go and see if they can outshoot me?" I proclaimed, my excitement genuine and infectious.
Everyone except Kira raised their hand, even Mac, our mechanic, who was already in the group with her rifle slung and ready to go. I pointed at her to go first. As a Marine, I knew she’d handle herself just fine.
“Give it your best shot, Marine!” I proclaimed while handing Mac two fresh mags.
She took both mags, sliding one into her left back pocket before walking over to the firing line. With a confident slam, she loaded the first mag and pulled the charging handle, taking her stance. Her movements were smooth, disciplined. She brought the rifle up and began firing, moving forward with precision. The rhythm of her shots was almost hypnotic, and by the time she was done, her target bore an impressive resemblance to mine, with clean, tight groupings.
I let out a low whistle, glancing at Gunny with an arched eyebrow. He looked impressed too, nodding in approval. It was reassuring to know we had at least two people who could handle firearms well. Depending on how the rest of the group performed, we could focus on teaching them to improve.
When Mac returned, she was grinning ear to ear, clearly thrilled with her performance. I offered her a fist bump, and she met it with a grin. Maybe this was the start of a strong friendship. I turned to face the rest of the group.
“Before we go any further, who here has formal training with firearms?” I called out loudly.
Hands went up—Steve’s, Sasha’s, and one of the guys I hadn’t been introduced to yet.
“You three, come over here and grab your mags. Steve, you’re up first,” I ordered.
Within ten minutes, I had a clearer picture of who could assist with the training. Steve did decently well but was a bit rusty. Sasha was solid, though she needed to work on maintaining her trigger control. The final person, who I now knew as Seth, had the basics down but wasn’t quite ready for the complexity of moving and shooting. His shots were scattered, and when he returned, he looked disappointed in himself. I patted him on the back, reassuring him that he just needed practice and that we’d get him there.
I turned to Mac and asked her if she was up for helping him out. She didn’t hesitate, leading Seth to the far end of the range. I was confident she could get him up to speed quickly. Once he was there, he could help with training the others.
Looking over at the remaining group, I quickly assigned Charlotte and Tyler to Sasha for training. Steve took the three wolves I hadn’t yet met. I took Jake and Kira under my wing, figuring Kira would need someone patient, and having Jake with her might help keep her calm.