The drive to Quantico was uneventful. Aidan passed the time by listening to the news. The anchors were still tripping all over themselves to talk about the new era of world peace and what it would mean for America. The military veteran wasn't quite as sanguine about the whole situation. War was an integral part of the human condition. In a fixed geopolitical world with finite resources, conflict was the only thing that made sense in a tribal, violent way.
When Aidan made it past the front gate of Marine Corps Base Quantico and navigated his way to the far-flung Range 18, he was thankful the lack of cellular service caused the talking heads to go silent. He parked and got out of his car to the crack of rifle fire in the background.
Aidan smiled at the familiar sound and took a moment to bask in the early morning sunlight. It was like coming home from a long trip, and he already felt better. The former Marine wondered when was the last time he had made the trip to Quantico. Three to four months at least, he decided. Aidan figured he'd try and convince Sparky to call him out here more often. It would look suspicious for him to invite himself, but if his old friend sent the invite, he'd be less likely to catch flak from his corporate bosses.
Plan set, he circled to the back of the car and retrieved his duffel, the pistol, and the rifle cases. Duffel swung over his shoulder, and a Pelican case in each fist, he awkwardly closed the trunk with an ill-balanced elbow. Compartment and sniper rifle thus secured, he set a brisk pace for the range tower. With any luck, the revered Lieutenant Colonel Guzman would be found nearby hanging out with the staff non-commissioned officers under his command.
As he walked up, he exchanged friendly greetings with Marines walking back and forth from the range to their vehicles. They were polite, of course, but Aidan couldn't help but feel like an outsider—no matter how much he identified as one of them. They looked to be mostly reconnaissance Marines, but he caught sight of a few Navy medics—lovingly referred to as Docs—and a few explosive ordnance disposal guys.
Maybe it was the former Marine's age, but they looked surprisingly young to Aidan's eye. They were a diverse group of perfect physical specimens filled with the swagger and bearing of warriors who knew they were the best. It didn't matter where they came from or the life they led before their service because they all wore the same uniform and bled the same color blood.
Aidan felt proud to number among them while also a little envious. They hadn't yet felt the sting of separation or the loss of a brother. America hadn't sent her sons to real battle in a few years. Still, Aidan was happy for them. It didn't take a loss to create real warriors, just a willingness to serve and die for something larger than yourself. It was the blank check that most Americans weren't willing to cash. The former Marine found it somewhat disheartening that the number of individuals ready to sign up grew fewer and fewer each year. He didn't blame the people. He blamed an indolent political class and a lack of clarity in purpose.
As Aidan approached the tower, he looked for the bronzed bald head of his friend Sparky. Sure enough, he was sitting in the tower's shade, relaying instructions into the small handheld radio in his grip. Guzman looked up just as Aidan arrived and flashed a pearly white smile. The sight made Aidan pause in confusion. There was something different about his friend. He had always had a bald head and a roguish grin even when they were still at Annapolis, but there was something strange that Aidan couldn't put his finger on.
Before he could figure it out, Guzman greeted him with a chuckle.
"What's up, man? What took you so long? Did the civilian life make you slow and fat?"
Aidan shrugged good-naturedly, "At least it didn't make me bald. You know how the traffic is. Getting out here to the ass end of nowhere takes some time."
"I know that's the truth," Sparky agreed.
The commander reached over to help Aidan grab a case, and they lugged them to the top of a nearby armorer's table together.
"So, what did you bring us today?"
"Something relatively new." Aidan gestured to the two cases. "This is version two and three of our latest carbine and pistol. I have a sniper back in the car."
Sparky grinned as Aidan popped open the cases.
"Oh yes," he admired before turning to one of the Marines lounging in the shade and eating a bag of chips.
"Weir, grab the last case out of the good Captain's trunk."
"Roger," Weir replied before setting off. Aidan stopped him with a gesture and then tossed him his access card.
"You'll need that, or it won't let you in. It's the gray govie in the back."
Weir nodded in silent thanks before heading off.
Both Guzman and Aidan turned back to the weapons in front of them.
"So what's the difference between these and the previous iterations?" Sparky asked.
Aidan hefted the rifle out of the case and placed it in his shoulder pocket as he replied. "Mostly new battery technology. Not sure where the nerds got it from, but the first versions had large battery backs that you had to lug into the field. Before now, lasers only made sense on satellites and naval ships where they could produce enough energy to focus a beam strong and far enough to be worth a damn."
Aidan reached down to pick up one of the batteries fashioned after a typical magazine. The only thing distinguishing it from any other magazine was the battery indicator on the side. He inserted it into the receptacle at the bottom of the rifle before continuing.
"These little bad boys will give you slightly less than thirty shots but only support a few seconds of continuous fire."
"We've come a long way," Guzman remarked with a small smile.
"We sure have. Do you want to give it a go?"
Aidan proffered the rifle, and Sparky accepted it with well-practiced ease. With one hand, the commander pulled his radio out and instructed the tower to cease firing—a command that the range personnel repeated over the loudspeaker.
Seeing that the commander was about to approach the line, the rest of the Marines sat on nearby ammo cans and waited calmly for their turn. A few spit into a nearby bottle or put a new dip in their lips.
Guzman stepped up to the line and dropped into a kneeling position. It was the most common firing position in theater outside of firing shoulders and hips square to the target. Ironically, most forms used to shoot on the range didn't lend themselves well to combat. Sure, they were more accurate, but they weren't mobile. Adjusting the sling of your weapon in the middle of a firefight was a sure one-way ticket to a flag-draped coffin.
The commander canted the rifle and looked at the switch on the side. His confusion was understandable since the toggle replaced the standard safety switch. Aidan indicated with a nod that the commander had correctly assumed its function.
"Will I need ear pro?" Sparky asked.
"Nah, I think you'll be surprised," Aidan remarked.
Guzman acknowledged the comment with a simple nod and sighted down the barrel until he was aimed at a target 100 yards away. He took a calming breath and peered through the advanced targeting optic. When the commander had identified his natural pause—that brief time in between breathes where the weapon was the most stable— he flipped the safety toggle and smoothly pulled the trigger. Anticipating a non-existent recoil, Guzman slightly angled the rifle back, and a red laser bolt shot from the barrel to impact the target. A smooth hole was bored in the target, right above center mass. The shot went clear through the target to scorch the grass of the berm on the other side. Remarkably, at least to Aidan, the only sound to indicate Guzman had fired was the click of the trigger against its housing.
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"Well, it's not quite the same," Guzman grumbled under his breath.
"Same as what?" Aidan assumed the commander was referring to projectile weaponry, so he was put off guard when his old friend's eyes widened in surprise.
"Nothing to worry about, my friend." Guzman straightened with a sheepish smile.
"I'm just annoyed about missing the target. That optic should've allowed me to shoot the wings off a horsefly."
The excuse was weak, but Aidan laughed to break up the tension.
"That's true, but you were expecting the recoil of a projectile weapon."
Guzman raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you think you can do any better?"
"I know I can do better," Aidan smirked.
"Then show me," Sparky shrugged and flipped the safety back on before handing it back to Aidan.
"What do I get for winning?" Aidan asked, and Guzman laughed.
"How about a commander's coin."
Aidan rolled his eyes, and the motion caused Guzman to keep laughing.
"Alright, alright. We'll go back to my office and grab a drink."
"Seems fair to me!" Aidan enthused. "If you win, I'll bring a bottle of something nice the next time I visit."
Both men shook on the deal, and Aidan gripped the rifle with a grim smile. He spent hours a week at the company range. The former Marine justified the time spent by saying he needed to be familiar with a weapon system to sell it. It was a lie, of course. He just enjoyed the familiarity of being on the range, even if it wasn't quite the same as shooting in the military. Regardless, Aidan wasn't the type to back down from a challenge, and he preferred his actions to speak louder than words. If the former Marine took a little temporary enjoyment in showing off in front of the young troops, then that was nobody's business but his own.
Aidan drew the rifle to his shoulder and switched off the safety. His aim rose from the 100-yard targets to the 250-yard ones that lay beyond. By his count, he had about twenty-eight shots left in the battery, and there were 32 targets.
He started from the target fourth from the left and began firing. He lost himself in the meditative quality of shooting. Each breath turned into another pull of the trigger. Each pull launched a round toward a different target. His aim was perfect, and even if it weren't, small compensators in the barrel of the LMDC made the tiny adjustments necessary to hit the bullseye every time.
By the time the rifle clicked to signify a discharged battery, Aidan had returned to reality. The entire range was silent while a Marine handed a pair of binos to his commander. Guzman checked each target individually, and when his inspection concluded, he shared a lopsided grin with his old friend.
"Every shot was a headshot."
Aidan grinned back. "It isn't as impressive as it seems. You don't have to worry about a bullet dropping mid-flight, and there are compensators in the barrel that help in changing positions."
Aidan tapped the rifle appreciatively.
"This baby is almost as point-and-shoot as a camera."
Sparky sighed. "Well, a deal is a deal." He turned, and his eyes landed on the Marine, Weir twirling Aidan's access card between his fingers.
"Hey, Weir, you bring back the last case?"
"Sure did," Weir replied with a parodical salute. It was the kind of behavior that would get a Marine chewed out in another unit in the fleet. However, the special operations guys were far more casual with their commanders. It was more about competency and getting the job done rather than a focus on customs and courtesies.
"Awesome, keep watch over it and the other weapons. I'll be extremely annoyed if I get my ass chewed by a government bureaucrat for losing or breaking a classified piece of weaponry."
At that, Weir sobered up and spoke respectfully. "You got it, Sir."
Weir sounded like he wasn't used to calling his commander Sir—a point that Aidan found odd. It was one thing to be casual, but it was quite another to let the commander you respected get chewed out by someone higher than him. It was a Natural Law in the military that shit rolled downhill, and if the shit landed on the CO, it was bound to fall on everyone else in the unit.
Guzman turned to his friend. "Ready for that drink, Steele?"
"Always ready for a drink, Sparky."
Aidan followed his friend to the parking lot and tossed his rifle on the table with the other weapons as he left. He would return to pick up the guns and his access card later. It was a sign of trust between him and the Marines that didn't need discussion. He would return and find the gear in a better condition than how he had left it. That's just how things were.
Guzman was strangely quiet on the short ride to headquarters. Both men were comfortable with the silence, but Aidan wondered what his friend was mulling over. It wasn't like Sparky to hold something back from him. They had been in the academy together, had gotten into "the shit" as newly minted Lieutenants in theater, and had remained friends despite Aidan's untimely departure from the Corps.
It wasn't until they had gotten to Guzman's office, sat down, and poured themselves a couple of drinks before the man finally broke his silence.
"Do you ever miss being in the military, Aidan?"
Aidan flinched despite the innocent question. It was all too familiar from his conversation with the Fed this morning.
"Of course," he started slowly. "You know, I only left because my mom needed help, and Lockheed offered me a job near her hospital with a large salary and matching 401k to hang up the uniform. If things had been different..." Aidan trailed off and gestured helplessly.
"Yeah, you'd probably be the CO of your own unit by now. Hell, you might even have my job," Guzman finished for him.
Aidan nodded and felt a strange sort of shame. Shame for leaving his men but also shame at the thought of refusing to help his mom. It was all a knotted mess in his heart, and he didn't have the words to express how frustrating everything was. He sighed heavily and tried to put a positive spin on everything.
"It is what it is. Things happen for a reason, and while I'm not necessarily happy with the way everything turned out, I have to do the best I can."
Guzman took a sip of his whiskey and let it roll around his tongue before quietly replying.
"You could come back."
Aidan immediately scoffed at the idea. "Yeah, sure. The Corps wants a Captain in his early forties who hasn't been in the fight in almost a decade."
Guzman shrugged. "You'd be surprised at what they're looking for these days. Tell me, you have a girlfriend? Any family? A pet waiting for you back home?"
His friend felt uncomfortable as he thought about the empty apartment waiting for him; the barren walls, the lack of furniture, and the unsettling silence punctuated only by virtual gunfire from the latest console game.
Guzman saw his friend's expression and scowled. "Fuck man, you're one bad night from suck starting a pistol."
Aidan got felt defensive and got angry. "I'm not like that. I wouldn't do that."
Sparky looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a second.
"I know you wouldn't. Still, I don't like what I see. If you were one of my Marines—"
"—I'm not one of your Marines," Aidan interrupted.
Guzman silenced him with a glare and continued. "If you were one of my Marines, I'd either send you to the chaplain or send you on a deployment. Knowing you, it would probably be the latter."
The commander paused to wet his throat. "You were always at your best when you were downrange. You were one of the finest warriors I've ever had the pleasure to serve with. Hell, you still are. No matter how much you downplay your performance today, it's evident to anyone with eyeballs that you haven't let yourself get soft."
Guzman drained his glass and then slammed it on the desk. "I've decided. I want us to work together again."
"All of this," he gestured to the memorabilia, photos, and awards littering the walls, "is meaningless. It's a bunch of relics from a bygone era—a mockery of the coming wars."
"What do you mean?" Aidan groused. "If you watch the news, we're on the cusp of world peace."
"Don't be an idiot," Guzman rebuked. "You know better than anyone this is the calm before the storm."
The commander rose and refilled his glass. He was facing away from Aidan as he took a sip and continued. "My new position affords me some certain liberties. I can't tell you much about it right now, but if you want to serve your country again, be at range eighteen at oh-four hundred Monday morning."
Guzman turned toward his friend and waited for a response. Aidan took a drink to steady his nerves and think about the proposal. The Fed had told him this would happen. Instead of being relieved, it made the whole thing more suspicious. After all, Guzman thought that he was making this decision of his own volition.
"Have you told anyone about this job offer?" Aidan wondered.
"No, I only decided after I saw you hit those targets. It made me realize that I wanted you on my team again."
Aidan sighed at the answer. "This morning, I was approached by a Fed who told me that I would be getting the chance to serve my country today and that I shouldn't miss out on the opportunity."
Both men were quiet as they thought through the ramifications. Finally, Guzman said what they were both thinking.
"I don't know if that makes me relieved or worried. I'm getting predictable in my old age."
"Maybe," Aidan shrugged.
He was about to say something else when the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The friend he had known for almost two decades didn't look very old. In fact, he didn't look much older than when they both graduated from Annapolis. The shaved head and the austere bearing of a military commander hid the fact that there wasn't a wrinkle or gray hair to be found. He looked strong and fit. There was a gleam of intelligence in his dark eyes that was unbowed by the passage of time.
"What the fuck," he muttered in confusion.
Guzman started laughing uproariously. "You finally noticed, eh? I thought you would've said something when you saw me at the range. I thought that maybe you were waiting until we got somewhere private to bring it up." The commander continued laughing until he wiped a tear from his eye.
"You really didn't notice until just now," he gasped. "In fact, you probably walked around the range thinking that wet-eared boots surrounded you, and you were going to show them how real veterans do things."
The confused confirmation on Aidan's face proved the commander's assumption far beyond what any words could do.
"Oh man, that's fucking great." Guzman cheered as he slapped Aidan on the shoulder.
"Consider this," he took a break from laughing to gesture at himself, "as a fringe benefit of your new employment."
Aidan had a thousand questions running through his head, but he knew that his friend wouldn't be able to answer them. Instead, he stood up and raised his glass for a toast. Guzman obliged and clinked their glasses together.
"See you on Monday," Aidan said before smiling.
"See you on the other side," Guzman returned.