Authors note:
This is not the last chapter, but, as many of you who write know, sometimes it's best to switch gears and write something else, just to not get burned out. I believe I did my best to leave it in a place that can be left alone for a bit. I'm not sure how long that bit will be, hopefully only for a chapter or two of my other story that's soon to come out.
Please feel free to leave any and all feedback, and also drop some suggestions as to what should be next for James and Ally.
As always, I apologize for any grammar errors, as they are my own and nobody else's. I base this story off events that happened in my own life, so if you dislike something James did or does, then I'm to blame, since he's more or less me. Thank you all for reading this far, and stay tuned for my next story, also in the romance category.
Chapter 6
"Private, get your ass over here!"
"Yes Drill Sergeant!"
James and his battle buddy range walked from the firing line over to the drill sergeant, who was yelling, but didn't seem mad.
Since he got there, the drill sergeants all seemed to take a liking to James. Now, for someone who has served, and there's a few reading this that I know of, you know damn well just because a drill sergeant takes a liking to you, it doesn't make your time there any less shitty, hell, it probably makes it worse.
They usually get a load of privates from all walks of life, with no respect for anyone, who think they're the top of the world, but they all learn real quick that that isn't the case. Every now and again you get a kid who was raised right, who's got manners, who's good at what they do and is humble about it. That was James this cycle.
When James got to the drill sergeant he snapped to attention then right to parade rest, exactly as he'd been taught.
"Private Lakes..." the drill sergeant began.
90% of his platoon was from the south, and out of the few that weren't, he was the only one from Michigan, so they all started calling him lakes since all the Great Lakes.
"Where'd you learn to shoot?"
"Been shooting since I was a kid Drill Sergeant."
"You shoot like an idiot."
"Yes Drill Sergeant." James replied, not sure where this was going.
It was true, he did shoot like an idiot. It didn't mean he couldn't shoot the pube hair off a field mouse with a .22 at 50 yards, he just looked weird doing it.
"Did you not pay attention to anything we've taught you?"
"I have drill sergeant."
"Then why do you still shoot like that?"
"I can't help it drill sergeant. I miss if I shoot any other way drill sergeant."
The way James shot, well, let's just say it wasn't the "army way," meaning his form was all sorts of fucked up. In the prone, he'd have his right leg bent at a ninty degree on the ground, left leg kicked way out but still straight, and flat on the ground, and he'd be laying about 45 degrees off his target, with his weapon angled across his body towards the target. But damn if he didn't hit what he was aiming at.
"But," the drill sergeant began, "you hit what you're aiming at. Tell you what. If you get forty out of forty on your rifle qual, I'll do a hundred pushups in front of the whole company, and I'll give you a pinch of dip. You don't get forty, then you gotta do 100 push-ups in front of the company AND pull a 3 hour fire guard shift every night for a week. We got a deal?"
"Deal." James said and shook the drill sergeants hand.
He didn't even need a moment to think about it. Win or lose, 100 push ups was easy, and a 3 hour fire guard isn't all that bad. Plus, if he won, he got a dip. Well worth it in his eyes.
What James didn't know is that the drill sergeants from each platoon had a bet on which one of their soldiers would get the company top shot, and James' drill sergeant had bet on him for second platoon.
**
"Shooters, take up a good prone firing position!"
Everyone on the line got down.
"Insert your first 20 round magazine!"
They did.
"Change your weapon status from amber to red."
Everyone chambered a round.
"Move your selector switch from safe to semi and watch your lane."
As soon as the first target popped up, a chorus of rifles sounded off. Some targets fell on some lanes, while they stood tall on others, signaling a missed shot.
James' first target fell. As did his second, third, fourth, and thirtieth. The last 10 shots were from the kneeling position. The one everyone seemed to struggle with, but James never seemed to have a problem with it.
Unbeknownst to James, the selected shooter from each of the other three platoons had already dropped a shot, so all the drill sergeants were crowded around him, since he was the make or break for the bets.