any trick to it at all, and this was going to be both Norfeldt's and my last assignment.
One of the reasons they teach you martial arts at the Academy is for the mental discipline. Now, I was no expert, but I could reach in and find the quiet center, just abaft of my solar plexus.
Unfortunately, my quiet center was just as fucking scared as the rest of me.
But damned if I'd let the Navy know that. "Allow me to pour you some more water, Lieutenant Chang," I said, picking up the water pitcher and pouring slowly, careful of the Coriolis effect. My hand was steady as a rock.
Not my gut; just my hand.
Enough of this, I decided. It was about time that Norfeldt and I had a face-to-face. Right after supper.
But first, a bit of diversion. "Hardesty, Hardesty . . . damn me, but that name does sound familiar. We used to have a gardener named Hardesty, but he was arrested for molesting little girls. I'm sure you're not related. . . ."
I found the Dutchman in the armory. He had kicked the Marine armorer out, and was busy checking the action on a Korriphila 10mm pistol, of all things. I could have understood it if it was the forty-four Magnum—that was part security blanket for the fat man—but the Dutchman's often gone on about how if you put decent loads in an automatic, it's more likely to jam than fire right.
I disagree—for my taste, the Korriphila Ten Thousand is the best conventional pistol made, a hair better than the Ruger Ultra Blackhawk II, which is a revolver, not an automatic—but my preference is just a lay opinion; I don't have the Dutchman's knowledge of or interest in single-shot slugthrowers. I prefer automatic weapons—wireguns, miniguns, whatever—anything where you hose instead of aim. Aiming means you can miss; hosing is a lot more accurate, in the long run.
Norfeldt opened a box of 10mm Glaser Safety Slugs and began to thumb them into a clip.
"Why the Glasers?"
He pretended not to hear the question.
Again: I'm no armorer. One thing I do know, though, is that loading an automatic with the old-fashioned Glaser Safety Slugs that the Dutchman prefers for revolvers isn't a good idea—while Glasers have great stopping power and create enough Sturm and Drang to scare to death whoever they don't hit, the oversized charges can jam up the action after only three, maybe four rounds.
If your preference is for semiexotic ammunition, much better to use Geco-BATs or Expandos—or Penetrators, if you're either planning on shooting through walls or more concerned with the size of the hole you blast through the target than with stopping power.
"Major . . ." I didn't bother trying to keep the reproach out of my voice. "What are you doing? If I'm not being nosy, sir."
"You're being nosy." He set the clip down on the table in front of him, then picked up the empty pistol, working the slide. "But pull up a chair, kid. I'm checking out some weaponry—what does it look like?" He followed his own advice, lowering his bulk into a too-small chair.
"Weaponry? You think we're going to get in close enough so that a pistol is going to do any good ?" A pistol isn't a silly weapon for intership warfare—it's not that good.
I shook my head. "Now, if you want to talk about jury-rigging something on the scout so we can get some decent free-space use out of the weapons turret—"
He snorted. "There are three very large marines on watch on either side of the launching-bay lock. The orders are that everyone except the guards—particularly CS personnel—stays on this side."
He slammed the clip into the pistol's butt with a solid chunk. One of the Korriphila's flaws is that the cartridges are held slantwise in the clip—it can only hold seven of the oversize rounds, giving you a maximum of eight if you carry one chambered.
"You seem to be forgetting that this isn't a regular contact, Major. We're not supposed to decide whether or not it's safe to open contact with the Xenos—we open contact with them, period."
Norfeldt
One of the reasons they teach you martial arts at the Academy is for the mental discipline. Now, I was no expert, but I could reach in and find the quiet center, just abaft of my solar plexus.
Unfortunately, my quiet center was just as fucking scared as the rest of me.
But damned if I'd let the Navy know that. "Allow me to pour you some more water, Lieutenant Chang," I said, picking up the water pitcher and pouring slowly, careful of the Coriolis effect. My hand was steady as a rock.
Not my gut; just my hand.
Enough of this, I decided. It was about time that Norfeldt and I had a face-to-face. Right after supper.
But first, a bit of diversion. "Hardesty, Hardesty . . . damn me, but that name does sound familiar. We used to have a gardener named Hardesty, but he was arrested for molesting little girls. I'm sure you're not related. . . ."
I found the Dutchman in the armory. He had kicked the Marine armorer out, and was busy checking the action on a Korriphila 10mm pistol, of all things. I could have understood it if it was the forty-four Magnum—that was part security blanket for the fat man—but the Dutchman's often gone on about how if you put decent loads in an automatic, it's more likely to jam than fire right.
I disagree—for my taste, the Korriphila Ten Thousand is the best conventional pistol made, a hair better than the Ruger Ultra Blackhawk II, which is a revolver, not an automatic—but my preference is just a lay opinion; I don't have the Dutchman's knowledge of or interest in single-shot slugthrowers. I prefer automatic weapons—wireguns, miniguns, whatever—anything where you hose instead of aim. Aiming means you can miss; hosing is a lot more accurate, in the long run.
Norfeldt opened a box of 10mm Glaser Safety Slugs and began to thumb them into a clip.
"Why the Glasers?"
He pretended not to hear the question.
Again: I'm no armorer. One thing I do know, though, is that loading an automatic with the old-fashioned Glaser Safety Slugs that the Dutchman prefers for revolvers isn't a good idea—while Glasers have great stopping power and create enough Sturm and Drang to scare to death whoever they don't hit, the oversized charges can jam up the action after only three, maybe four rounds.
If your preference is for semiexotic ammunition, much better to use Geco-BATs or Expandos—or Penetrators, if you're either planning on shooting through walls or more concerned with the size of the hole you blast through the target than with stopping power.
"Major . . ." I didn't bother trying to keep the reproach out of my voice. "What are you doing? If I'm not being nosy, sir."
"You're being nosy." He set the clip down on the table in front of him, then picked up the empty pistol, working the slide. "But pull up a chair, kid. I'm checking out some weaponry—what does it look like?" He followed his own advice, lowering his bulk into a too-small chair.
"Weaponry? You think we're going to get in close enough so that a pistol is going to do any good ?" A pistol isn't a silly weapon for intership warfare—it's not that good.
I shook my head. "Now, if you want to talk about jury-rigging something on the scout so we can get some decent free-space use out of the weapons turret—"
He snorted. "There are three very large marines on watch on either side of the launching-bay lock. The orders are that everyone except the guards—particularly CS personnel—stays on this side."
He slammed the clip into the pistol's butt with a solid chunk. One of the Korriphila's flaws is that the cartridges are held slantwise in the clip—it can only hold seven of the oversize rounds, giving you a maximum of eight if you carry one chambered.
"You seem to be forgetting that this isn't a regular contact, Major. We're not supposed to decide whether or not it's safe to open contact with the Xenos—we open contact with them, period."
Norfeldt
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