The bus rolled up, a few girls in their service dress looked up and saw me, I couldn't see a single Canadian tab in the entire court yard, I was the only one. I didn't know why my mentor had transferred me here, I looked away as the two girls starred awkwardly, and trying to figure out what the insignia on my beret was. I was the only one on the bus, was I that valuable; that arranges had to be made so they, could get me here, hell I didn't even want to be here.
The bus stopped, and an older female Cadet Officer walked on, "Cadet Sergeant MacMullin?"
I looked around, "Couldn't make it," I paused, "You are?"
"Cadet Captain Barton, your company commander,"
I stood up, and opened the overhead compartment, and pulled out my ruck sack, then grabbed my two rifle bags off the seat across from me, walked off, then grabbed my c-bag from the under-storage. "Where too Cap?"
"It's Captain, Sergeant," she snapped, "That or ma'am,"
"Great," I thought, "My CO is a hard ass,"
"What's your trade?"
"Aggressive Forward Reconnaissance,"
"What the hell does that mean,"
"Captain, have you even read my file?"
"Your Platoon Commander filled me in, you're a hot head with an itchy trigger finger out to a mile and a quarter,"
"Sounds about right,"
She stopped me in my tracks, "You step one hair out of line Sergeant, my boot will be up your ass putting it right back into place,"
"Ma'am, permission to speak freely,"
"Denied," she opened the door, "Room eight, Cadet Lieutenant First Class Borges will show you to your rack,"
I followed her instructions, and walked into room eight, "You the new Sergeant?"
"Yes ma'am I am,"
"I assume Captain Barton has given you the SOP,"
"Six, nine, two, seven, four, eight, one, eight, five,"
"Date of Birth,"
"February fifth, ninety four,"
"Rampage Zero Four,"
"Room Eight Charlie, here's the file on your new partner, he's in class right now, and considering your file, that's something you won't be doing,"
"Just show me the range, chow hall, and the Non-Com club,"
"Let me make something clear, you will do as you are told, go where you are ordered, carry on,"
Right then, I knew I was fucked. I was in an academy filled with pricks, the room branched into two separate bedrooms, I dropped my C-bag on the floor, my ruck on the bed, grabbed the rifle bag labeled "Dorothy" and walked out, following the signs to the firing range, "Dorothy" was my long rifle, a Cheytac 2000 Intervention. It came from the phrase; "Dorothy's a Bitch" When I got to the range, I set up at the firing station, I loaded a ten round mag, these were my last Canadian made .408 shells. I drowned every out, and felt the trigger, first shot, three mils off center, no wind, adjust scope three clicks. I corrected the DOPE, then moved the crosshairs right on the head of the body shaped target. I unloaded four rounds before being tapped on the shoulder, I came out of hunt mode and realized who it was, "Captain,"
"You don't have authorization be firing yet Sergeant,"
"Then range is empty ma'am, except for me and the RSO,"
"You have you kit squared away?"
"Ma'am, I do not need you or Second Lieutenant Borges telling me too scratch my ass,"
"You're now on report Sergeant MacMullin, in your barrack block now,"
I didn't want to cause a scene, I walked out three hundred yards to retrieve my target. I rolled it up, Captain Barton followed me out, "We're allowed to personal identification on our bed room door, is that correct?" she nodded, "Good, this is mine,"
I went back to my room, and pulled out my phone, I was going to call my old partner, and tell him how shitty it was so far, but he hated being interrupted during range practice, which I knew he was at right now. I was more or less grounded because I gave a ranking officer a bit of attitude, now I had my target on the door. It was almost missing a head, and if one had been there, there would've been an arm missing. I clean the Intervention put it back in the bag and slid her under the bed with my other rifle, a custom C7A2 with a hybrid site and an Integrated rail system. As I unpacked my uniforms, I thought about each of the times I had worn them.
After putting my bags up, I kicked my boots and tunic off, and crashed, this day for me was good as over.