Delayed Blowback

The Mako-class certainly didn't have anything in the way of training facilities, but it did have a free cargo bay, and Hari-G055 could make do.
"Two guns, three rounds. Four trigger-pulls each. Mark-one-eyeball only." 
The targets on the other side of the range glowed faintly, slow red pulsing in direct opposition to the blue-lit display of the rifle in Owain's arms. 
"I know it's a pain doing this in the half-dark with built-in optics only, but we don't know how much sunlight you'll have on the streets down there, or what lingering rads might do to a smart-link. This way's simpler, an-
"I know."
"Well, alright."
Owain's voice carried the tone of a scowl; Hari's was a patience-suppressed sigh. The first two fast-shooting exercises of the day hadn't yielded much, and her hopes for this one weren't stratospheric.
"First round starts in three, two, one-"
The buzzer sounded, and the larger Spartan dropped to one knee, raising his rifle, pulling on the trigger in short squeezes. An untrained eye would be impressed - clean-cut, sharp, professional-looking - but Hari's eye immediately caught him out. The movement was too quick, knee hitting the deck and firing before he had a chance to steady. A tense stance, inconsistent bursts - four rounds, two, three. 
And only a handful of bleeps from her ballistic computer, rather than the expected flurry. Hari could look down and check, but they were infrequent enough that she could count them. No more than half a dozen hits, at a range where every round should've been on target.
Then the exercise's second half; Owain's rifle was slung over his back, his sidearm drawn. Now he was exposed - anyone could see the shake in his hands. Still, he raised the Magnum, fired off four shots, one after the other.
"Well, alright." Hari did her best to keep her voice level. "First r-"
Five shots. 
"Owain, that's your fif-"
Six, seven, eight. The pistol clicked dry.
"That's enough!"
Owain's head snap-turned towards her; his brow coated in a sheen of sweat, eyes furrowed, clenched jaw stretching his face taut like steel cable. 
"I was there, I almost had it-"
"Owain. Stop." Her words were slow, measured. 
"Look, I can do this, alright? Just give me another round." 
"You're off-balance today. That's all. That's fine. It's just a bit of rust-"
"God DAMMIT!"
The slam echoed loud in the enclosed bay, catching Hari by surprise - in an instant she was a half-step back, hand raised to keep a safe distance, before a second later her brain told her gut instincts that they were overreacting. But one second was enough. 
Owain's body radiated his frustration, his anger; and of course so did his pistol struck into the table, his gauntlet's indent in the smooth steel. 
But his eyes had seen her own stance - the backing away, the guard, the defensive snap to I can and will drop you in half a second. The mistrust. And they were shadowed with regret. 
A long, tense moment passed. 
"Go get a drink. Some air. Clear your head." 
She wasn't asking.
-----
The holographic avatar was lit up at its terminal before Hari had even slumped herself down in her chair. 
"Damage report?" 
"Wish I'd stayed at home." A gentle chuckle, more to herself than anything else, before she continued. "Alright. Here's my read." 
She cleared her throat. "Subject still lacks consistency not only in marksmanship and situational awareness skills, but in basic principles. The former resembles recent augmentees who are unused to their enhanced bodies and senses, but the latter is a tougher nut to crack. More notable, however, is the issue of his volatility. Distraction and provocation have proven a continual concern, particularly during CQC assessments, and while there is little room aboard this vessel to conduct any larger-scale exercises I have no reason to believe they would go any better. Given the limited UNSC presence in the Epsilon Eridani system, I believe that there is a non-zero-"
"Harriet, you're here to assess, not to speculate-" The AI's voice was perfectly neutral; toeing the line between reminding and scolding.
"I'm assessing, aren't I?"
She didn't get a reply.
"I believe that there is a potentially significant risk of escalation beyond initial mission goals for this operation, regardless of Office assessments of New Alexandria as a low-risk locale. Such escalation would likely result in a difficult escape-evade situation, given the limited support available; with subject's current performance as it is, such an outcome would be nothing short of... catastrophic."
The last word was a difficult one to get out, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe a reluctance to allege that ONI had made the wrong decision. Maybe a distaste at being dismissive of a Spartan older, longer-serving, more experienced than herself. Maybe both.
"Crabtree, can I speak off the record?" 
"You know you can't. I'm supposed to-"
"Hear everything and make your own calls, yeah. Fine. Can you at least give this some discretion, then?"
"I suppose." 
"He's hurting, Crabtree. Not just from whatever Fajardo was patching him up for, but from the fact that he's been cooped up in there so long. And... hmph, I'm probably talking out my backside here."
 "No, carry on." The AI's voice remained level.
"Well, now he's out, and he can't shoot straight, right? Can't land shots that I could - that he probably could - aged nine. Can't duck punches telegraphed three weeks ahead. And that's got to be killing him. Whatever happened, whatever it is he feels guilty about - they can work him through the overt trauma as much as you'd like, but if he went in feeling like he wasn't good enough and he's coming out like this? It's just gonna unravel everything they stitched up there."
A pause. A breath. "He's trying to reach for reflexes he last touched two years ago, fumbling them, and hating himself for it. He's in no shape to fight, certainly not an op like this."
"And?"
"And I don't know what to do about it."
Category:The Weekly
Category:Tooth and Blade