Chapter 139
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 139
Chapter Title: #Test (4)
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Winter was reminded of an old Western showdown.
The required skills were the same, however. The purpose of the test was entirely different. The 21 feet from the firing position to the target was the boundary where automatic firearms and edged weapons were evenly matched. If the engagement distance closed any further, the knife-wielder's odds of beating the gunman skyrocketed.
"If it's all right, I'd like to go first."
Joanna sought permission based on the order.
"Why is that?"
At the acting instructor Lieutenant Skylar's question, the FBI agent glanced sideways at Winter.
"I know Lieutenant Han Gyeowol's abilities. It'd be burdensome to go after him."
She turned the question to her opponent. That all right with you, Winter? Winter nodded. The instructor agreed.
"As you wish, Agent Gibson. This isn't a test you can prepare for by watching ahead."
With that, Joanna took her position. The instructor announced the procedures.
"The fixed-target test proceeds in unarmed defense shooting, pistol shooting, and rifle shooting order. Depending on preference, you can record additional scores with your primary specialty weapon. Note that these results will be reflected in future operations. This follows the Intelligence Division's threat assessments by mission."
It meant Chadwick team leader and the CIA agents below him decided personnel and equipment deployment on the fly. But as overseer, Joanna had the right to observe all missions. Thus, Skylar's words could also be interpreted as limiting her oversight using skill and safety as excuses. Passing the buck to the Intelligence Division with talk of threat assessments was just icing.
Joanna intended to break through this pressure with pure skill.
'If I nitpick principles and regulations, I could probably smooth it over somehow... but getting real cooperation would be tough. Relations between the Intelligence Division and the strike team don't seem great either.'
How nice it would be if the world ran on principles. Pretexts were pretexts, and resistance was resistance.
Winter recalled the organization's structure here. Something from a passing page in the briefing, resurfacing via "Memorization" intellect correction. A hologram image blurred and redacted in places. Winter could fill in the incomplete parts with his own memories and inferences.
The hierarchy wasn't clear-cut. Command authority ultimately rested with Intelligence Division's Chadwick team leader, but White Skull and the other mobile strike teams had different affiliations from the start. In other words, the team leader's command was at the level of requesting cooperation from the strike teams. Optimistically, it was horizontal; pessimistically, a loose collaboration.
Considering the mission's importance, it was surprising such a structure had formed.
'The more critical the matter, the more people want to meddle.'
A power struggle between the Department of Defense and Intelligence Division, or perhaps a reflection of the CIA's diminished status. In a world approaching apocalypse, how much value did traditional international espionage hold? Most of their global networks would have collapsed, along with that manpower.
There were still active agents, sure. Many nations sought U.S. aid, and assessing their situations was vital. Collecting intel on special variants scattered overseas was necessary too. That was likely the CIA's rationale for continued existence.
"Ready."
Joanna's voice, standing with her back to the target. She held both hands at head height. Pistol holstered. A posture and state assuming complete vulnerability. The relaxed shoulders showed her proficiency. There was such a thing as poise born from tension.
Lieutenant Skylar turned the remote behind his back.
A taut silence stretched.
Beep-
Clack! The sound of the pistol clearing the holster. Joanna spun like a stuttering film reel. The moment her drawn arm extended straight, her sight picture aligned perfectly at eye level. A flash of muzzle flame. Thunk—the target punched a hole. The edge of the vital zone, highlighted in red light.
Fuuu. She exhaled the held breath long, checking the time. The timer had recorded on the gunshot.
"0.92 seconds. Fail."
Skylar declared coldly.
Winter thought the standards were harsh anew. An average adult male took about 1.5 seconds to charge 21 feet. Aiming and firing a pistol took similar time. So anything under that for drawing, turning, and aiming at vitals was already seasoned firearms instructor level.
Joanna's 0.92 was about 60% of 1.5. Simple math: she could neutralize an enemy 13 feet behind her—barely 4 meters—with a single shot.
Unless the hypothetical foe was an Olympic track gold medalist.
White Skull had no one exceeding 0.8 seconds, they'd said, but Winter doubted it.
"I'll try again."
At Joanna's request, Skylar nodded, seeming surprised by her skill.
The target's position adjusted. To prevent shortening records via muscle memory.
Hoo! Joanna's presence quieted in preparation. Concentration converging from crown to toes.
Beep-
Shwick! Bang! It felt like a gust of wind. The target shook with the recoil as the muzzle flipped. The new hole closer to the vital center than before. Winter sensed the reduced margin. Less than a blink. In combat, though, a razor-thin edge between life and death.
Lieutenant Skylar hesitated a beat.
"...0.84 seconds. Fail."
This time for sure, Joanna betrayed a flicker of emotion. Tap. Forehead met pistol slide. She tapped it a few times.
Winter, viewing broadly, caught reactions she, immersed, missed. Amazement masked as calm.
The FBI agent retried several times after. But in this test, dipping under 1 second in 0.01 increments was where world-class experts vied with innate talent.
Repeated attempts, and Joanna couldn't break the 0.84 wall.
In real combat, a record for killing an enemy stabbing from just 3.5 meters behind. Against a frontal foe, drawing and firing from arm's reach. Outstanding capability.
Though she didn't clear the pass line, the White Skull members' eyes said otherwise. See, just as expected. Winter's earlier hunch was right. Even if all at 0.8 was true, it must've meant personal bests.
Joanna accepted the imperfect record and requested the next phase. Aptitude varied by method. She seemed to be reassuring herself.
'This training—was it originally called the Tueller Drill?'
Winter rummaged apocalypse-failed loop memories. A precarious survivor outpost cop had introduced it first, teaching him marksmanship. He'd served in the Tueller Drill's birthplace.
Which was Salt Lake City. Winter had asked curiously. Isn't that Latter-day Saints HQ? Didn't expect crime bad enough for such drills.
The now-nameless cop burst laughing. No city more boring and quiet. In the 2000s, only two on-duty police deaths: one sergeant, one detective. Impressive in a concealed-carry nation.
He added the drill was made not to shoot.
"Kid, simply put, it's like a discipline. The more familiar, the more confident you get that anyone outside 21 feet doesn't need shooting. Born to curb police over armament, even spread to civilians for less excessive force. Murder and self-defense are a paper's width apart. Life's like that, huh? Hard to see effects without serious mastery, though..."
Yet regardless of original intent, now a core combat technique. What Joanna faced strayed from pure Tueller Drill. It hadn't demanded vital hits originally.
Well, sure. What human creation stayed true to first intent?
Winter mulled examples. Life insurance was one.
A hasty thought struck. Was this the difference between one person and people? One can be pure, but people can't. The more people, the further from humanity?
Pondering that far, Winter chuckled inwardly. He just wanted to believe in people's nature. That hope lingered outside. No basis. Except one rose.
Click. Pistol slide racking snapped attention. Joanna gripped two-handed, torso leaned forward, awaiting signal. Still fixed-target pistol, but starting drawn.
Timer beeped. Half-turning, she fired one-handed. Bang! Ballistics meter scored hit. 0.82 seconds. Skipping draw saved little time.
Retry, retry, retry, retry.
Hands faster than eyes. Aiming took more than drawing.
At Joanna's level, vision barely factored. Like Winter's skill corrections, relying on ingrained experience. Sight just recognized target; learned subconscious handled aiming. Commonly called muscle memory.
Skill corrections felt like superhuman muscle memory in parts.
"This seems my limit. Regrettable not to pass."
After rifle phase, Joanna raised her hand. But regrettable or not, her eyes burned. Pride of one who'd built skill through effort, given her all.
Some White Skull members whistled.
Winter's heightened senses caught their mutters.
"That chick must be wild in bed."
Captain Fowler sighed. Arms crossed, unmoving till now.
This dismay stemmed from his conservatism too.
Gender aside, differing temperaments could disrupt group vibe. Especially in units bred for purpose.
Not a high-exertion test, yet sweat beaded Joanna's forehead. Tension's toll. Concentration like that alone was elite.
"Agent Gibson. You seem worn. How about a break before alphanumeric targets? We can score Lieutenant Han Gyeowol's fixed-target in the interim."
Skylar urged, tone softer than start.
Joanna refused flatly.
"Training's bloodless combat, right? Let's continue."
Enemies outside won't pause for my fatigue or womanhood. No need for such clichés.
All subsequent tests proved endurance beyond skill.
Half hour on alphanumeric, longer on movers. Impressive sustaining short-burst focus.
She deliberately skipped the final phase. A protest, to Winter's eyes.
Sweat dripped steadily.
"That's enough."
Captain Fowler groaned, after gauging his men's mood. Joanna replied refreshed.
"Per your assessment, Captain, I'll show more effort."
"I said enough. Insufficient as combatant, sufficient as overseer."
"Is that so? Thank you."
The agent dipped her chin in salute, lifting it slightly. Tidied disheveled hair. Winter handed her his handkerchief.
Captain still arms-crossed. His men looked displeased.
To Winter, it seemed excuse-making.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#Recommendations
Indescribably evil, great, blasphemous ancient readers. Transmitted by Tunguska, this world's sole purity, hope, conscience, and innocence.
Don't recommend Ossuary in other novels' comments.
How hurt would that author feel?
I don't want anyone wounded by my novel.
Pitiful, feeling illicit joy at such comments.
Of course, recommending Wind and Star Clusters in Ossuary comments is fine.
Because it's Wind and Star Clusters.
#Q&A
Q. ZERO4: @ Where you headed in this cold? Moving?! Seems author needs a warm spot for innocence-building. Come on in!
A. Packaging service booked out, so packed myself—exhausting. Comfort me. ㅠㅠ
Q. RGZ95: @ Moving in this cold... 8.8
A. Wrote till dawn, slept ~1 hour, then moved—realized humans don't die from this. Haha.
Q. Dd1010: @So what's the clear condition for this world?
A. When world-end probability converges to 0% in control AI's situational calculus. This question keeps coming. :)
Q. Countless Seedlings: @Good old things? Like Old West: only good old thing is a dead old thing.
A. You didn't know... I died once. Resurrected after three days though.
Q. [反]Kid: @Great read. How to become a good old thing?
A. ???... Aren't you all already old things?... You've passed 40k ages ago, why ape ancient humans... You don't have two legs anyway.
Q. qoewh: @Author, any health or environment issues lately? Pace dropped vs refugee camp days—worried. Hope all's well.
A. Physically fine. Except numb typing fingers, shoulder pain can't sleep sideways, insomnia, IBS. Haha.