>THE BLACKBOX >THE RANGE >1140.../// What the BLACKBOX called their range seemed almost a modern miracle. Huge, cavernous, Donnelley wondered just how they’d built it. Or what it was before. A huge atrium hollowed out of the earth, lights overhead giving a dim glow to everything. There was a shoothouse, complete with catwalk, a range with targets set out to 50 meters and another on the far end of the room that went far beyond that. There was a chill down his spine, and he didn’t know if it was excitement at the prospect of using the facility or if there was actual air flow within the cavern. He looked around for where this calamitous staccato of rounds being squeezed off was coming from. Somewhere in the shoothouses were his boys, and THUNDER. And TRIDENT. There was another resounding outcry of yelling. He rolled his shoulder, the hand of the same arm clutching onto his gun case carrying his Sig MCX. It wasn’t his gun, but it was close enough, issued by the armory in the BLACKBOX. He forwent the grenade launcher. He already had his plate carrier, battle belt, and helmet on, the buckles dangling on either side of his head. When he found them, they were cliqued up amongst their teams near the shoothouse. Avery was off to the side next to THUNDER while the rest of them bullshitted, even Dave. He was coming into his own, becoming a better shooter with access to facilities like the Farm and the BLACKBOX. By the look on Avery’s face, he wasn’t quite as far along as Dave. He didn’t look uncomfortable in his battle rattle, but the way he held his rifle seemed off, like he couldn’t decide what way to hold it and just decided to do his best to do what everyone else was doing. He drew in a breath, taking in that familiar smell of powder and smiled. “So, where we at with all this?” “He’s doing better,” Ghost said, pointing at Dave. “This one…” He pointed at Avery and paused, long enough for Dave to take over. “He’s gettin’ better too,” Dave said firmly. “Groups are gettin’ tighter, an’ his reloads ain’t bad.” “They aren’t good.” “But they ain’t bad, and they’re a lot better than they were.” Dave winked at Avery, seemingly unconcerned to be disagreeing with Ghost. Dave had donned a pair of fatigues similar to Ghost’s, a black Multicam combat top with matching trousers, and he’d replaced his personal rig with a tidy set-up of Program-issue gear. From the placement of his equipment it was clear he’d taken Ghost’s advice; his magazine pouches, IFAK, and tourniquet had all been moved to more ergonomic locations, and he’d added a suppressor for the Sig holstered on his thigh, which at the moment rode in its own pouch. Except for the leather-grip Buck knife he carried everywhere, he looked less like a “Backwoods Operator” and more like an “Operator” in general. “I do kinda wish the outfit came in RealTree,” Dave said, eliciting a sigh from Ghost. “Fucking hillbilly.” Dave shrugged, his grin unshakable, and turned his attention to Donnelley. “You down here to play, too?” “Down here to see if I can still run with the wolves. If we go out, I wanna know if I can still get some.” Donnelley smirked, putting down his gun case. He opened it up and retrieved the short carbine, putting on the sling and letting the MCX hang, sliding his hands in his pockets. “So, what y’all been runnin’ through? Two-man, three-man? We racin’?” Queen found the rest of THUNDER at the range, their home away from home. He still wore Ava’s beret, having not found the time to return it as he had been on a detailed tour of the facilities. He whistled “Les Chantes de Partisans” then switched to “Les Marseillaise” as he stepped into the mix of THUNDER and UMBRA. He spotted Ghost and Donnelley, and Dave standing around with their guns. Dave looked more like one of the shooters than before and it was slightly disappointing not to see the Wranglers and flannel. He smiled like a cat at the sight of the handsome mountain man, reaching up to adjust the soft gray beret to a cocky angle. His eyes danced, pupils dilated and his grin unable to be suppressed. Queen strolled up to Donnelley, stopping short and firing him a salute, “[i]Le capitaine! Vive le Résistance![/i]” “This is [i]America[/i], Queen.” Donnelley joked, stuffing a cigarette between his lips and leaving it unlit. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, smirking and shaking his head at his inebriated partner-in-crime, “You still ain’t give that hat back?” Queen patted the beret, then grinned again and whispered loudly, “[i]Non.[/i]I have found the hiding spots, [i]mon amie[/i], from a secret source.” He pulled from inside his jacket a map that had been pulled off the wall and marked and he made a show of sneaking it over to Donnelley. “Ze Germans will never know.” Queen stepped back as he absently hunted his pockets for his cigarettes, the French accent replaced with the north Florida drawl, “Is Ghost scaring the new kid yet?” Dave caught sight of the beret on Queen’s head and for an instant, just a heartbeat, his fist tightened with the urge to send a fist crashing into the man’s jaw. He gritted his teeth; he trusted Ava, she was too innocent to try anything underhanded. Queen, on the other hand, had made his intentions with her known from the start, and given the foot that he and Dave had gotten off on it was hard for Dave not to immediately assume that everything the man did was a personal slight. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ghost cut him off. “You look like a fucking idiot,” Ghost said, eyeing the hat through his bolted-on Oakleys. He waved a hand in Avery’s direction. “If he’s scared, he ain’t scared enough. The redneck’s doing well enough that he’ll probably kill a few before he takes one in the face. The puppy is bait.” Queen caught Dave's reaction, the visceral response from the sight of his headwear. He could read the tension in the man and felt a moment of malicious pleasure before his better nature caught him. He turned away, entertaining himself with Donnelley until he handed over his marked map good for all sorts of recreation. He reached up to touch the beret when Ghost remarked on it. Through the pleasant haze of the pills he took a silly smile grew on his face. Though he would never be so bold around Ghost alone he had his best friend with him. "But... I want to be an airborne ranger!" He said, in a passionate voice, loud enough during a lull in shooting. He continued singing as he spotted TRIDENT looking over at him. "I want to be an airborne ranger! Live a life of guts and dayynger!" He flexed his arms, his wiry biceps nowhere near Ghost impressive. From a few feet away a murmur was heard before one of the TRIDENT Operators stalked over. He wasn’t any older than Avery, it looked like, but there was fury in his frown and knitted brow. “That beret ain’t even [i]tan[/i], you fucking cock[i]suck![/i]” He shoved a finger in Queen’s face and Donnelley nonchalantly stepped forward and staggered his feet to get ready, still behind Queen, but well within striking distance while the Ranger continued, “I swear to god, if this asshole doesn’t let up, I’ll break his face open.” Donnelley caught Dave’s reaction from earlier, and he knew Queen’s nature when people fed him what he wanted. If this was some smooth-brain from a bar, he wouldn’t think twice, but they were all certified killers here. Donnelley lay a hand on Queen’s shoulder, “Give the beret to Dave, man.” Donnelley dragged Queen behind him and stood up to the young buck, “Surely, if’n muh pardner insulted yer fuckin’ [i]hat[/i], I apologize.” The other man took a step back now that he wasn’t faced with thin, inebriated Queen and staring into Tex’s eyes. One step back, but not one more. “Tired of all this dick-waving,” Ghost growled from behind them. He took off his rifle and shoved it into Avery’s hands, pushing his way through the group. As he shrugged Donnelley and Queen aside he cocked back his fist, intent on hammering the TRIDENT operator. The Ranger saw it coming, the massive haymaker on a collision course with his face, and skipped back, causing the fist to whiff by in front of his chin. Seeing the huge ex Delta make for the kid from TRIDENT, Queen cupped his hands around his mouth, bellowing out, "GET SOME, GHOST, hoorah!" From behind the Ranger, Donnelley watched another of TRIDENT step forward and took that as his cue. He wasn’t going to let Ghost get blindsided, one part because he was his friend, and the other part because he wouldn’t hear the goddamn end of it if he didn’t do anything. He shoved Queen backwards and marched forward, cocking his leg back for a devastating kick to the man’s chest. He let loose- and missed. The TRIDENT operator, a scowling big beard of a man, sidestepped and caught Donnelley’s leg. Donnelley dropped as his back leg was swept from under him and he landed hard on his back, his unbuckled helmet sliding back towards THUNDER as if leaving him to his fate. With the sudden violence unfolding, Dave laughed. He dropped his rifle, letting it clatter to the ground, and rushed in at the bearded TRIDENT punk who had put Donnelley on his ass. With a wild [i]whoop[/i] he cocked back on the run and let fly, his fist connecting solidly with the larger man’s chin. His opponent grunted and pitched backwards, his helmeted head clacking on the ground, out of the fight and dazed. Queen stumbled back as Donnelley pushed him out of the way, still grinning as chaos unfolded around him. He stepped forward towards the kid that had originally taken his bait. Laughing, Queen tightened his fist and said, "Bitch, it's dove gray!" He swung wildly, his punch catching air over the Ranger's shoulder just missing his ear. He stumbled forward, then recovered his footing as he swiveled around. His disappointment was short-lived when he heard the thud of one of TRIDENT hitting the ground. "Yeehaw!" He shouted, waving the beret, forgetting the pissed off Ranger for a split second. "Cocksucker!" The young Ranger shouted, throwing a punch towards Queen's mocking grin and despite an almost perverse desire to stand and take the hit, the agent instinctively dodged. He felt the air breeze by him as he leaned back, doing an agile twist to step back and away from Ghost and the kid. Ghost snarled and, in the split second that the Ranger’s attention was on Queen, he piled in from the man’s blindside. Unencumbered, he fired a tight one-two, a jab and a cross that bounced the man’s head twice like it was on a Slinky. He pulled the punches, not wanting the clusterfuck that would come from killing a fellow Program operative, but the dual impacts were enough to cross the man’s eyes and drop him like a stone. That done he turned his attention on the rest of Trident, taking a step forward to stand beside Dave, who was already facing them with a broad country-boy grin. “Everyone, stand the [i]fuck[/i], down!” The last remaining member of TRIDENT said, his companion that didn’t have any interest in dick-wagging sans dick stood next to him, her arms crossed. Already the bearded man that put Donnelley down was getting to his feet with wobbly legs and stumbling over to check on the Ranger. Donnelley was on his feet, stepping up beside Dave with his fists balled, breathing heavy and a fury in his eyes for getting so manhandled earlier. “That’s easy for you to fuckin’ say, you piece o’ shit.” “Who’s watching your fucking back out there if we get activated?” The TRIDENT team lead threw his hands out, pleading for reason, “Rooster, hurry the fuck up and get Moon, you dumbfuck. We’re leaving.” Ghost took a few steps forward, ignoring the rest of them. He nodded at the muscular woman on TRIDENT. “You got a workout partner?” The big woman looked Ghost up and down, not even making any effort to be subtle about it, her head moving with her eyes before she turned her chin up at him for a few long moments. She smirked, a small shake of the head before she followed her team away. TRIDENT’s team lead turned around as they walked out, “Fuck you, and fuck that tattoo’d motherfucker!” Queen gazed up at the woman, surreptitiously looking her over as Ghost made his move. He had the desire to yell out the same encouragement but embarrassing Ghost in front of a woman, he might as well cut his own throat. The pleasant haze still enveloped him as the adrenaline receded with TRIDENT. He gave an overly friendly wave at the retreating team leader, unable to stop himself from laughing. Queen sighed and turned, spotting Dave who had stepped back after Ghost put on the grand finale. He removed the little gray beret and folded it over, reaching out to hand it to Dave. "Helluva right hook, Ozark." Dave looked over at Queen, still caught up in the rush of the brawl. He grinned and took the beret, too amped to stay mad. “Thanks, man,” he said, folding the hat carefully and putting it in his cargo-pocket. “It uh...It goes better with her outfit than yours, anyway.” He offered his hand. Queen returned the smile, buzzing from the big dose of painkillers and the fight. He took Dave's hand in a firm, quick shake. "You're right, it's just not the same without the coat." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Kools, shaking one out for himself, pulling it from the box with his lips. He shook it again and offered a cigarette to Dave. "Showed them military bros what's up," he grinned around the unlit cigarette, his sea colored eyes dancing, "Fuck em, right?" “Fuck ‘em,” Dave confirmed. He waved off the cigarette, but pulled a can of Cope from his back pocket. After a few snaps he took out a large pinch. “No thanks, man, I ain’t a smoker. It’s a taste thing. I’ll join ya though,” he said, packing his lip. “Bit of victory-tobacco.” Queen fished out the plastic lighter and flicked it, lighting the menthol cigarette as he nodded. "I used to dip, way back in the day," he took a drag and exhaled through his nose. "Can't smoke on the baseball field. I liked that berry Skoal." He chuckled at Dave then saw Donnelley approaching and checked his expression. He muttered, "Your boss might be a little mad at me." “Thanks.” Donnelley butted his forearm on Dave’s shoulder, unable to express anything else from the embarrassment of going down like he did. He busied himself with going for his helmet and gun case, undoing the clips and throwing it open, taking the MCX and cradling it in his folded arms, “So. Are we gonna fuckin’ train or what?”