Read Online Reflexive Fire - 01 by Jack Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Murphy
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training once the necessary equipment arrives. Until then have these men continue to train as assaulters.”
The meeting went on deep into the night with Deckard outlining what would be the battalion's new Table of Organization and Equipment before launching into weapons and equipment procurement and requests, living facility upgrades, training schedules, and attracting and recruiting more Kazakh veterans to the unit, until he realized it was nearly four in the morning.
Everyone was grateful when the sun finally began to crest the horizon and break the oppressive cold that lingered in their bones. Even with their bodies warmed up from running several miles, the cold stung at their faces. Somehow, Deckard couldn't help but feel that he was the only one who wasn't used to it.
The dusty road seemed to go on across the steppe forever until finally the firing range could be seen in the distance. Alibek, the Alpha Company Second Platoon Sergeant, took the lead by picking up one of his privates and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
Deckard followed suit, picking up the nearest Kazakh mercenary, a private named Oraz. He was one of the younger troops in the platoon, but like the others he had the Asiatic features typical of many Kazakhs. Once the entire platoon had paired up, Alibek took off running towards the range. Again, the American was impressed with the level of leadership shown by the young military veterans he had under his command.
Maybe it was the culture. Maybe it was a meal ticket.
Whatever they may have lacked in hard skills, they made up for in enthusiasm. It was no fault of their own that their military wasn't as developed as in the West, but then again, maybe it was an asset. The technology and bureaucracy of modern armies often led to a loss of focus on combat proficiency.
Quadriceps burning, he was relieved when Sergeant Alibek finally set his partner down halfway to the range and switched positions. Oraz hefted Deckard's weight with a grunt and began charging down the road. Finally they arrived at the shooting complex, little more than flat ground with some stakes stuck in the dirt to indicate range fans and meter distances, every member of the platoon with a cloud of hot steam coming off their bodies.
Alibek began shouting commands in Kazakh and pointing to the targets posted down range. Deckard needed no translation and simply followed along as the mercenaries began loading magazines and racking the charging handles of their AK-47s.
The next twenty minutes were spent sprinting across the range in buddy teams, bounding while the other remained in over watch, laying down a suppressive fire on targets. Next, they repeated the same maneuver in four-man fire teams, Deckard joining in with an odd group of three. The drills continued until each soldier had expended sixty rounds on the targets down range, not much but for now it was their allotment.
Alibek and his peers made an impressive display of making the best with what little they had, but Deckard knew it was going to take a lot more for them to pull off what he had in mind.
“No, dammit, that's not what I want!”
Rapid fire Russian was spat back and forth on the other end of the line.
“Hold on,” Deckard sighed, picking up the other phone.
“Samruk International?”
“Yes, this is O'Brien.”
“This is Raul Fernandez. My supplier is inquiring about end user certificates for the merchandise, and we are already at the loading bay with three pallets. I-”
“Is this about the surplus GME-FMK2-MO grenades that Argentina dumped in your country and you've been trying to sell at marked up prices to the Iraqis for the last three years?”
“Um, well-”
“Yeah, I know about that. Listen, you tell those fuckers that the Ministry of Defense provides the EUCs, not
The meeting went on deep into the night with Deckard outlining what would be the battalion's new Table of Organization and Equipment before launching into weapons and equipment procurement and requests, living facility upgrades, training schedules, and attracting and recruiting more Kazakh veterans to the unit, until he realized it was nearly four in the morning.
Everyone was grateful when the sun finally began to crest the horizon and break the oppressive cold that lingered in their bones. Even with their bodies warmed up from running several miles, the cold stung at their faces. Somehow, Deckard couldn't help but feel that he was the only one who wasn't used to it.
The dusty road seemed to go on across the steppe forever until finally the firing range could be seen in the distance. Alibek, the Alpha Company Second Platoon Sergeant, took the lead by picking up one of his privates and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
Deckard followed suit, picking up the nearest Kazakh mercenary, a private named Oraz. He was one of the younger troops in the platoon, but like the others he had the Asiatic features typical of many Kazakhs. Once the entire platoon had paired up, Alibek took off running towards the range. Again, the American was impressed with the level of leadership shown by the young military veterans he had under his command.
Maybe it was the culture. Maybe it was a meal ticket.
Whatever they may have lacked in hard skills, they made up for in enthusiasm. It was no fault of their own that their military wasn't as developed as in the West, but then again, maybe it was an asset. The technology and bureaucracy of modern armies often led to a loss of focus on combat proficiency.
Quadriceps burning, he was relieved when Sergeant Alibek finally set his partner down halfway to the range and switched positions. Oraz hefted Deckard's weight with a grunt and began charging down the road. Finally they arrived at the shooting complex, little more than flat ground with some stakes stuck in the dirt to indicate range fans and meter distances, every member of the platoon with a cloud of hot steam coming off their bodies.
Alibek began shouting commands in Kazakh and pointing to the targets posted down range. Deckard needed no translation and simply followed along as the mercenaries began loading magazines and racking the charging handles of their AK-47s.
The next twenty minutes were spent sprinting across the range in buddy teams, bounding while the other remained in over watch, laying down a suppressive fire on targets. Next, they repeated the same maneuver in four-man fire teams, Deckard joining in with an odd group of three. The drills continued until each soldier had expended sixty rounds on the targets down range, not much but for now it was their allotment.
Alibek and his peers made an impressive display of making the best with what little they had, but Deckard knew it was going to take a lot more for them to pull off what he had in mind.
“No, dammit, that's not what I want!”
Rapid fire Russian was spat back and forth on the other end of the line.
“Hold on,” Deckard sighed, picking up the other phone.
“Samruk International?”
“Yes, this is O'Brien.”
“This is Raul Fernandez. My supplier is inquiring about end user certificates for the merchandise, and we are already at the loading bay with three pallets. I-”
“Is this about the surplus GME-FMK2-MO grenades that Argentina dumped in your country and you've been trying to sell at marked up prices to the Iraqis for the last three years?”
“Um, well-”
“Yeah, I know about that. Listen, you tell those fuckers that the Ministry of Defense provides the EUCs, not
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