To Melville’s surprise it turned out that Lieutenant Fielder was the best qualified individual to train their troops on the .45. He was instructor qualified and, according to his records, had even survived a gunfight with a .45. The specifics were vague. When asked about the incident Fielder’s answer was, “The people you kill aren’t important. What matters is the ones who fail to kill you.” He’d even trained at Gunsite, the famous desert world where the monks at the Gunsite monastery followed the teachings of Saint Cooper. Thus he was called upon to be the lead instructor for the .45 training. And he did so, in his own, inimitable style.
He taught misfeed drills, tactical reloads, speed reloads, and one-handed reloads. Marksmanship wasn’t as critical since most of his students were already extensively trained with two-space pistols, and with three-space, muzzle-loading, double-barreled pistols. But they still fired many, many rounds of ammunition to fine-tune their shooting skills with these weapons. What was important was the new philosophy and science of combat with a semi-automatic pistol. That was Fielder’s specialty.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “you are holding in your hands the universal translator. As the ancient wise man, Saint Clint the Thunderer, once said, ‘You can say “stop” or “alto” or use any other word you think will work, but a large bore muzzle pointed at someone’s head is pretty much the universal language.’ I will teach you how to use your universal translator, and I will teach you much of the wisdom of Saint Clint and the other ancient wise men from the time of the great warrior Renaissance in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.”
They were standing in the sweltering heat of a Stolsh firing range as Fielder paced the firing line, looking at his twenty students. They each had a .45 holstered at their side. “The first thing we want to do is to avoid a fight! The First Rule of a Gunfight is don’t! As a last resort, you use your weapon, your ‘universal translator,’ to communicate to your opponent that this is all a misunderstanding, and they really don’t want to mess with you. The Second Rule of a Gunfight is, if you can’t avoid it, bring enough gun. An armored vehicle with automatic weapons can be considered barely enough gun. But the enemy has forced this fight upon us, and you hold in your hand the biggest, best gun we can provide. So let us use it to communicate the most effective message possible!”
Melville and Petreckski stood to the side of the firing line with the remaining two .45s holstered comfortingly at their hips, listening, assessing, observing, and learning. Broadax stood beside them, scowling. Like most of her race she was essentially useless with a firearm, so she’d be conducting this battle with her trusty, faithful ax. Melville was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea to pull his first officer away from the Ship’s repair and refurbishing for this training. But, in truth, what Fielder was saying did make sense.
“If you can choose what to bring to a gun fight, the most important thing to bring is a friend. Bring lots of friends. Bring a whole damned platoon! And be damned sure they’re well armed and well trained!”
Fielder gestured to the left and right. “Look around you. Look carefully.” Lieutenants Archer and Crater, their four surviving midshipmen (the unfortunate Faisal was wounded again, and poor Ngobe was dead), twelve marines, and two corpsmen obeyed, looking quizzically at each other. “These are your friends. Do not shoot them! They are well armed, and we will make damned sure that they’re well trained. It doesn’t do any good to have a well- armed, well-trained partner and then shoot ’em! Although,” he added, quietly and introspectively, “I’ve had some partners I’d like to shoot . . .”
Breaking out of his reverie, he continued. “Teamwork is essential. For one thing, it gives the enemy someone else to shoot at. As a team player, shooting at your friends should be considered a major faux pas! Guaranteed to get you taken off their Christmas card lists. The only thing more accurate than incoming enemy fire is incoming friendly fire, and it’s guaranteed to make you very unpopular!”
Taking a weapon from young Midshipman Aquinar, Fielder held it before them as he continued. “The primary thing that makes this weapon different from the weapons you’re used to is the fact that it has lots of bullets! One in the chamber, and seven in the magazine. And we have lots of extra magazines. When I get done with you, you’ll be able to change magazines in a fraction of a second, without conscious thought. So you have, essentially, an endless supply of ammo. Endless, that is, until you run out of magazines. But it’s your commander’s job to make sure that we break off before we get to that point. Since Captain Melville will be commanding you, I think we can all agree that you are in good hands when it comes to such matters.”
Melville was mildly surprised by this vote of confidence from his first officer, and warmed by the chorus of agreement from the class.
“So, you have lots of bullets. That means you can afford to be generous! The First Rule of Target Engagement is this. Anybody worth shooting is worth shooting twice! But don’t be wasteful! In a ‘target-rich environment’ such as this one, where a whole army will probably be charging at us, double-tapping each target is probably about right. Unless someone has singled you out for personal attention, at close range. Then the rule is, ‘when in doubt, empty the magazine!’
“The bottom line is this: you’re going to make your attacker advance through a wall of bullets. You may get killed with your own gun some day, but by God he’s gonna have to beat you to death with it, because it’s going to be empty! You must understand that, in the end, anything you do can get you shot, including doing nothing! So you might as well be putting lead downrange.”
Then he got deadly serious. Even more deadly serious than before, and it became obvious that he was speaking from personal experience. “My friends, you’ve done a lot of shooting at targets, and you have all been in combat, but I can tell you that a gunfight with one of these babies in your hand is real different when the bad guy shoots back. It doesn’t mean you’re going to lose, it just makes the story more interesting afterward. To make sure that you do the right thing at the moment of truth, we must drill it into you. Drill it, and drill it, and drill it until your fingers bleed and it’s burned into your midbrain as muscle memory. You’ll hate me before we are done, but that’s okay, I can live with that, as long as you’re alive to keep me alive.”
This is a far different Fielder than the panicky popinjay who met me down on Broadax’s world, thought Melville as he watched his first officer at work. I’m learning more about him, but mostly he has grown . . . we’ve all grown.
The main enemy attack wasn’t anticipated for about a week, which would be just enough time to make the men highly proficient with their new weapons. Melville intended to participate in most of the training, and Petreckski would help instruct when Fielder was needed with the ship. But Melville had another task to participate in. The Stolsh defenders had a special scheme to delay the enemy, a plan to buy that week. These tall, gaunt, dour amphibians came from an ancient race of mighty warriors, and they were grimly determined to make their invader pay dearly.
They’d invited Melville to be there at a “roasting” for the Guldur invaders. How could he refuse?
Rich and poor, lord and boor,
Hark to the blast of War!
Tinker and tailor and millionaire,
Actor in triumph and priest in prayer,
Comrades now in the hell out there,
Sweep to the fire of War!
* * *
The Guldur forces rushed the walls of the lower city in a great, vast wave. Limited by what they could transport in two-space, they had only muzzle-loading cannon and rifles. The Stolsh, limited by complacency and the kind of cultural technophobia associated with most low-tech worlds, had little better. There were some breechloading repeaters used by civilians. It wasn’t illegal, just frowned upon. But the Stolsh army was pretty much limited to muzzle-loaders. The result was essentially a battle straight out of the Hundred Years War or the Napoleonic Era on Old Earth.
The scattered cannon on the low, thin battlements of Ee hammered the advancing troops, bringing the attacker’s rage to a fever pitch, while expert marksmen on the walls killed their leaders. Just as they reached the walls, just as they were ready to close in honorable combat, the cowardly defenders fled.