Dicer
Jarhead
OOC: Mostly self taught for now. If anyone can think of an IC reason for their char to do some hand-to-hand training with a lowly private in the ODF let me know!
Urban Warfare Training
If there was one thing Dicer did particularly well, it was doing nothing. Dicer stood perfectly still, a shotgun held in front of him vertically. His left hand took most of his weight holding the front grip, whilst his right hand steadied the weapon with the stock leaned gently against the side of his face.
The moment of silent tranquillity seemed to last for much longer than the reality of two seconds.
“Go! Go! Go!”
As soon as he heard the first “G” Dicer was moving. In one smooth motion he twisted around and brought the shotgun to bear on the door next to him. He shifted his weight onto his back leg and squeezed the trigger.
Shot ripped through the inner edge of the door with ease. Dicer shifted his weight again and with one solid kick he smashed open the door. With his part complete for now he span away from the door. Two of the quickest members of the group darted through the doorway, blaster carbines already shouldered.
Curtis followed, waiting until four people had already entered the room. He swung his gun back and forth as he entered the first room, but the targets had already been taken down. Nevertheless, they had all been trained to check all possible attack vectors when moving through a building. It only took one hidden soldiers to cause chaos.
The targets in this exercise were simple cardboard cut-outs, leaned against the walls. Much of the soldiers' training had involved battling droids, or each other. This was their first live fire exercise, and as such they were simply moving through the facility and taking out the painted silhouettes.
They were being monitored closely by the trainers, who followed along wearing bright orange vests. Each squad was being marked on their ability to coordinate as a team. Every new room had to be cleared out using a sequence of orders, carried out with metronomical precision. The soldiers had to learn to react and act, not think. That wasn’t their job.
The facility was the remains of an old accommodation building. Built to survive heavy ordnance, but now abandoned, the complex was perfect for urban combat training. Of course, there were other facilities to recreate the vastly different definitions of “urban” on different worlds on the Eriadu training centre.
Dicer moved through the next few rooms, so far he hadn't been required to fire a single shot in anger. He reached the front line shortly after, the group was apparently waiting for him. There was single hole in the ceiling that the soldiers were keeping weapons trained on.
“Vertical D-3,” came a whisper so quiet, that Dicer only heard it through the comm unit against his ear. Private Charles nodded to the squad leader and moved forwards, swinging his shotgun onto his back.
He went down on one knee and cupped his hands together. One of the quick troopers who ran point placed a foot on his hands. Another pulled the pin from a grenade – that at least was not a live weapon.
The grenade was tossed up into the hole. A moment later there was a loud “pop” and a flash, showing that the dud flashbang had gone off. Dicer heaved the soldier up so that the top half of his body went through the hole. Dicer held his leg firmly as he twisted back and forth firing his blaster.
“Clear!” he shouted back down. With one easy motion Dicer hefted the soldier fully through the hole and into the room above. Dicer offered his hands to the next soldier in line. Dicer helped three more soldiers up as a now consistent melody of blaster fire rang out above them.
When the rest of the squad was up on the next floor, Dicer passed up his weapon and jumped up after them. He took the offered hands as they pulled him up. He took his weapon back from a companion and followed the trail of destruction.
Again, for a short while Dicer was kept out of the action. He brought up the rear of the group as they moved from room to room. Grenades and well executed manoeuvres kept the trainers happy as the first floor was completely cleared out.
At the foot of the next stairwell the squad regrouped and Dicer fulfilled his second major role: pack mule. Inwardly, he sighed as he passed around power packs to his companions. Perhaps I should have joined the Heavy Weapons Programme, he thought to himself. He appreciated becoming part of a well-oiled machine. As each manoeuvre was executed with increasing precision there was a certain satisfaction to be gained. Curtis had never been a part of anything that be even vaguely described as “functional” before. Still, he sorely missed his family and friends. He particularly missed not having to get up in the small hours for yet another PT session with a screaming sergeant.
“Door!” came a call in his ear, waking him from his reverie.
...speaking of which, he thought to himself, suddenly paying attention.
Dicer moved to the front of the group. He found the front runners pressed against either side of a doorway. As he approached he make a quick assessment of the barrier's integrity.
“A-2,” he whispered into his comms. His squad changed positions accordingly.
Dicer took aim at the handle of the door. He took it off with a single shot and then followed through, shouldering the door out of the way.
His barrel turned left and right and he fired twice. The two cardboard targets were disintegrated under the torrent of shot. At short range the primitive shotgun could still rip through nearly any form of armour.
Dicer followed the squad through the rest of the facility. In the next ten minutes he was responsible for dealing with three more doorways and shooting two more targets. He ended the exercise with the lowest kill count of the group, but that was expected of his role. That was what the young man was now, an insignificance cog in the great wheel of the Protectorate war machine.
Urban Warfare Training
If there was one thing Dicer did particularly well, it was doing nothing. Dicer stood perfectly still, a shotgun held in front of him vertically. His left hand took most of his weight holding the front grip, whilst his right hand steadied the weapon with the stock leaned gently against the side of his face.
The moment of silent tranquillity seemed to last for much longer than the reality of two seconds.
“Go! Go! Go!”
As soon as he heard the first “G” Dicer was moving. In one smooth motion he twisted around and brought the shotgun to bear on the door next to him. He shifted his weight onto his back leg and squeezed the trigger.
Shot ripped through the inner edge of the door with ease. Dicer shifted his weight again and with one solid kick he smashed open the door. With his part complete for now he span away from the door. Two of the quickest members of the group darted through the doorway, blaster carbines already shouldered.
Curtis followed, waiting until four people had already entered the room. He swung his gun back and forth as he entered the first room, but the targets had already been taken down. Nevertheless, they had all been trained to check all possible attack vectors when moving through a building. It only took one hidden soldiers to cause chaos.
The targets in this exercise were simple cardboard cut-outs, leaned against the walls. Much of the soldiers' training had involved battling droids, or each other. This was their first live fire exercise, and as such they were simply moving through the facility and taking out the painted silhouettes.
They were being monitored closely by the trainers, who followed along wearing bright orange vests. Each squad was being marked on their ability to coordinate as a team. Every new room had to be cleared out using a sequence of orders, carried out with metronomical precision. The soldiers had to learn to react and act, not think. That wasn’t their job.
The facility was the remains of an old accommodation building. Built to survive heavy ordnance, but now abandoned, the complex was perfect for urban combat training. Of course, there were other facilities to recreate the vastly different definitions of “urban” on different worlds on the Eriadu training centre.
Dicer moved through the next few rooms, so far he hadn't been required to fire a single shot in anger. He reached the front line shortly after, the group was apparently waiting for him. There was single hole in the ceiling that the soldiers were keeping weapons trained on.
“Vertical D-3,” came a whisper so quiet, that Dicer only heard it through the comm unit against his ear. Private Charles nodded to the squad leader and moved forwards, swinging his shotgun onto his back.
He went down on one knee and cupped his hands together. One of the quick troopers who ran point placed a foot on his hands. Another pulled the pin from a grenade – that at least was not a live weapon.
The grenade was tossed up into the hole. A moment later there was a loud “pop” and a flash, showing that the dud flashbang had gone off. Dicer heaved the soldier up so that the top half of his body went through the hole. Dicer held his leg firmly as he twisted back and forth firing his blaster.
“Clear!” he shouted back down. With one easy motion Dicer hefted the soldier fully through the hole and into the room above. Dicer offered his hands to the next soldier in line. Dicer helped three more soldiers up as a now consistent melody of blaster fire rang out above them.
When the rest of the squad was up on the next floor, Dicer passed up his weapon and jumped up after them. He took the offered hands as they pulled him up. He took his weapon back from a companion and followed the trail of destruction.
Again, for a short while Dicer was kept out of the action. He brought up the rear of the group as they moved from room to room. Grenades and well executed manoeuvres kept the trainers happy as the first floor was completely cleared out.
At the foot of the next stairwell the squad regrouped and Dicer fulfilled his second major role: pack mule. Inwardly, he sighed as he passed around power packs to his companions. Perhaps I should have joined the Heavy Weapons Programme, he thought to himself. He appreciated becoming part of a well-oiled machine. As each manoeuvre was executed with increasing precision there was a certain satisfaction to be gained. Curtis had never been a part of anything that be even vaguely described as “functional” before. Still, he sorely missed his family and friends. He particularly missed not having to get up in the small hours for yet another PT session with a screaming sergeant.
“Door!” came a call in his ear, waking him from his reverie.
...speaking of which, he thought to himself, suddenly paying attention.
Dicer moved to the front of the group. He found the front runners pressed against either side of a doorway. As he approached he make a quick assessment of the barrier's integrity.
“A-2,” he whispered into his comms. His squad changed positions accordingly.
Dicer took aim at the handle of the door. He took it off with a single shot and then followed through, shouldering the door out of the way.
His barrel turned left and right and he fired twice. The two cardboard targets were disintegrated under the torrent of shot. At short range the primitive shotgun could still rip through nearly any form of armour.
Dicer followed the squad through the rest of the facility. In the next ten minutes he was responsible for dealing with three more doorways and shooting two more targets. He ended the exercise with the lowest kill count of the group, but that was expected of his role. That was what the young man was now, an insignificance cog in the great wheel of the Protectorate war machine.