SNAFU: Hunters

Colby shook his head. “We don’t return someone to their unit just for one fuck up. Everyone fails their first kill house. But if you are selected to join the Unit then bear in mind that, out in the real world? Facing real Taints?” Colby shrugged. “Yeah, you only get one shot at that, mate. So fail in here, survive out there.” He pushed himself off the wall and stood a few inches from Warner. The newbie was still breathing heavy, and the slightly acidic tang of ammonia wafted up from his damp combats.

Colby’s normally jovial look melted away, and Warner faced Flynn’s own heavy-duty version of epic stink-eye. The big man’s pale green eyes were hard, and the hint of a smile that usually pulled at the corners of Flynn’s mouth had vanished. “But screw up a second time, or give me any indication that you could end up putting your oppos’ lives in danger and I promise you, mate, I promise you, you’ll be back peeling spuds in the Catering Corps before you can say Dauphinoise potatoes.”

“I was with the Guards, sir.”

“Same difference.” Colby sniffed, and wished he hadn’t. “Go and get yourself cleaned up.” He threw a glance at the silent Terry. “Both of you.” They paused, looking awkward and apologetic. Colby glowered, his eyes narrowing even further. “And you’re still here why, exactly?”

Without another word, the two newbies turned and trudged out of the room. Their body posture spoke of defeat, dejection and a mortal fear that an RTU order was in their future at some point.

Colby watched the two men shuffle listlessly out. The frown was still etched on his face, but now he focused it up at the corner where the speaker and camera were hidden. He jerked a thumb towards the door. “You get all that?”

There was a click and a woman’s voice – soft, authoritative and well spoken – responded. “They’re on their first run-through, Col. It’s a beasting nobody expects the first time around. Give them a second go at it and we’ll be able to make a decision from there. They’ll either get their shit together, or they won’t.”

Colby sniffed, rubbed his nose and nodded. “Yeah. Guess we all pissed our pants the first time, huh?”

“Speak for yourself, Mister Flynn!”

“Uh-oh!” Colby laughed out loud. He was in for a smack around the ear later from Yolanda for that one. He could tell – the only time she called him ‘Mister Flynn’ was when she was going all Sandhurst on his arse. “Okay. Get Micky to do a reset. We’ll go again at oh-two hundred. Zero warning. I want this to be as realistic as possible.”

“Copy that. I’ll get him to speed Binky number two up a bit as well.”

Colby rolled his eyes and sighed. “Seriously, Yol, Binky? Fucking Binky?”

“Honestly? I have no bloody idea. I think Micky’s a Discworld fan or something.”

The tannoy crackled then went silent. Colby flipped his NVGs down and scanned the room. It was too empty to make things realistic. If these guys were to become competent Taint hunters, then they needed to be pushed. Hard. He made a mental note to get some furniture put into this room. It could be an obstacle or a weapon, depending on how the guys reacted.

In the distance, four pops sounded in rapid succession. Colby frowned. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the kill house when they were training, so who was shooting? He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Meh, probably one of the lads on the range.” Sound tended to travel in funny ways sometimes, thanks to the topography of the surrounding hills. He forgot about the gunfire and glanced at his watch. “Ooo! Chow time! Thank Christ for that, I’m starving!” His stomach let out a strangled gurgle and he pressed a hand on his abdomen to still the beast. “Yep. Deffo chow time.”

As he trotted out of the room and made his way down the corridors and stairs towards the ground floor, Colby mentally assessed the two lads. Terry Warner lacked confidence, but had shown real potential up until the most recent debacle. Leaving the safety on was unforgivable in a sweep-through of a known or even a potential hot zone. And he had frozen when he encountered Binky’s stink-eye act. Robbie Moore’s aim was atrocious. The lad needed at least a fortnight on the range and another week or two in the live-ammo kill house to get up to standard. But he had reacted according to his training, and saved his partner. So okay, both had messed up, but out of the two, Moore was probably worth a second chance…