pistol.'
Gunny nodded and set two plastic boxes of ammo on the counter. The
blue box contained .357 cartridges, the orange box 9mm. Howard grabbed
the blue box, Fernandez the orange.
'Lanes eight and nine,' the range master said.
Howard put his earplugs in as he headed for the entrance to the
gallery, Fernandez hurrying to beat him to the door so he could hold it
open.
'Let me. General. I wouldn't want you complaining you hurt your hand
or anything after I shoot the pants off of you. I never got to beat a
general before.'
'And not likely you'll start today. Sergeant.'
In their respective lanes, the two Net Force military men set their
ammo down and started up the holoprojectors.
They used identical scenarios when they went for scores against each
other, so there would be no doubt who had out shot whom.
Howard slipped the Fist paddle holster with his Smith & Wesson .357
Model 66 revolver nestled in it into his waistband and adjusted things.
The S&W was an antique, stainless steel and not nearly as efficient as
the polymer tactical pistols Net Force issued. The H&Ks and the
Walthers carried almost three times as much ammo, and had all kinds of
bells and whistles--lasers, suppressors, flashlights, all very modular.
Until recently, the Smith had been pretty much stock, unmodified.
Howard had allowed Gunny to talk him into trying a red dot scope, a
tiny one that mounted where the iron sights were, which had improved
his shooting immediately. Even so, it felt like sacrilege--the old
wheel gun was as much talisman as anything, his good luck piece, and in
the same category as the tommy gun he had gotten from his grandfather.
It worked, but it couldn't really run with the newer hardware out
there, even with the Tasco scope.
Julio was still smiling every time he saw the scope, too.
'You ready, John?'
-'Crank it up.'
Fernandez was using his blued Beretta Model 92, not as ancient as the
Smith, but certainly not in the same class as the tactical pistols,
either. Two old and grizzled types they were, set in their ways. If
they weren't careful, the future was going to blow right past them.
The mugger, armed with a crowbar, materialized thirty feet away and ran
toward Howard. He snatched his piece out of the holster, brought it
up, and did a fast double tap, aiming at the chest. The mugger stopped
and fell down.
The holographies on the range were pretty good, and the computer
registered the hits and kept track of everything.
'Got me by a quarter second,' Fernandez said from the other side of the
bullet-resistant barrier.
'General's luck.'
'Right,' Howard said.
'Rack 'em up and I'll show you how lucky I really am.'
The second mugger had a long knife, and Howard's first round caught him
