The new facilities for the Legionnaires were nearing completion, and everyone was looking forward to moving back in with eager anticipation. One of the first things to be completed, after the confidence course, that is, was the firing range, and that was where the company assembled for the demonstration.
The sales rep from Phule-Proof Munitions had an impressive array of weaponry, and a snappy line of patter to go with it, as he worked his way down the display. Aside from his tendency to refer to the company commander as "Willie," a practice which invariably caused Phule to wince and everyone else, particularly the chief of police, to smile, the salesman's knowledge and skills of his little bundles of death quickly earned the attention and respect of the entire assemblage.
The high point of the demonstration came when the Legionnaires were invited to come down from their bleachers and try some of the weapons themselves. For a while, the sergeants had their hands full keeping the troops' enthusiasm from turning them into a mob, but eventually things got sorted out and soon the air was filled with the crack and boom of firing as the Legionnaires gleefully shredded and blew apart assorted targets.
"Quite an assortment," Chief Goetz said, plopping down on a bleacher seat next to the commander.
"Yes. I thought you'd find it interesting. Especially some of the plastic and rubber 'Mercy Loads' they've been developing. "
The policeman grimaced. "Of course, it's nice if the suspect is wearing some kind of eye protection when you open up on him. If I had my way, we'd stick with either holding our fire or shooting for keeps rather than trying to kid ourselves that we can hit someone without hurting them. I've noticed my troops shoot a lot better on the range than they do on the street. Truth is, under pressure they're almost as bad shots as your crew seem to be normally."
It was apparent that the Legionnaires were far from crack shots. Whatever damage was being done to the targets was more the result of the massive amount of firepower being launched downrange than from any degree of precision in its placement.
Now it was Phule's turn to grimace.
"I've seen worse, though it's hard to recall offhand anytime I've seen more lousy shots gathered in one place. More important, I've taught worse marksmen how to shoot. I almost canceled this demonstration until I had more time to work with the troops, but this is one of Phule-Proof's touring demos, and it was either nail it when it was available or wait a couple months until another one was in the area. Now it's going to be a pain to keep the troops away from the full automatics and laser sights long enough to drum the basics into their heads."
Goetz nodded, not taking his eyes off the firing line.
"Sounds like we're in agreement there, Captain. If you don't teach 'em right to start with, they'll always rely on firepower and gimmicks instead of learning how to shoot."
The commander cranked his head around and stared at the police chief for several moments.
"Maybe I shouldn't ask this, Chief," he said at last, "but I can't help but notice that your attitude toward me and my Legionnaires has mellowed considerably since our first meeting."
"Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Phule. I may be hardheaded from time to time, but mostly I try to keep an open mind. Most of my beat patrolmen have been pretty open with their praise for your troops. It seems that somebody in your outfit has taken to monitoring the police band, and a few of your boys have shown up at some of the stickier calls we've had over the last few weeks. The way I hear it, they don't interfere or get in the way, but we both know there are times when having a couple extra uniforms around, no matter what color they are, goes a long way toward keeping a crowd from getting too rambunctious."
"That fits," the commander said. "I've always felt that most people have a basically good self-image. Once my troops are convinced that they can make a difference, it's not surprising that they try to make a difference for the better."
The chief held up a restraining hand.
"Now, don't get me wrong. Nobody's kidding anybody that your crew was in the choir over the stable at the first Christmas, but they've earned enough goodwill in the department to have me cut them-and you-a little bit of slack."
"Not enough slack, I notice, to keep you from filing reports with Legion Headquarters every time one of my crew puts on a command performance at the station," Phule observed wryly.
Goetz sighed and shrugged.
"That's the result of a direct request from your Headquarters, son. Came in about the same time you arrived. I don't mean to butt into your business, but it would appear that somebody in the Legion's upper echelons doesn't like you much. Leastwise, they're watching real close for you to make a mistake."
The commander frowned. "I didn't realize that. Appreciate the warning, though."
"Warning?" The chief's face was a picture of innocence. "I was just responding to an official request for information from one of the residents in the community I am sworn to serve and protect."
"Got it." Phule nodded. "Thanks, anyway... unofficially. I wonder if it would be possible for you to-"
"Captain!"
There was no denying the urgency in the voice that hailed him.
"Excuse me, Chief. What is it, Tusk-anini?"
"Spartacus going to shoot gun!"
A quick glance at the firing line was sufficient to confirm the information. The Sinthian was perched on his glide board, a shotgun tucked under his spindly arm, as Chocolate Harry explained the weapon to him with vastly exaggerated gestures.
"So I see," the commander said. "It seems, however, that the situation is being handled by-"
"Not know Newton's third law physics?"
Phule frowned. "What law?"
"Isn't that the one that..." Chief Goetz started, but the sentence was never finished.
KA-BOOM!
The Sinthian's skill on his glide board was such that instead of being knocked off the device by the shotgun's recoil, he spun violently around and around like a top... though, if asked, those in the near vicinity might have preferred the former option. Anyone who had not recent occasion to refer to or recall Newton's third law of physics was now graphically reminded that, indeed, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction! Educated or not, good marksmen or not, there was nothing wrong with the Legionnaires' sense of survival, and in a twinkling everyone present was either crouched behind cover or flat on the ground, including the observers in the bleachers.
Fortunately Spartacus was only firing single loads while testing the shotgun, so the mayhem was more comical than anything. Had he been utilizing the belt-feed auto-loader option, the results might not have been so humorous.
"Seems to me," Chief Goetz drawled, raising his head to look at Phule, "the kick on that weapon's a tad strong for that fellah-at least while he's standing on that board, anyway. "
"The same thing just occurred to me," the commander said, peering over the bleacher seat he was flattened behind. "It's a problem, though. The Sinthians' eyestalks keep them from using a weapon with enough accuracy to be effective. That's why we were trying them on shotguns. I'd say to hell with it and issue them fully automatic weapons, but I'm afraid that would only compound the recoil problem."
"What you need is something that doesn't have much of a kick." Goetz frowned. "Have you thought of trying them on splat guns?"
"Splat guns?"
"Compressed-air guns that shoot little paint balls. Some of the guys in the department use 'em in a weekend war-game club they belong to."
"Oh. Those things." Phule shook his head. "I always thought they were more expensive toys than weapons."