— Good evening, Sakurai-kun, — the duty officer at the shooting range greeted me today. — Are you today, as I see, with your trunk? He nodded at the gun case in my hand.
"The same to you, Maeda-san." I forgot about it last time, but today I want to try out my new acquisition.
On Tuesday, I had to settle for local trunks and collected information. Well, today I'm going to break away from the soul. I'll talk to the right people at the same time.
Entering the shooting range itself, I looked around the entire hall. Having found the right person, I was pleased with my foresight and accuracy of calculation. And also the fact that one of the seats next to him was vacant. That's where I went. At the moment, the man I approached was completing the HK MP-5N clip, which is not much different from the classic MP-5. But when he finished, he slid the headphones onto his neck and took out the clip.
— Hello, Sergeyich! I called out to him in Russian.
— Oop-pa! Shinji. How many years, how many winters. Haven't seen you for a long time, you little samurai. Decided to visit your alma mater?
Well, yes, it was here that I allegedly learned to shoot.
— Yes, I was here on Tuesday. And so — yes, I decided. You've seen," I raised my hand with the case, "my new acquisition. Check it out?
— Come on. Tired of these rattles. We should take something bigger.
— And why are you suffering? I asked, putting the case on the counter.
— So as not to lose the skills, the stump is clear ... Wow! What kind of monster is this? — he was surprised by the contents of the case I opened.
— A novelty from your military industry. ARCH-42 "Nail" is called.
— I heard, I heard. So that's what he is, it turns out. Will you let me shoot?
- of course. Why not. I'm just going to get the cartridges.
Alexey Sergeevich Svyatov, a nice guy. In the three years that I have known him, I have found out quite a lot about him, but even more has remained behind the scenes. And the most important thing I know about him is that he is a Ronin. The most classic ronin. A samurai without a master. The reasons for this situation can be different: from the banal — they were expelled, to the destruction of the one to whom they swore an oath. The meaning is the same. Sergeyich belonged to the latter type, the one that is sung in foreign folklore. The clan where he was a Warrior of the clan was destroyed. And, as far as I know, he avenged him. Of course, he did not take revenge alone, but the fact remains that a few years ago Russia lost two of its clans. Actually, he got stuck in Japan after he failed the last offender. Well, as I got stuck — rather, I just decided not to return to my homeland. There, according to him, he has nothing, and no one is waiting. And here he kind of started a new life. Since then, he has been working as a mercenary. What exactly he does, I really don't know. That's exactly what I want to hire as one of my officers. As it became known the other day, fifty-five people accepted my offer, including the initial ten. I took eleven more people from those who refused to work as security guards, scattering them between the "Swallow" and Shidotemora instead of those who asked from there to me, to my new assault squad. In total, at the moment, the old robbers, together with the ensign, are chasing six and a half dozen organisms into the tail and mane, you can't call them anything else. Also, I do not exclude that in the next few days from Shidotemoru, and specifically all from the same security guard, about five more people will be pulled up. And for all this horde, there is only one sergeant, he is an ensign, and one officer, he is me. I also need at least one more officer and five sergeants — squad commanders.
In general, of course, I'm an idiot. To create such a squad in such a hurry is not a good thing. That's what I should have done earlier? At least I found the person responsible for the construction. More precisely, I found the Tarot. And what would I do without him? In general, he found a little man, I didn't have to go to Koyama. By the way, it turned out to be his good friend, whom he praised to the skies. Apparently, he's knocking out an assistant for himself. I finally realized that I don't have time to cope with everything myself. I'm not against it in principle. Under his responsibility, of course.
Returning to Sergeyich, I put the zinc cartridges I bought right there on the counter. The man was examining the rifle at that time, and after my arrival he put it aside and took up one of the three clips attached to the kit.
—Oh, let's shoot,— he said. Then he looked thoughtfully at the clip in his hand and, putting it next to the rifle, began to open the zinc.
By the way, I didn't start calling him Sergeyich from the very beginning. And not even on a whim. Initially, I addressed him as "Svyatov-san", to which he only winced. Then there was "Alexey-san", which he didn't like either. No, I understood that the suffixes familiar to the Japanese hurt his hearing. Yes, what's there, these suffixes with a Russian name and surname even cut my hearing. But it was too funny he was wincing, and I couldn't stop. In the end, I switched to the name and patronymic, then he said that he was not old enough to listen to such things in his address. As a result, we agreed on "Sergeich".
After filling the clips and changing the targets, they played rock-paper-scissors. I won, as always.
—Shoo away, shoo," I waved my palm. — Make room.
— You're a lucky guy. I've never won against you. No ra-zu. And this is... a lot, in short.
— And where are you going then? I asked, getting ready to shoot.
— Yes, I just statistically have to win at least once.
—Put on your headphones," I said without turning around.
The first shots were aimed. Two bursts of two rounds, two single rounds and another burst of three. A glance at the monitor, which shows the target up close, and the second circle — two, two, one, one, three. Small weight for an assault rifle, smooth running, low recoil, very good accuracy and caliber, which guarantees caution even from the Warriors. A dream, not a weapon. It is quite difficult for people whose lives have never depended on the weapons they hold in their hands to understand my current feelings.
Having finished the clip, he took it out. He pulled the shutter, pulled the trigger, put the safety on. Habit, tudyt it.
—Fucking amazing," I said.
"We'll see about that now," Sergeyich said and walked mannerly to the weapons rack, bumping me with his hip on the way. — Shoo, shoo, the Greatest Shooter In the World is coming to the barrier.
With a grunt, I moved behind him. After the first episode and a thoughtful "hmm", Svyatov finished off the clip with long bursts. Clip, shutter, control trigger, fuse.
—Fucking amazing," Ronin said in a low voice. He squinted at the last loaded clip.
— Go ahead, — I waved my hand. I'm not sorry, I'm still shooting. Mother-peremat.
The second clip flew away as quickly as the first two.
— Well, there are only three of them, eh? - the man sighed.
— Well, I'm sorry, — I spread my hands. — I didn't calculate it.
— M-yes, it's you, of course, in vain. You should always count on freeloading friends.
"I'll keep it in mind for the future," I snorted. — Let's move our fingers better. Three is not three, but it is necessary to fill them.
Svyatov was the first to finish with his clip and immediately took up the third.
— Where did you get this miracle? — he asked a question. "And is there any more left?"
Test question. That's what I needed.
— Schmitt's. And... hmm... sort of like a zwin. He only had five grand.
— Schmitt? Here's an old bastard. And he didn't show me anything like that. Only this one… what's his name… In short, he has a shit with a round drum there. And the bullet, and the plasma smalls. Rare shit.
— PPVC-1? Yeah, I totally agree.
— Did he show you too? Well, no wonder. He likes you. Five grand, you say... — Come on, well... — You could have left the thing to an old soldier. — Tc. — Why the fuck do you even have so much? — Finally. — Maybe you'll sell one, eh?
After a little hesitation for the sake of appearance, I still answered:
— Here's the thing, Sergeyich, it's like that's not enough for me. Well, the old man got into the situation and made a wholesale order through his nephew. Otherwise, I would have to take something simpler.
"Oh, how," said the former clan Warrior, raising his eyebrows. — What kind of need is this?
— Yes, here ... — I looked away.
But somehow I forgot that he was a mercenary. He doesn't get involved in openly illegal affairs, but if I can't take him... to myself, there is a chance that a Snake will hire him. And it's just... information is such a thing. Some people will be happy if they find out that I planned this showdown even before I was allegedly dragged into it.
On the other hand, it's Sergeyich. A guy who once even broke a contract to help me. And this is undesirable in their environment. He is even aware of three of my masks — a schoolboy earning money somewhere there, a law-abiding owner of a Shidotemoru and... not very law-abiding owner of a Shidotemoru. Yes, yes, the cat, if you don't trust such people, then who can you trust at all?
— Sorry, Sergeyich. Something all sorts of stupid thoughts got into my head. The matter is generally serious, not a conversation for the local environment.
— Everything is fine. You don't have to tell me.
- no. I'm... ahem... getting really paranoid. Let's go to some cafe later, a little crowded one.
"Sin," he shook his head, "if you don't want to talk, don't. It was just my curiosity.
— And yet ... - Do not say that I am corny ashamed of my distrust. And about the fact that I just didn't start the conversation that way initially. — Let's have dinner together after all. We need a look from the outside. The look of a person I trust. And I'm counting on advice, if anything.
"Oh, OK," he drawled slowly and thoughtfully. — Agreed. And in a completely different tone: "Why did you get up?" Come on. And, stretching out his fist, he began to count: — Rock, scissors, paper. M-m-mother.
An hour and a half later we were sitting in one of the cafes near the shooting range. This establishment was favorably distinguished from others by the absence of cameras and only three visitors, besides us, located at the other end of the hall. After waiting for the order, which was brought to us by a plump girl of about twenty, we stared at each other.
"Let's eat,— Svyatov said. — Once ordered. And while we're eating, tell me.
"The thing is, I'm going to have to clash with one of the Garagarahabi guilds soon," I began, watching the man clear his throat. — More precisely, not with all, but somewhere with half for sure.
— Well, you're a monster. My condolences. But what does it have to do with deserted cafes?