Free Outbreak: Long Road Back by Robert Van Dusen Page A

a day or so… She made the sign of the cross, took the Saint Joan’s medal from under her shirt and kissed it before folding her hands. Thank you, Saint Joan for looking after my brother. Frays thought quickly He’s kind of an idiot but he’s a good kid. If he really wants to be like Dad I guess I could let him. Just…if you can spare the time…keep an eye on us please…
    “Okay, Privates.” Sergeant Hanes said to the line of men and women standing in the small grassy area inside the perimeter of the Security Forces building. “This” he waved a hand towards Frays, who stood off to one side behind him “is Sergeant Frays. She’s gonna teach you civilian pukes how to shoot like genuine United States Marines. Now…she’s Air Force but don’t hold that against her.” He glanced over his shoulder at the woman. “Frays?”
    She could not help but feel a little pleased with herself. Sergeant Hanes had pinned E-5 rank on her less than half an hour ago and told her that she was now officially assigned to the training cadre. Her job was going to be to teach Basic Rifle Marksmanship to the trainees. Part of her could not help but object to Hanes’ statement that she was going to teach them to shoot like Marines but she mentally shrugged it off.
    Sergeant Frays took a moment to size up the eight men and two women standing in front of her. There was a big white kid named Mike Hubbard that looked like he could play a decent game of football. A skinny little rabbit of a black man with a bad case of acne named James Buckley. William Robles made her kind of nervous. He looked like he would enjoy using the huge bayonet attached to their carbines a little more than was healthy. Zach Rowe was a squat little olive skinned guy that kind of reminded her of a Sontaran from Doctor Who . The thought almost made her laugh. Ben Sharpe was a bean pole of a guy with a shaggy head of red hair. Steve Parker was an Italian looking guy with black hair a big bushy mustache. The guy next to him was Bobby Pittman, a big guy with biker tattoos running from under the sleeves of his tee shirt to his wrists. Johnny Chang looked like an extra from a Vietnam War movie with his battered carbine slung over his shoulder.
    The two women were named Joanne Stark and Stacie Grimes. Stark was a blonde in ratty jeans and a grey tank top. She had an older style Combat Lifesaver bag slung across her chest. Frays had heard that she had been a medic in a National Guard unit from some place down south. Grimes was a chunky (well as chunky as anyone was these days) brunette. She looked like she had never held a gun before in her life let alone fired one. Somebody said she was from Manhattan which explained that as far as Frays was concerned. 
    “Thank you, Sergeant.” Frays said. She stood up strait, trying to make as much of an impression as her five foot six inch pregnant frame could. “I’m gonna teach you guys how to shoot.” she said in a loud clear voice. “First thing first we’re gonna clean your rifles and make sure we got all that grease off them and everything. It’s real easy. The Soviets built their rifles to be used by anybody too fat, drunk or stupid to get out of the way when the recruiter’s trucks rolled up so I think you guys can handle it.”
    Sergeant Frays first showed the eight men and two women how to field strip and clean their SKS carbines which did not take long thanks to the simplicity of Russian engineering. Major Tennyson had apparently picked her after the meeting in his office the other day due to her experience training some Iraqi Military Police while on deployment. Frays found herself grateful that these new trainees at least spoke English as it made the job much easier. She also most likely would not have to worry about one of the students jumping up in the middle of a lecture and shouting ‘Allah ur Akbar!’ before blowing himself up. And for the first time since she came here Frays felt like she was contributing