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Dry out or Die!

Posted on Thursday June 22, 2017 @ 8:16pm by Captain Charles Lancaster & Lieutenant Commander Thomas Burrows
Edited on on Saturday June 24, 2017 @ 6:59pm

Mission: The Gathering Storm (ST6)
Location: Target Range
Timeline: Current

Tom fired repeatedly at a target, delivering a total of 23 shots to it. It was a night vision target practice, and there was little natural light in the room. When the lights did come back up, he had missed at least 5 times, and three others only skimmed the target, not actually hitting it. "Was that any better than last time."

"Um, no. It's actually worse, which is shocking as I didn't that that was physically possible." Lanc said, giving Tom a light smack on the shoulder. "What's going on with you man?"

"You think I know? I think I'm losing it. Best damn shot this side of Starfleet and I'm losing it." He chucked the rifle to the floor and shook his head, "I think I'm not up to Team 6 standards anymore."

"Calm down man, it's not as bad as all that. You've just got to get out of your head."

"I dunno man. It's been weeks since I've had my old scores, and we have to keep to a certain standard as per Starfleet. This is below that standard, and if I don't get up and fast I'm gonna be reassigned." Tom kicked the rifle so it went spinning.

"Damn it, Tom. Are you freaking drunk again?" Lancaster asked, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around.

Tom jerked away from the other man, "It's good stuff, how can I not?!" He'd been overindulging in the whiskey again, which was making his shooting worse.

"How you can not is by being a grown man and not trying to get your self sent to New Zealand."

"I'm not trying to! I'm trying to get my skill back!"

"Ok, that tears it. I am officially ordering you to dry out. You are cut off. If so much as get a hint of the smell of alcohol on you, I will personally blow your ass out the closest air lock. And you better make an offering to every deity you can find a name for that we don't get deployed before you get over the shakes!"

Tom glared at the other man, before nodding, "Yes, sir."

"Don't you dare look at me in that tone of voice. This is your own damn fault. What kind of idiot operator drinks away his ability to fire his weapon. I should charge you with dereliction and ship you home in a box."

"I have a problem." Tom said, running a hand through his hair.

"Damn right you do!" Lanc shouted, slamming his hand on the table, making it shake enough to bounce the extra power cells onto the deck. "I'm seriously thinking about confining you to sickbay till they can get you clean."

"Come on, Lanc. You guys need me! And what the hell would the base staff think?!"

"They would think you were a washed up, good for nothing failure in civilian clothes. The head sawbones knows who we are, and would keep her pie hole shut, and we might even get the head shrinker to talk some sense into your fool head at the same time."

"And you guys need me! I'm the best shot on the team!"

Lanc suddenly drew his side arm and with barely a glance at the target fired a dozen shots. 9 hit dead center, with the other 3 landing very close. "Not right now you're not. At this point, I could out shoot you blindfolded. You're more dangerous to the team than the enemy in this condition."

"You're right..."

"That's it? I'm right? That's all you've got to say?"

Tom grit his teeth, retrieved the rifle, and nailed out a perfect set before slamming it back on the table. "Boom."

"Ok, so we learned two things. 1, you're a drunk and 2, you're a damn good shot when I stick my boot up your ass."

"The first one shouldn't be anything new. We were just discussing that."

"Don't be a wiseass. I meant we learned them both through this episode today." Lanc said, while delivering a swift smack upside the back of Tom's head. "Go get some sleep and clean up. I'm too pissed to talk about this any more."

"Ow!" Tom exclaimed, rubbing his head and heading to the door.

:: End ::

 

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