HLM -Chapter 1225 Instructor and Instructor

Time flew by, and a month of training quickly entered its final stage. The last week would be firearms training—live ammunition, mainly pistols.

New Zealand police officers don’t carry guns during routine law enforcement, but they are issued firearms. When it comes to major or serious cases, guns are still needed to solve problems, so marksmanship has to be precise.

Over those three weeks, Wang Bo went on dates with Eva every weekend. Last weekend, his parents also came to visit, bringing him a huge pile of food—things like braised beef in sauce and beef jerky, traditional Chinese delicacies.

Every time, he slipped away along the wall and left quietly. The police academy wasn’t very strict about inspections, and the security guards had long since noticed him. Wang Bo sent them some frozen dumplings and a portion of deep-fried pork strips, successfully bribing them.

Aside from Wang Bo, the others also slipped out on weekends—to restock daily necessities or to see their families. Only the first weekend had been tightly managed; the academy probably wanted to give them a show of authority.

During these three weekends, Wang Bo also drew another level-three heart—a Campus Heart. As a result, whether it was elementary school or a middle school that had just started classes, the Campus Heart had now been upgraded to level three.

On Monday, firearms training officially began. The instructor in charge was named Smith Roberta, who had applied after retiring from the New Zealand Army. Wang Bo and the others were his first batch of students.

The instructor wore a stern expression—eyes like knives, lips pressed tightly together, looking as though he wanted to devour anyone he stared at.

The trainees formed up in ranks, waiting for inspection. He walked over solemnly and adjusted the uniform of a short trainee at the front, saying, “You’re lucky you’re police cadets and not new recruits in my unit. Otherwise, this uniform mistake would earn you a punishment so painful you’d never forget it.”

Seeing that the instructor didn’t seem quite as terrifying as he looked, the trainee boldly asked, “Sir, if this were the army, how would you punish him?”

The instructor sneered. “Simple. I’d prepare ten sets of uniforms and make him change them one by one on the parade ground. Every uniform taken off must be folded perfectly, and every uniform put on must have zero mistakes.”

The trainees beside him immediately began checking their own uniforms carefully, fixing whatever they could.

When it was Sweet Guy’s turn, he fell back into his old habit of showing off. “Instructor, may I ask which unit you served in? My name is Sweet Guy. I served in the 15th Division of the Southern Military Region—”

The instructor cut him off. “I know you. When I was in service, I was with the Black Hawk Regiment of the 2nd Division, Northern Military Region. I commanded an assault company. My rank was major.”

Sweet Guy instantly shut up. With a sharp snap, he stood at attention, chest out, hips tucked in, and shouted, “Good day, sir!”

The instructor returned a salute and said, “At ease. Call me instructor. We’re no longer in the army—we’re colleagues within the police system now.”

He continued forward. When he reached Uncle Bing and his son beside Wang Bo, he glanced at them, suddenly froze, and then gave a rather perfunctory military salute.

Wang Bo was surprised and whispered, “Hey, Uncle Bing, why did he salute you?”

Seeing Wang Bo talking, the instructor frowned. “No whispering!”

Wang Bo immediately raised his voice. “Yes, Instructor! I want to ask my partner why you saluted him!”

The instructor strode back in two large steps, face dark with anger. “Are you brainless or what? I said no whispering. And now you’re pushing your luck and shouting it out for everyone to hear?”

The other trainees burst into laughter. The instructor’s expression grew even uglier as he barked, “Is this funny? Is this the discipline you’re showing me? Fine—you like laughing, do you? Then keep laughing! Nobody is allowed to stop!”

Seeing that he was furious, the trainees were scared stiff.

Pointing at them, the instructor said, “The police force, just like the military, requires iron discipline. Considering that you’re all about to enter your jobs as colleagues, I don’t want to make things too ugly.”

“This time, I’ll give you a chance. Laugh for five minutes. If there’s a next time, I’ll punish you physically. And when that happens, don’t blame me for being ruthless!”

“Laugh!”

Who dared to laugh? The trainees stood there like drenched quail, mouths shut tight.

The instructor was displeased. “When you’re not allowed to laugh, you all laugh together. When I tell you to laugh, none of you do. Very good—you bastards. Are you deliberately trying to provoke me? Fine, stop laughing. Line up. Run. Ready—go!”

The group ran around the field, panting angrily. The instructor waved Uncle Bing over, signaling him to step out and come forward.

What followed was Uncle Bing and the instructor chatting and laughing together, while everyone else ran laps around the field in neat formation—one lap after another. The instructor never called a stop, and no one dared to stop on their own.

After a full twelve laps, everyone was drenched in sweat and nearly dehydrated. Only then did the instructor signal for them to stop and said, “This is your first punishment, and also the lightest. If you’re smart enough, don’t ever try to provoke me again.”

Sweet Guy shouted, “Yes, Instructor!”

The others hurriedly followed. “Yes, Instructor!”

“Sloppy and uneven!”

“Yes, Instructor!” This time, the volume was uniform.

After a short rest, they began issuing firearms—the same guns they would use once officially on duty: the Glock 18, the standard-issue service pistol of the New Zealand police.

Most people were extremely excited to receive it. Although New Zealand doesn’t ban guns, buying a handgun is still very difficult. Handguns are harder to control than long guns because they’re easy to conceal, making them more dangerous if used for crimes—so regulations are much stricter.

Moreover, the guns they were issued now were ones they would later be authorized to carry elsewhere. And under New Zealand handgun regulations, there’s also a strict rule: unless you have special approval, you’re not allowed to take a gun outside.

Wang Bo and his group, however, had nothing to be excited about. They’d been using this gun for years and were long past being thrilled by it.

While the others familiarized themselves with the Glock, Wang Bo chatted with Uncle Bing and the rest. “So why did the instructor salute you earlier?”

Uncle Bing said, “At first I didn’t know either. Later I found out he’d gone through special training with the SAS, receiving counterterrorism and riot-control training. Back then, I was their instructor.”

Wang Bo suddenly understood. “That’s really dramatic. Why didn’t you recognize him?”

Uncle Bing laughed. “At the SAS, I was just an instructor responsible for training troops. I trained over five hundred new recruits every year. How could I remember every single one? Besides, it was eight years ago when I trained him.”

“With that kind of connection, can you open some back doors for us?” Atulu cared more about practical matters.

Uncle Bing shrugged. “Sure. I already know our training syllabus. I reckon this week will be easy for me—these subjects, I could get excellent scores with my eyes closed.”

Atulu asked, “What about me?”

“Pistol shooting while advancing, moving targets—45 rings counts as excellent. How many rings do you think you can score?” Uncle Bing asked.

Atulu sighed. “Damn it. I doubt I can even pass.”