HLM -Chapter 1226 Back from the Firing Range

After receiving their guns, they familiarized themselves with them briefly, and then the class officially began.

Instructor Roberta first introduced the weapon to them. “This pistol was born in 1988, designed and manufactured by Glock.”

“In fact, as early as 1983, when Gaston Glock designed the original GLOCK 17, he was already thinking about a market broader than just the Austrian military. That was how the fully automatic Model 18 came into being.”

“This gun was specifically designed to meet the needs of police and military markets, though most of them were sold to special forces units—for example, the Italian airport police use them…”

After covering its history, he moved on to the gun’s performance. “The Glock 18 can be set to either fully automatic or single-shot mode. When the selector is down, it’s in full-auto mode; when it’s up, it’s single-shot. The weapon is highly reliable, has a very high rate of fire, uses 9mm Parabellum rounds, and features a double-stack magazine. It’s an outstanding pistol…”

Once the introduction was over, the instructor began teaching them how to disassemble the gun. This was another way to get to know the pistol—and also a lesson they would be practicing every day for the coming week.

In the afternoon came live-fire practice. Roberta placed box after box of ammunition on a table and said sternly, “Once a gun is combined with ammunition, it becomes a lethal weapon. So you must—must—must use it with caution!”

He emphasized the word “must” three times in a row.

The trainees loaded the rounds into their magazines. When Wang Bo picked up the bullets, he felt that something was off.

He glanced at Uncle Bing beside him. Uncle Bing lowered his voice and said, “These are hard rubber bullets, not real ones.”

Wang Bo suddenly understood. No wonder they felt strange—they were lighter than normal rounds.

After chambering the pistols, Roberta had them line up to prepare for test firing.

Just then, a loud bang rang out without warning.

Everyone jumped in fright—even Roberta was startled. Someone had fired by accident!

Wang Bo looked around nervously. No one wanted to be standing next to a ticking time bomb—if that shot had hit someone, it would’ve been a real disaster.

But when they checked each other, they found that everyone’s bullets were still properly seated in their guns. No one had fired.

At that moment, Sweet Boy pointed behind them and said, “Instructor, it sounded like that police car back there had a tire blowout.”

A police car was parked on the road behind them, and two officers were crouched by the rear tire, muttering to each other.

Seeing this, Roberta flew into a rage. He stormed over and yelled at the two officers, “Damn it! This is a shooting range! What are you doing here?! Get your junk car out of here—move it, now!”

No wonder everyone had been terrified just now. They’d all thought a gun had gone off by accident—and a negligent discharge with a pistol was no small matter.

Still, the whole thing turned out to be such an absurd mix-up that the trainees couldn’t help laughing. When Roberta came back, they hurriedly shut their mouths.

In the end, even Roberta laughed. “Bloody hell, this is the first time I’ve ever run into something like this. All right, go ahead and laugh. This story will probably be told at the police academy for years to come.”

Pistol training naturally began with stationary target shooting, followed by stationary shooting at night. After that, the difficulty kept increasing: firing at fixed targets while moving, firing at moving targets while advancing, and so on.

The best performers were Uncle Bing and his son. Instructor Roberta didn’t even demonstrate personally—he had Uncle Bing act as the model instead.

Sweet Boy also performed very well. On this point, he wasn’t bragging. Back in Afghanistan, they had practiced marksmanship every single day, with both long guns and pistols.

Fortunately, with Uncle Bing and his son keeping him in check, Sweet Boy’s performance was rated as excellent rather than flawless. No matter how well he did, those two always overshadowed him.

On the last two days of the month came the exams, and the first was the shooting assessment.

The test consisted of rapid firing from mixed positions. The range was set up with ten half-body targets, and the field was filled with wooden walls of varying heights to simulate urban alley combat.

The shortest wall was only one meter high, while the tallest reached three meters. At each wall position, they had to fire at a half-body silhouette.

There were strict requirements for firing positions. At the low walls, they had to shoot prone—lying flat on the ground. Behind slightly higher walls, they had to shoot from a kneeling position. After that came standing shots.

The most brutal part was the tallest wall: they had to climb up and fire while taking cover on top of it.

Wang Bo counted—there were ten walls in total, clearly corresponding one-to-one with the ten half-body targets.

He spat lightly and began preparing for the exam.

They were issued thirty rounds. At each wall, they had three chances to fire.

To pass, the requirements were: at least twenty-five rounds must not miss the target; ten rounds had to hit the seven-ring or higher; and at least two rounds had to hit the nine-ring or above.

To earn an “excellent,” the difficulty jumped sharply: all thirty rounds had to hit the target; twenty rounds had to hit the seven-ring or higher; ten rounds had to hit the nine-ring or above; and at least five targets had to be hit in the vital core area.

In other words, the ten nine-ring hits had to be spread across at least five different targets—you couldn’t just find one spot you liked and keep shooting it.

As soon as they saw the requirements, the trainees erupted in an uproar.

Sweet Boy said casually, “That’s way too easy. We’re only twenty meters from the targets.”

Uncle Bing and Gerald were directly given an “excellent” grade. They didn’t even need to take the test—the examiners judged from their daily performance that they were guaranteed to score excellent, so they saved the ammunition.

Wang Bo asked Gerald, “What do you think you’d score?”

Gerald replied coolly, his face stiff, “Thirty rounds—twenty-eight in the nine-ring, at least fifteen in the ten-ring.”

Wang Bo then asked Atulu, “What about you?”

The Maori giant said worriedly, “Let’s not talk about scores yet, boss. I’m more afraid that once I climb up those walls, I’ll collapse the wooden boards!”

Wang Bo was candidate number 18002, and the exam proceeded according to ID numbers. He was the first—18001 was Uncle Bing, but Uncle Bing didn’t need to take the test.

After receiving his pistol, Wang Bo disassembled it and reassembled it, then saluted and called out, “Reporting, Instructor! Ready. Pistol functioning normally!”

Instructor Roberta returned the salute and said, “Candidate, begin the exam!”

Wang Bo turned and sprinted to the first low wall. He lay flat on the ground, lining up his eye, the front sight, and the target, then pulled the trigger—bang bang bang, three shots.

The target shook. At the very least, he hadn’t missed—he’d hit it.

He got up and moved to the second wall, popping out from the other side. According to training requirements, they had to use the wall to cover as much of their body as possible.

Aside from the different movements, everything else was the same. Soon he reached the final two walls—both of which required climbing.

Wang Bo was an expert at climbing. He had great jumping ability and plenty of strength, and the wall had footholds. In just a few quick moves, he was up, popped his head out, and fired another three shots.

When it was all over, he ran back, handed in his pistol, saluted, and called out, “Reporting, Instructor! Candidate 18002 has completed the assessment!”

“Candidate 18004.”

Candidate 18003 was Gerald, who also didn’t need to take the test.

Atulu stepped onto the field.

He bought everyone some time—but didn’t even make it to the last two walls. At the second wall, he ran into trouble: he was moving too fast and couldn’t stop in time, crashing straight into the wooden wall and sending it flying…