You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 96 Two Fools

"Third group! Move forward!"

With Barnes' signature roar, the next batch of unfortunate men nervously made their way to their shooting positions.

Lyon's group had a temporary break and retreated to the rest area.

Just moments ago, Jack had looked as miserable as someone suffering from constipation, but the moment he stepped into the rest area, his expression instantly brightened, even becoming somewhat animated.

"Phew—I survived, I survived."

Jack wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, chuckled, and a sleazy look appeared on his face.

I managed to get through the first round, although I lost two points. But as long as I don't miss the target in the later rounds, I still have a chance to pass with 90 points.

Moreover, according to the rules, as long as the target is not hit, missing the target by a small amount is within the tolerance range.

"Hey boss, wanna have a cigarette?"

Jack fawned over Leon, pulled a slightly flattened pack of Marlboros from his pocket, expertly shook one out, and handed it to him with a fawning smile: "Thanks to you just now, Officer Vance."

"If you hadn't fired that shot so quickly, bewitching that old devil Barnes, I would have been caught red-handed just now."

3

Leon glanced at him sideways, didn't take the cigarette, and just waved his hand dismissively, signaling him to stay away.

There are plenty of cunning scoundrels like this in the police station, and Leon couldn't be bothered with him, let alone listen to his flattery.

Ignored by Leon, Jack wasn't embarrassed. He put the cigarette in his mouth and happily went to the downwind side to smoke.

Just then, a hesitant voice sounded beside Lyon.

"Um—Commander Vance?"

Lyon turned his head.

It was that young police officer named Wood.

The young man clutched the rifle tightly to his chest, a hint of awe in his eyes.

Seeing Leon looking at him, Wood hesitated for a moment, then mustered his courage and asked, "How did you manage that shot just now?"

"I mean—in such a short time. How did you manage to calculate all that wind speed, distance, and mil conversion in that instant?"

"I've been practicing at home for a long time, but it still takes me three or four seconds just to estimate the distance. Do you have any special training techniques?"

Lyon looked at the sincere-looking young man.

Compared to Jack, a seasoned veteran, or Johnny, an arrogant academic genius, Wood's clumsy but down-to-earth attitude was much more pleasing to him.

"Special techniques?"

Leon smiled but didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "You shot pretty well just now, a bit slow, but very steadily. Which precinct are you from? Judging from your stance, you used to handle guns quite often?"

"I am from Spokane County in the east."

Wood scratched his head a little embarrassedly: "My family is the kind of—well, rather traditional family."

"My dad used to be in the National Guard, and he used to take me hunting in the woods when I was a child."

"He always told me to keep my hands steady and my mind calm, like David facing Goliath, focusing on that one pebble."

"He made me memorize passages from the Bible every day to train my concentration. He said shooting is a form of spiritual practice, not just about pulling the trigger."

Lyon listened, raising an eyebrow.

It turned out to be the case.

Spokane County, a well-known conservative stronghold in eastern Washington state, is a completely different world from deep blue cities like Seattle.

This kid is a typical redneck from a respectable family.

He played with guns from a young age, read the Bible, and believed in traditional family values ​​and tough-guy upbringing.

No wonder he seemed out of place in Seattle.

"Then your father taught you very well."

Lyon nodded, his tone softening slightly: "As for the technique you asked me about—"

He pointed to himself: "Actually, it's not complicated at all."

"You're too concerned about those formulas. Wind speed and distance aren't numbers written on paper; they're in the air."

"Feel the wind blowing across your cheeks and watch the grass blades sway."

Leon wasn't making things up. Although he had a system, these were genuine feelings he gained from his LV4 rifle skills: "When you turn these into intuition, you don't need to calculate anymore."

"and----"

Looking into Wood's clear eyes, Leon patted him on the shoulder and said something serious, a rare occurrence for him: "Don't overthink it. You're not a machine; you don't need to be as precise as a computer every time."

"There's only so much we can do in this world."

"Do your best to get the bullets where they're supposed to go, that's enough."

Wood paused for a moment, seemingly pondering Lyon's words.

A moment later, his eyes brightened, as if a burden had been lifted, and he nodded heavily: "Thank you! I understand, sir! I'll do my best!"

"Okay, go get ready. The next round will be physically demanding."

"Second round! Pressure firing! Everyone, get ready!"

Instructor Barnes stood by the track, a stopwatch in his hand, his eyes fixed on the four ready trainees like a hawk.

Lyon stood on the starting line, and even without turning around, he could feel the hostile and provocative gaze directed at him from the side.

Johnny was warming up, raising his leg high while glancing sideways at Leon, his eyes clearly saying:

I might not be as good as you at shooting, but physical fitness? Hmph, I passed the physical fitness test with top marks.

Lyon chuckled inwardly.

How can you compare physical abilities with a cheat-like character who has 15 points in Constitution, 15 points in Strength, and 15 points in Agility, and has already surpassed the limits of human capability?

This child probably knows nothing about power.

"Beep—!!!"

A sharp whistle rang out.

Johnny sprang forward like a spring, quickly establishing a lead and leaving everyone else behind.

He wanted to prove himself.

If you lose in shooting accuracy, you must make up for it in physical fitness!

however.

Before Johnny could even form a smug smile, he felt a gust of wind beside him.

Lyon caught up with him at a light and unhurried pace, and they ran side by side.

"Wh-what?!"

Johnny was startled and immediately increased the amplitude of his arm swing and sped up.

Leon also sped up, maintaining his shoulder-to-shoulder position, without blushing or panting, and even had the leisure to turn his head and smile at him.

"you----"

Johnny felt humiliated.

This guy is definitely messing with him!

He gritted his teeth and sped up again, even at the cost of disrupting his breathing rhythm.

But no matter how fast he sped up or how desperately he tried, that damned figure was like a shadow stuck to him, impossible to shake off.

"You two idiots! Why are you running so fast?!"

Coach Barnes, watching the two run like mad dogs from the sidelines, was so angry he almost crushed his tablet: "This is pressure shooting! Not the Olympic 100-meter final!"

"The faster you run, the higher your heart rate will be! Your hands will be shaking like a leaf, let's see how you aim then!"

The smart approach is to finish the run within the time limit, conserve your energy, and calm your heart rate so that you can ensure accuracy in the final shooting phase.

This is common sense!

But Johnny, blinded by his competitive spirit, was oblivious to everything else. All he could think about was not losing to this transfer student.

And at the very back of the line.

Jack, the seasoned veteran, stared wide-eyed at the two figures ahead of him who had already begun their second lap.

"Holy shit—"

Jack, panting heavily, glanced despairingly at the fact that he had only run half the distance.

"Did these two grow up eating rocket fuel?"

"Slow down, you bastard!"

"If you run any faster, I'm going to get lapped! How am I supposed to save face then?!"

After running two laps, it was time for twenty burpees.

Johnny rushed onto the mat, and before he could even catch his breath, he started doing push-ups and jumping around like crazy.

But he had run too fast, and now his lungs felt like they were on fire. The lactic acid buildup made his movements heavy and sluggish, and every jump felt like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

In contrast, look at Lyon next to him.

He did twenty burpees, not only perfectly, but also incredibly fast, like a tireless pile driver.

As Leon easily finished the last one and stood up to get his gun, Johnny was still struggling with his fifteenth burpee, his face turning a deep purplish-red, sweat pouring down his face like a waterfall.

"call----"

Leon walked to the shooting position and picked up the Remington 700PSS.

Although he ran two laps and did twenty burpees, his breathing was only slightly rapid, and his heart rate control was flawless.

The superhuman will at 16 o'clock forcibly took over his body, making his hands as steady as a rock the moment he raised the gun.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Five highly rhythmic gunshots rang out.

Five bullet holes were instantly added to area A (the heart or brow area) of the five targets.

"————"

Barnes looked at the binoculars in his hand, opened his mouth, and finally could only mutter, "Monster."

At this moment, Johnny finally finished his burpee and stumbled towards his rifle.

He felt like the whole world was spinning, his heart was about to jump out of his throat, and his vision was going black.

He raised his gun, but the target in his field of vision was shaking wildly, making it impossible to focus.

"Stop shaking—damn it—stop shaking!"

Johnny gritted his teeth, desperately trying to steady the gun, but his body was completely out of control.

"Bang!"

The first bullet flew out.

Missed target, score -5.

The bullet struck the soil next to the target, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"What the hell are you doing?! Johnny!"

Instructor Barnes's roar was louder than gunfire, spittle flying everywhere: "This is a shooting test! Are you shooting birds?!"

"If you miss one more shot, you're fired! Even if you were recommended by the South District Precinct, you're fired!"

Barnes is now genuinely regretting it.

Why are you arguing with that pervert named Vance when you have nothing better to do?

If you can pass, you can pass; if you can't pass, you can't pass. Why create a gimmick like awarding a certificate on the spot to the first-place winner to incite hatred towards Lyon?

This actually stirred up the competitive spirit of the young people.

Johnny seemed pretty clever before, how come he turned into a clueless fool as soon as he stepped onto the field?

Why would you want to compete in physical ability with Vance, who is clearly a superhuman?

If Johnny, the only top student in this batch, fails for such a stupid reason, it would be a disgrace to Barnes.

Hearing the instructor's roar, Johnny, who was on the verge of collapse, suddenly jolted awake.

If he keeps stubbornly resisting and attacking recklessly, he'll really fail.

Johnny took a deep breath, forced himself to close his eyes for a second, exhaled the burning heat from his lungs, and calmed his wildly beating heart.

After all, he was an excellent student, so he still had a solid foundation.

When he opened his eyes again, the wildly shaking crosshairs in the scope had finally stabilized.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The remaining four bullets, though fired at a slower pace, all managed to hit the target steadily.

Two shots from area A, two shots from area B.

Although I didn't get a perfect score, I managed to pass.

Barnes looked at the target paper, his expression softening slightly. He snorted and turned to record the score.

And amidst this chaos...

Jack, the seasoned veteran at the back of the group, almost wanted to burst into laughter.

Wonderful!

This is practically a backdoor opened by God for him.

Everyone's attention, including the teaching assistant who was supposed to be watching him count, was now drawn to the dramatic scene of Johnny almost failing his course.

Nobody was looking at him.

Jack was lying on the ground, having just completed his eighth burpee.

"Nine—ten—twenty! Okay, all done!"

His movements were no different from a seal wriggling on the ground, and now he skipped over the 12 exhausting ones in the middle without any psychological burden.

Then, he casually wiped the dust off his hands on the ground, and then "laboriously" got up as if he had just finished strenuous exercise.

Because he did far less exercise, his heart rate was only slightly faster, not to the point of his hands shaking.

Jack grabbed his rifle, and when no one was looking, he pretended to catch his breath twice, then quickly aimed the gun.

Extremely stable.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Five shots were fired.

Except for one shot that went slightly off-target due to my overconfidence and hit the C-zone of the shoulder, all the others were within range.

"call----"

Jack lowered his gun, wiped away non-existent sweat, and gave Leon a grateful look.

Wow, you're awesome! You're carrying me!

If it weren't for these two powerful figures fighting and drawing attention away from him, he would have had a really tough time getting through this today.