ACME Nace's Arrival

[Nace Bilby]

(Co-written with Ivy)

Chief Inspector Anthony Carlyle dialed a phone number to Detective Ivy Monaghan, ACME HQ. He had a call to make about his brother in law heading that direction.

“Hullo, Detective,” Anthony said, initially getting Ivy’s voice mail, before Ivy picked up the phone, “I’ve actually got another agent I’m assigning to San Francisco. His file should be at your computer momentarily. Right, should anything else be required I’ll see to it.”

Ivy skimmed over the file detailing ACME HQ’s newest arrival: Nace Bilby, SAS Sergeant. She exhaled, trying not to sound indignant over the phone. The information included an incident in Yekaterinburg where Agent Bilby pursued a Russian Bratva suspect on foot. The report stated that the man went for his weapon, and the resulting confrontation with Bilby left the suspect riddled with bullet holes.

She became immediately apprehensive about letting someone so trigger-friendly into the academy. Still, with Accolade Tower in the final stages of construction the campus needed well trained agents from all backgrounds. Ivy had to trust in Anthony Carlyle’s experience in this matter, even if he was recommending his own brother-in-law.

“Everything looks in order, Chief Inspector,” Ivy replied. “All your boy has to do is get on the plane over here.”

“Right, thank you.” Anthony replied, “For the record, Nace does have the appropriate training from ACME as well as his experience in the Regiment.”

Anthony, of course, referred to 21 Special Air Service, one of two Territorial Army regiments that reinforced the main regiment, 22 SAS, on operations. Nace had recently returned from training the Afghan National Police (ANP) on this last deployment.

 

[Nace Bilby]

A few days later Nace had arrived at ACME after a lengthy flight from London. After finding a place to live and the like he was currently taking his German Shepherd, Goliath, to the latter’s least favorite location, the veterinarian's office.

After his check was complete Goliath hopped off the exam table, bearing a ‘Thank God can we get out of here’ expression.

“A trip to the vet won’t kill you.” Nace replied, as his dog looked askance at him and then suddenly he began barking loudly, fur raised.

“What?” Nace said, and almost as soon as his eyes laid on the small Siamese/Domestic Shorthair mix kitten Goliath took off like a bolt of lightning after it as the kitten turned to flee. Nace hadn’t even had a moment to get Goliath leashed again. Bloody hell! Nace thought, running after his dog immediately.

Goliath and cats tended to be an individual basis sort of relationship. Only if he knew that cat would he not chase it. However this small feline was in no way any known quantity to Goliath. The dog had bolted into the hallway and Nace sprinted after his pet. The cat then bolted into a lab across the hall from the vet clinic as Nace raced after Goliath and the kitten ran towards a slender blonde haired woman.

“Leave it!” Nace shouted. The dog immediately skidded across the linoleum floor as it tried to stop, backpedalling, stopping a couple inches short of the blonde’s feet.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, miss.” Nace began as he ran over, lightly slapping his thigh, the hand signal causing the dog to trot over to him. As the woman turned to face him, he noticed two things. One she seemed to be the kitten’s owner and two she was quite lovely. These facts he ascertained in rather short order.

She wore a white lab coat, a black skirt and a blue silk blouse with a tasteful pair of black pumps. Her hair was tied back, as she was working on something where it would get in the way. Her expression looked like she had been scared, indeed she was holding the kitten in her arms.

 

[Molly]

(Co-written with @Nace Bilby)

Molly tucked Foxglove under her arm feeling the sable kitten shake, first to the large dog’s barking and then to the man yelling for it to stop. Her attention however, fell on the voice. Or in this case the accent. It was well rounded, English maybe. And when she looked up the speaker was much younger than she previously assumed.

It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but luckily the young man seemed to share the same state of torpor.

“Your dog?” She smiled, trying to calm herself from what she reasoned was fear of the larger canine.

Nace smiled back at the woman and said, “Yes he is. I’m quite sorry he chased your kitten.”

Nace went over to fasten the dog’s leash to his collar and added, “With cats its an individual basis sort of thing. If he knows the cat in question he usually won’t bother it.”

“Sit.” Nace commanded and Goliath sat, still eyeing Molly and Foxglove, but this time not in any sort of predatory way, it was more of a curious look he gave the pair.

Once Goliath was settled Nace said, “Again, my apologies for this. My name is Nace, I just recently arrived here from London.”

“It’s alright. Foxy is still in that phase where she won’t stay still for a second. I’m Molly, by the way, ACME crime labs.” She replied, and in lieu of a handshake she lifted the kitten up to show her hands were full, “...and this is Foxglove, the… cat.”

Shaking her head slightly at how absurd that sounded, Molly wondered if it would be best if she saved face and excused herself now. Besides, she had spent much of her lunch break tracking down a very mischievous kitten. “I really should run. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime, Nace.”

In her rush, the kitten’s blue leather collar--which had become loose during the chase--fell to the ground behind her.

 

[Eugene]

ACME's rifle range was crisp and clear, and even at 0830, completely desolate. Although finding it peculiar that no range officer was present, nor any agents practicing, Euge wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Finding a range that could handle large calibers was rare enough. Having it to himself inspired him to double check he wasn't inadvertently breaking in.

Shrugging at the confirmation of an unlocked gate, Euge parked his gear at the 300 yard pit and popped the seal on his rifle case. What started out as work had turned into a sport Euge had come to love, and though 300 yards wasn't a challenge, it was enough to draw his focus away from the stresses of life. No anxiety about apartment hunting, no abrasive coworker, and no need to face the fact that his only friends in the city so far practically lived in a hole. All that was here was the steady ping of his bullets hitting steel, broken up by the click-clack of a cycling bolt.

 

[Evgeni]

The Mosin Nagant 1944 rifle was a little worse for wear, but you would be too after seventy years. Its function, however, was superb as its owner had daily maintained its mechanical assets for the last twenty years. It was a good morning for action.

The Russian had just tranferred in to ACME Headquarters from the Moscow branch, allegedly because he had run out of girls to date overseas. While that statement was not exactly true, Evgeni did have hopes that his expedition to the firing range might result in impressing a female colleague with his sure aim. If that did not do the trick, he could exaggerate on the details of how he had managed to bring his firearm from Russia to the United States without being detained. Girls want smart guys.

Another shooter was already letting loose a few rounds at the 300-yard targets, so Evgeni decided he might as well join in. Selecting a firing spot a few rows down, he casually reached into his pocket and removed a Soviet-stamped ruble, which he promptly flipped into the air. It landed face-up, and the Russian shifted the bayonet into position before firing. He could likely hit the target's center in his sleep, but a random switch between an extended or retracted bayonet kept him on his toes, as such alterations slightly affected aim.

After a few shots, Gavriil's son found himself watching the nearby shooter. He was an excellent marksman, but Evgeni wanted to have some fun and began waving at the man, jovially needling him about his shooting habits and giving him 'advice' whenever he did not cleanly strike the bull's eye. "I'm think you're need clean your barrel. You're shoot off. That's even miss in Call of Duty."

 

[Nace Bilby]

Nace picked up the small leather collar, but by the time he had the presence of mind to let Molly know of it she had wandered off. He briefly considered going to track her down, but then reasoned Goliath had given her enough of a fright as it stood. He picked up the collar and put it around his wrist, next to his watch so he wouldn't forget to get the collar back to Molly.

He walked over to the rifle range, having retrieved his own rifle, in this case a .303 Lee Enfield rifle, a World War II era No.4 T with telescopic sights. The scope was a newer model of telescopic sight, but the rifle itself was a genuine Enfield, the exact same rifle that his grandfather had carried both hunting in the South African veldt and in service for the British crown in World War II with the famed SAS.

He heard the ping of metal targets being hit at the 300 yard mark and headed ove to the firing line. "Good afternoon, mind if I join you lot?"

 

[Mikal]

Mikal Darsha adjusted his ball cap, sliding a finger across the worn olive green canvas brim. Once a staple of his wardrobe, he had forgotten that the item existed for nearly a year, and was happy to find it crumbled at the bottom of his duffel bag on the flight from Tel Aviv to San Francisco. The stenciled Israeli battle cry 'Acharay' and paratrooper emblem on it was faded, but today was one of those days when a cap was necessary to shield the sun and to keep his shots accurate.

While he waited for his papers to clear ACME's scrutiny and his weapons to clear American customs, Mikal borrowed a rifle from the firing range. It was fairly new Remington 700P LTR with a bipod and telescopic sights. He was not a particularly good sniper, but Darsha found the motions to be nostalgic. To prevent training from becoming repetitive his former instructor would allow them to play 'sniper poker', each shooter selecting their own hand by the cards they hit. Mikal nearly always lost, but he still saw Aces when he looked through a long scope.

After clearing a magazine with average shots, he decided to take a break. There was a small crowd gathering only a few steps away, and two of the men seemed to be shooting with antiques.

"Good afternoon, mind if I join you lot?"

"Not at all. Interesting choice, yeah?" He motioned towards the Enfield, "I never see one up close."

 

[Nace Bilby]

Nace noted the man, noticing the man was from the Israeli answer to the United Kingdom's Parachute Regiment, and then answered his question, "Well there are sentimental reasons to carrying this sort of rifle. Both my father and grandfather taught me to shoot such a weapon as a boy in South Africa."

Nace took a firing position, breathing slowly, shouldering the Enfield and chambering a round. He sighted in on one of the metal target and squeezed a trigger, feeling the recoil of the .303 rifle's kick. He heard the satisfying ping of the round striking metal.

To him firing this particular rifle was as natural as breathing, he remembered how he hadn't even been allowed a telescopic sight for almost eight years. He had experience in firing such a heavy barreled weapon from an early age thanks to his father and grandfather.

He thought what it must have been like for his great grandfather and grandfather to have carried this weapon into battle for the Crown in both World Wars. His grandfather often said that his Enfield had saved his life many times in North Africa, Italy and France with the SAS fighting the Nazis.

 

[Eugene]

Several boxes of ammunition later found Euge at the same bench, and having gotten his fill of large calibers, he unpacked his latest acquisition. The rifle could still technically be called a Savage, but the action was the only component that approached a stock condition. Everything else, from the fluted barrel to the oddly mounted scope had been reworked into a theoretical weapon whose specifications almost perfectly met those set forth by Jeff Cooper thirty years ago.

Shouldering the rifle, Euge paid little mind to the man settling into the bench nearby, sparing only a momentary glance as he fixed the bayonet before the unmistakable smell of cosmoline confirmed Euge's visual check. Ignoring the deafening report of the Mosin next door, Euge made short work of emptying his magazine and allowed himself a small smile at the performance of the rifle.

I'm think you're need clean your barrel. You're shoot off. That's even miss in Call of Duty.

His ears matching the accent to the Russian rifle, Euge sized up his heckler. To insult another man's shooting was usually pretext for a fight, but the Russian's tone held no malice. "It doesn't exactly handle as the XBox would lead you to believe." Maintaining his half-smile, Euge offered his hand "Eugene. Flight instructor."

Settling back in, Euge saw they had been joined by two more men during his magazine swap. Both conducted themselves in ways that spoke of former military experience, but while paratrooper cap contented himself with a range rental, the other wielded a rifle that Euge struggled to identify. The era of the weapon was enough for him to question the possibility of it burning black powder. Eyes flipping between the two ancient rifles, he could no longer contain himself, and intoned, "What is this? Antiques day?"

 

[Nace Bilby]

"Nace Bilby, firearms instructor." Nace said, and as to the pilot's remarks on his vintage rifle he couldn't help but smile.

"My boyhood in South Africa entailed using rifles of this design. My great grandfather carried one into the trenches of World War I and my grandfather in World War II. The latter and my father trained me to shoot with heavy barreled .303 rifles." Nace replied.

This rifle was one he knew well, one he had bought second hand and had rebarreled. The original 3.5x scope had been cracked so he had mounted a more contemporary 4x scope, creating a hybrid of the old and the new with the Enfield he carried.

 

[Tex "Ace" Holdum]

Detective Tex "Ace" Holdum finished cleaning his revolver on the back bench of the pistol range. He had been there since seven in the morning, keeping his considerable skills sharp. He only ever practiced in the early morning or the late night, as he liked to be alone with his thoughts, and people had always had a habit of getting into informal shooting contests with him. Luckily he had not run into that issue in the few years he had been with ACME since leaving the Texas Rangers. He had passed his firearms exams easily with both small arms and rifles, and he was quite content with that being the only time that anyone here saw him shoot.

He eyed the revolver to make sure he hadn't missed anything, but it wasn't necessary. He'd been cleaning it and thinking for over forty-five minutes, and the metal gleamed. Standing, he placed the revolver back in his hip holster. Throwing the denim jacket he'd worn to the range that morning over his shoulder, he placed his trademark hat on his head and walked out from the pistol range. Cutting through the walkway of the rifle range, he was somewhat surprised to see the group gathered at this time in the morning. Coming up to them all, he overheard the last part of their conversation and cut in by offering his hand after Euge. "And I'm just moseyin' through, but I figured I'd introduce mahself, given so many new faces. Detective Holdum, Tex to mah friends."

He turned to the other man who'd replied. "Nace Bilby, you said? I'd heard we were gettin' a new instructor. Pleased to meetcha." He nodded his greeting to Euge, a man he'd bumped into a few times in his recent tenure at ACME, and smiled at the other man there wearing the ballcap. "And I don't believe I caught your name, friend."

 

[Mikal]

"And I don't believe I caught your name, friend."

"Mikal Darsha. ACME as well, yeah?"

He decided to leave out the 'informant' part of his title to the man with the revolver, at least for now. Mikal liked him already, he reminded him of characters in the black and white movies with funny music that Papa Darsha watched all the time. Looking at the other small group forming, he made a snap judgment of each and every one of them. The Russian was going to be a good person to have by your side, and the Israeli imagined them saving each other's lives while red shirted members of their team were picked off one by one.

Then there were the two instructors. Nace Bilby the Firearms-man seemed like a quiet one, though this was good because his British accent would eventually rival Mikal's in the potential to impress women. The man who introduced himself as Flight Instructor was actually more the type Darsha saw regularly in his operations, and a quick nod to one another was all he really needed to confirm this.

"Hey you guys see that over there?" Mikal motioned towards a set of clay pigeons. He had no clue what the mechanics of clay pigeon shooting was, but was vaguely sure they required shotguns of some kind. Surely the range had something for them to borrow, "Anyone know how to play with these? We can have some fun, and whoever loses buys the first round."