Lenard Conner
Lenard lay sprawled out in what was apparently his room, at least according to the worker he'd briefly accosted. It had all his stuff in it, at least- Broadcaster had been placed almost reverentially (or perhaps in sheer terror of the obviously cobbled-together safety mechanism) against the wall, and he had checked to make sure it was fine- Fortunately, nothing had been broken. He had a stand for it, which he place it against, then had lain back in his bed wishing for a radio or something.
That got old fast. Lenard sat up, annoyed. There was nothing to do here, except wait. Back home there'd always been gardens to tend or walls to watch. Sure, maybe he could go down to the targets or... Maybe he could do that.
As he walked down the hall, he noticed Logan standing shocked at a door, but didn't pay much attention. If he did, he'd probably end up shocked too, and what would that accomplish? Lenard glanced inside as he passed, but didn't see anything special and kept moving. It might have looked strange to see a man go walking down the halls with a shotgun as tall as he was, if they noticed.
Lenard made his way down to the targets (amazing, isn't it?) and training fields, noting the number of trainees milling about and working. Huh. There's more people than I 'spected. Why not just mob the other guys, if they only use twelve? No matter how tough they are, twelve men can't take down half a hundred, if my guess it right. Deciding it must be some kind of stupid rule about team sizes and proportions, Lenard stepped over to an open target.
Broadcaster was raised to the Harvester's shoulder, its hydraulic brace settling in.
Alright... Pretend it's the doc. He squeezed the trigger. With a crack like a thousand twelve-gauges strapped onto a firecracker the gun fired and sent Lenard stumbling back. The hydraulic brace hissed and slammed shut with a belch of steam. Fortunately, his armor prevented him from actually being injured by the shot. The target had been...
"Motherfucker," Lenard groaned, staring in dismay. He'd taken a chunk out of the target's left side, but the shots had mostly just torn up the dirt a ways behind, and probably a few dents in the wall. Obviously, he had to work on his aim. A lot.