Flash Fic: The Power Of A Name

Zylre watched intently as Leach disassembled the rail rifle and began to clean it. "May I ask you a question, Sergeant?"

Leach smiled a little as he brought up a digi-loupe and started to apply cleaning solution to one of the rail components. "Besides that one, go ahead."

"I am trying to understand what appears to be a data discrepancy in terms of combat efficiency. How is it your accuracy and range in engagements over the last 180 Earth days are significantly higher than your peers in other units?"

"Well," Leach began slowly as he applied a sonic scrubber to a discolored spot on the rail segment, "I could be a smart-ass and tell you it's the same way you get to Carnegie Hall. But I'm pretty sure that's not what you want to hear."

"Indeed. This anomaly is most puzzling."

"If we take out the intangibles, combat record, individual psychology, battlefield conditions, enemy morale and cohesion, we're left with relative quality of equipment and training methodology." Leach glanced up. "Hand me that capacitor puller, please, Sir?" Zylre handed the requested tool to Leach, who began pulling capacitor ring segments carefully from the "action" section of the weapon.

The alien officer watched Leach working. "I can accept the basic premise you've advanced. But if training methodology is uniform and internalized uniformly, it still would not account for this anomaly. And relative quality of equipment is more accurately applied against the opposing force, not within friendly forces."

Leach sighed and set down the tool. "Respectfully, Sir, the answer is sitting right in front of you. Have you seen anyone else in this unit doing their own weapon maintenance?"

"In truth, I have not," Zylre admitted. "However, I still fail to understand the discrepancy in combat effectiveness."

"I'm probably the only guy in fifty light-years who does basic service on his own weapon. Yeah, they're all manufactured to the same specs and they all come out of the factory the same way. But once they're out of the factory and in the field, they're subject to forces which change them in an individual fashion." Leach reassembled the rail rifle, toggled the diagnostic stud, and smiled as a pleasant little chime came back. "I've carried this weapon through nine campaigns across thirty-two star systems. The stock has worn down in a way which uniquely conforms to my grip and cheek weld habits. I've replaced most of the gross components like capacitor ring segments a hundred times, just on this one weapon. I know this weapon inside and out. I know when it needs to be cleaned, when it needs overhauled, and how long it fired 'fouled.' To you, it's a standard M24 rail rifle. To those pukes in the armory who keep trying to get me to swap it out, it's three mod variants out of current issue. To me, this is my buddy, my Black Arrow. It's never let me down, and I don't believe it ever will as long as I take care of it."

"You named your weapon?" Zylre asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I did. I know. 'Rank superstition.' 'Dangerous anthropomorphization behaviors.' Things the brass thought they stamped out right along with tobacco and alcohol use among the troops." Leach leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "I'm just ornery that way, I guess. If you take nothing else away from this exchange mission, Sir, take this bit of wisdom. Long ago, humans used to name their weapons. It sounds silly to a purely 'logical' mind, but to an infantryman, to someone who has to go into the breach and deal death, it's a kind of magic. An alchemy, almost. A piece of.your soul infused into your weapon, and part of its strength and power transferred into you. It transforms a weapon from a chunk of metal and wood or composite into a totem. We've lost that little edge that our atavistic behaviors used to give us. We're still heartbreakers and life takers, but a few of us still have that old magic held close. And we're just that little bit better for it." 

(This piece originally appeared on r/humansarespaceorcs)