Reduction in Force

From east to west, gunpowder brought evil around the world. The explosive originated in China. It turned to sporting in Europe as hunters advanced from archery to shooting. Now, in America, multinational corporations cared more about money than sport or war. Companies make opportunities from pandemics and elections. Both drive guns and ammo sales higher. Executives are tasked to win at any cost.

Dear reader, first some background: This story takes place in a world much like our own. In this gun-crazy world, a tall slender man that you'd be accustomed to would be a tall slender rifle round like a 6.5 Creedmoor. A short chubby child would be a spherical pellet from a shotgun shell. Even your kind neighbor-lady is ammunition in this world; you can find a 22-short on every street.

Our story begins as a 44 magnum is on his way to a boardroom of a multinational ammunition company: Sterling Shotshells.

Roger Sterling ran 10km to Mahogany Row. In the early morning moonlight, a doe, a female deer, crossed his path. Roger paid no attention, he had bigger things on his mind. He was thinking of the challenge his board of directors had given him to increase profit this year.

"How can I take more from people in this middle of this pandemic?" Roger muttered to himself. Sweat dripped down his hollow-point crown, not from the guilt of potentially firing some of his workers to make his goals, but just from running. Roger didn't feel guilt.  

His beautiful single neighbor, a very thin 17 caliber, passed him in the opposite direction. "Hi Roger, you're..." He did not acknowledge her this morning. Roger didn't even hear anything after she said his name. Lust had a much lower place in his heart than money.

Arriving at the office, he unlocked his entry door. Motion-activated lights turned on for him to reveal a larger than life sized portrait of him lunging towards an elk. He smiled for the first time this morning. "Tell no one. Fire an executive or two. Blame the pandemic. reduce the workforce. Make millions. I know what I have to do."

Sterling headed to the gym in the basement of the building for a brief lifting session. His crimps looked better after pumping iron. He knew that intimidated George, his second in command: Chief Operating Officer. George was always a threat; he was always after Sterling's top job. Showers were on the way out. Roger Sterling hosed off, oiled up, and put on his best casing.  

Upstairs, Mr. Sterling took his seat at the end of the mahogany table. The big, tall 50 BMG who was George McArther arrived next. "Looking impeccable today, sir." To that, Mr. Sterling gave a blank stare, looking through George rather than at him.

Joan Arckenstone came in next. She wasn't as tall as George but just as significant in stature, being a 50 caliber M33 Ball of wits and strength. Grace Virago, the first 12 gauge buckshot to arrive, was dressed in a powerful yet beautiful green cartridge. Merida Rogue was a 10 gauge but slightly less influential than Grace, being full of birdshot herself. Tomo Kokeko, Nakono Trihn, Ernie Custer, and Dwight Jackson, all 12 gauge, completed the list of attendees.

"You've had a week, what are your proposals to meet profit targets?" Mr. Sterling began the meeting.  

Ernie spoke up first. "Market research shows pricing increase will stick. People are expecting to pay more due to the pandemic."

"Wrong, That approach would fail as soon as a vaccine is found. Your very own market research showed we would lose market share to our competition with that strategy. This is the type of shoddy work we can't tolerate at Sterling Shotshells people. Ernie, you are fired."

"Excuse me, sir?"

Mr. Sterling used voice control to make a call. "Dial Security." They immediately answered. "Please come to the board room to escort Earnest Custer from the premises." Ernie stood silent in shock. Mr. Sterling thought of the $200k he just saved the company.

"Any other big ideas?" Mr. Sterling asked his team.  

As security came in, Merida Rogue spoke up "Mr. Sterling, sir, my proposal is this: sell people half the shot for the same price. Also, convert all our poor quality ammo into new specialty rounds." Merida projected a slide on the wall showing the concepts. One was of 12 gauge slugs made from glued together, misshapen birdshot. "We charge a premium for those to increase profits and reduce waste. A round with an ounce of 6-shot should cost a consumer $0.50 but we can charge a full dollar like we do our other slugs."

"I like it." Mr. Sterling replied. Merida failed to conceal her sigh of relief. "Any ways to improve upon this concept?" Sterling asked his team.

Grace answered. "We should market this reduction in waste. 'Sterling, saving the environment.' We can build on that. I'll have the marketing department start immediately." Sterling nodded.

Joan offered an idea. "We could also fire any ammo unwilling to convert to these new premium rounds. I'd guess 10% of our workforce would think these changes are outside of their career goals and they'd revolt. We need a way to handle those."  

Dwight stepped in to assist. "Yes, and we could word it like this for best optics." He stood up, constantly the blowhard storyteller. Motioning with his arms as if describing the expanse of the heavens, he made his pitch. "They should be free. The people should be free because they have constantly hit their mark. Those who have been with the company for 20 years or more can get an early retirement deal! We re-evaluate the numbers at that point, but surely not enough people will leave voluntarily. So we start a new campaign saying The workers are not hitting their targets and in fact, not lethal enough in their current roles. They must either become new premium rounds or leave the company."

Joan finished the concept. "Dwight, that is perfect. Thank you for extrapolating from my idea. We should soften your final point though. We don't threaten people as not being lethal enough. We can just say due to the pandemic their role has been eliminated. These are difficult times. Everyone will understand and Mr. Sterling will not come under any fire."

Roger Sterling rose to his feet. "This is a good plan. Talk with your staff and make it happen. I want the first round of voluntary retirements completed within the month. Meeting adjourned." He walked out.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away from the executives sat some of the factory employees of Sterling Shotshells. It's a small town where the Sterling workforce makes up a large percent of the population.  

"Billy Buck, I'll bet you an ice-cold beer you can't hit that street sign from here!"  

"Dang son!" Billy said to his friend. "Go ahead and get that out of your cooler, cuz I got this." Then he muttered to himself as he walked toward the firing line: "I got this. I could do this in my sleep. Fool, wasting his beer betting me."  

An audience gathered. Wilma and Darrin and Betsy and Sue; half his shift was there at the outdoor seating of their favorite bar. "Come on Billy! Show 'em what you're made of!" Betsy Shouted. Darrin scowled at her, a tinge of jealousy passed through his mind. He covered it up with a hoot of his own though. "Get em, Bill!"

Billy took some powder out of his pocket, threw it on the ground, and backed up a few steps. He lit a cigarette, took a couple long puffs, and flicked it into the pile of powder. Billy started running. The powder started smoldering... and just as Billy reached the spot: BOOM! Billy tipped his full metal jacketed head towards the target and kicked off the ground in a puff of fire and smoke. He screamed, twisting his body to create some spiral to stabilize his flight. "Ahhhhhhhh" he screamed with ferocity all across his face. His copper-washed dome reflected the remnant of sunlight left on this day.

Clank.

Shortly after collapsing on the ground, Billy's phone rang. He staggered into a sitting position against the signpost he just hit. Like distant whisperers in a tunnel, he could just barely make out voices. They were probably Wilma and Sue: "Are you alright?"  

"I'm fine, I'm fine, get off, let me answer this." Billy was using his phone call as a chance to avoid some embarrassment. "Hello?" He answered the call.

"Billy, this is Slugger." It was his boss. "I've got some great news! You've been identified as a top talent available for a new role opening up.

"What are you talking about, Slugger?"

"You've gotta act fast though. The company is launching a new green initiative to eliminate waste. The best of you on the buckshot line are getting teamed up to make a new line of premium ammo."

"I don't know, boss. I mean I was planning to retire in this role."

"Don't talk like that Billy. I hear if you don't take this role, there might be layoffs." Slugger sent this subtle threat and the line went quiet for a moment. Billy stood up and started walking to his car.  

On the way out he saw several others in the bar and the parking lot on their phones. They all had a confused look on their faces just like Billy must have on his. He walked close enough to Ronny with his silly bright red polymer cap. It looked like a bad toupee, especially atop the chagrined face currently replying into his phone: "Well this is interesting. I'm only 55, it seems a little early for retirement. But I'll probably never get a shot at a severance package like that again!"

"Hmmm," Billy thought. "So I'm getting a new job that I don't want. Ronny is getting early retirement. All these people got something fishy goin on. That's some bullshit."

* * *

At Sterling Shotshells' corporate retreat center up in a mountain ski lodge near Boulder Colorado, Roger Sterling met the board of directors. "You've done it, old sport! You're going down in history. Profits soar, the stock has doubled. Let's take a walk over to the crystal trophy case." George McArther, Roger's #2 and newly appointed Vice Chairman of the board, led the board members.

"We've already cleared out your spot here on the wall of fame, old sport." There was a lonely spotlight shining on a pedestal, front and center in the case. Roger had gotten everything he always wanted. Money, a little fame and glory, and damn all the people he alienated to get there.  

"Roger, the way you laid off all those shots who kept missing their mark was epic. I can't believe you literally fired them all right over to our competitors. Boom! Hahahaha." George went on.

* * * 

Billy Bud, unemployed for a couple of months now, was out hunting with Ronny, the recent retiree. 

"Billy, I can't believe you turned down that job. But I'm glad you're out here hunting with me!"

"I know. But I didn't need the money that bad. Buckshot like me, forced poorly together to make substandard parts? No way. I had to draw the line. I don't care if the big shots make all the money in the world off this reduction in force. I am not working for a company putting out poor products."

"I hear ya, Billy. Did you read that Roger Sterling got the highest executive bonus in the history of our industry? And in the middle of a pandemic!"

"No Ron, and it's not our industry anymore. Let's just stick to what we do best." Billy aimed and lunged at a medium-sized game. He screamed as he twisted his body to stabilize his flight. This time, it was a bullseye.