The Academy - Fire When Ready
#5 of The Academy
The next two weeks seemed to fly by in comparison to the first part. Sure, we were still being yelled at, but the days at Camp Manadoch were filled with events that challenged our mental limits and problem solving. We did ropes courses and had to put our lives in the hands of our classmates while suspended high above the ground. We learned small unit tactics and maneuvers with paintball guns, fighting against the upperclassmen.
If I had thought the squad had come together on campus, it was nothing compared to what we were now. Each day forced me to learn more about my squad members and put my trust into them. Unlike many of the other squads, we spent all of our time together. During the day, we had to stay together, but at night, we spent our free time in the platoon pavilion, sitting and talking. I soon felt as if I had grown up with these four individuals. Chris even got a new nickname, Tank. A senior cadet had made the comment when Chris picked up a heavy canvas that usually required three cadets to lift. We joked about it afterwards, but the name stuck.
Early in the second week, we traveled to the range to begin weapon training and qualification. I had been looking forward to this most. I finally got to fire a real gun, made for killing, not just for sport like all the ones I had shot in the past. There was a gunnery sergeant in charge of the range. He was a cheetah and it looked as if he had seen his share of combat. I let my mind wander as he explained range safety. If you've heard one safety speech, you've heard them all. I listened intently though when he started talking about the operation of the weapons we would be using.
Soon I was on the firing line. I had earplugs in, and goggles on. I was holding an assault rifle, safety switched on.
"Range is hot, fire when ready."
I looked down the barrel. The gun had a simple post sight, but it was good enough for this. I flicked the fire selector from safe to three round burst and sighted in on my target. I squeezed the trigger and felt the triple recoil as the rifle discharged. I looked through the spotting scope next to my position. The center of my target was gone.
I had found my calling. Soon I had mastered not only the first assault rifle, but a second, shorter barreled one, the under mounted grenade launcher, and the standard .45 caliber sidearm.
"Looks like we've got a natural here," the sergeant laughed as he looked over my targets. "Superb shooting. It must be a cat thing. How would you like to try something a little, bigger?"
"Bigger?"
"Ya, let's try you out with a sniper rifle."
I followed him to a new shooting lane. This one was much longer and wider. I could barely make out a target a ways in the distance. I stood there waiting. The sergeant walked back with a large case in his hands. He popped open the latches and opened it reveling the rifle inside. I stared at it in awe.
"This is the diplomat. It's the standard weapon for most of our scout snipers. Not our highest caliber rifle, but it's light, accurate, and gets the job done."
I lifted it out of the case and looked over it. Bolt action with an eight round detatchable box magazine. It had a 12x scope attached, but that could be swapped out for different sights. There was a collapsible bipod on the front and everything looked adjustable.
The sergeant left to go get some rounds for it. I walked the rifle to the firing line, flipped down the bipod and set it on the ground. I dropped down next to it and began adjusting the gun to fit my body and position. I raised the butt plate to rest against my shoulder properly. The spot weld was too far away, so I moved it in. Much better.
"You look like you know what you're doing."
The cheetah had returned and he handed me a loaded magazine. I slid it into the rifle and heard a satisfying click as it locked into place. I worked the bolt with my index finger. I felt no resistance from the smooth action as a round slid into place. I ran my hand over the stock as I adjusted my position.
"Are you going to shoot it or make love to it?" one of the cadets assisting with the range joked.
"Silence, let's see what he can do. Ears and eyes on. Range clear, fire when ready."
I put my hearing and eye protection on, flipped the safety to the off position, and looked through the scope. I sighted in on the target. It couldn't be larger than a grapefruit. I breathed slowly. The sights rose, and fell in time with my breath. A slight breeze ran through my fir and across the tips of my ears. I slid my finger off the stock and onto the trigger. I increased pressure until I felt the subtle resistance of the firing mechanism. The tip of my tail twitched. I inhale and watched as the sights rise about an inch past center. As I exhaled, I paused, squeezed the trigger imperceptibly and heard the report as the rifle discharged. I finished letting out my breath and inhaled again before reloading. I heard the metallic clink as the casing hit the ground.
This process was repeated twice more. I left the bolt open, pushed on the safety, and set the butt the rifle on the ground and checked my shots through the sighting scope next to me. There was a group of holes in the target to the right of center and a little high. I turned the knobs on the scope, counting clicks, estimating the required adjustment. I picked up the rifle and sighted again. I loaded a round into the chamber and fired. I checked my shot. Bull's eye.
"Cease Fire!"
I was startled. I had almost forgotten that other people were here. I pulled out my ear plugs and raised the shooting glasses to the top of my head. When I turned around, I saw my entire squad was standing behind the firing line with the sergeant. He had a look of astonishment on his face.
"Have you ever done this before?"
"The most I've shot is a 22 target rifle in my biathlon competitions. Never anything like this. It's fun though."
"Son, do you know how far away that target is?"
"I don't know, couple hundred yards?" What was everyone going on about? Shooting a gun wasn't exactly rocket science.
"Son, that's close to three quarters of a mile."
That night I sat with my squad at a table playing P's and A's. I was still a little shocked about that shot. I had no idea that it was that long.
"Pair of twos."
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Tank asked me.
"Two fours."
"I don't know. Shooting has always come naturally to me. I figured it did for everyone. I mean in competition skiing has never been up to par with the top competitors, but I never take penalties which is what saved me at state."
"Two sevens."
"Shit!"
"You can't beat two sevens?"
"We call Thomas Tank because he's so strong, what are we going to call you now?"
"You can call me President," I said as I played the last two cards in my hand.
"Damn, you're too good at this game."
We finished off camp with another cadet challenge. This one, unfortunately for us, was a series of individual competitions. Though Curry put down the best time through the obstacle coarse, and I dominated at the range, It was only enough to put us in third. We marched back to campus, the Squad Challenge ribbon missing from our guidon. As we covered the short distance, I couldn't help but wonder what they had in store for us when we got back.