Survival Arts

``Can I leave this behind the counter for now? It's heavy.'' ``You're not kidding. What's in there?'' ``A thousand rounds of ammo for next weekend.'' ``Wouldn't loose powder be more convenient?''

I came so close to explaining.

There were forty pistol students that week, on two target-ranges; on each range we were divided into two relays, so ten of us were on the firing line while ten sat in the shade, reloading and drinking ice water or Gatorade. Most of the time there were four instructors on the range. (Every one of them told me, at some point, that my feet were at the wrong angle. I have a crooked hip; what's natural to others feels pigeon-toed to me.)

We were taught grip, stance, how to draw quickly and safely from a holster, how and where to aim, how and when to reload (at any lull after firing, swap magazines so that the one most full is usually in the gun). Basic routine: two shots to the chest cavity (which stops anybody who isn't enhanced by drugs, armor or cussedness), a quick glance to left and right to see who else might be coming, make sure the first target is down (if he's still coming, kill him with one shot to the soft bones of the face), then look slowly all around. When practicing one should balance speed with accuracy; thus, if you can consistently hit a target much smaller than the lungs, work on speed.

Normally we shot at paper targets showing a silhouette and the two target zones (the chest and the `brainbox'). These were mounted on swivels to present themselves for a specified time, typically around two seconds. The founder of the school is/was a chiropractor, and he designed the targets from his collection of xrays! He says adults' ribcages are more similar in size than you'd expect.

(I meant to ask why - given that under stress one is only half as accurate as at target practice - the practice targets' scoring zones are not half-sized.)

One of our sessions was at night, to practice handling a flashlight. An instant before the order to fire, I remembered that I had not plugged my ears! Drop gun, slap hands to head, panic, struggle with earplugs between volleys - in the dark, only one of the instructors saw my distress. Happily no damage, I think.

We also had a lesson in `clearing' a house: finding the badguys before they find you.

On the last day we had a little tournament with `reactive' targets - steel plates mounted on stands, to fall when hit. At the whistle, each student had to draw, hit three targets and miss one `hostage'. Bing - bing - bing. I won my first two rounds. Russell said, ``Your stolid deliberative nature pays off!'' I replied, ``I felt like I had all the time in the world!'' But in the next round I needed four shots.

``Nice shooting, kid, now don't get cocky.'' - Han Solo

I failed the final exam by slowness in aiming; I decided then that the white dots on my sights, intended as an aid, were distracting me. (When I bought that gun, I rejected Russell's advice to black them out; I now did so. As I have not since done any timed shooting, I can't say whether that helped!)

Here's some cheap irony. I just got mail from Piazza entitled ``Why Do So Many Women Attend Courses At Front Sight?'' When I was there, the answer was: All three of them (out of twenty in my class) are with their husbands.