CHAPTER 35

IT WAS A TWENTY-MINUTE ride in the Hilux to the range, the wide-open landscape reminding Reece of being back at sea. The mostly flat, sometimes rolling, but always barren terrain made for a perfect training area. A local construction firm had used a bulldozer to create impact berms at various distances. There was a U-shaped berm, 100 meters deep, for short-range work, and beyond it was a rifle range for shots as far as 1, 800 meters. A faded red shipping container served as a supply closet, and its roof gave them line of sight to the sniper targets. There were steel-plate targets of various sizes and shapes scattered across the landscape, allowing for shots at just about every conceivable distance. What looked to be an inoperable Mercedes sedan from the 1970s sat inside the perimeter.

“Let me guess, that’s my ride? ” Reece quipped.

“Yeah, man, sorry about the windshield. We’ll have to get you some goggles. ”

As they parked, Freddy’s usually casual tone and body language shifted to all business.

“Okay, we’ll start with some handgun work, then get you going on the MP7 before moving to the 416s. We can mess with the long-range stuff another day. ”

“Sounds good, buddy. ”

Freddy unlocked the shipping container and swung open the heavy steel doors. Inside were cases of spray paint, assorted cardboard targets, additional steel plates, several cases of ammunition, and pieces of plywood cut into various shapes.

“Help me with this barricade. ” Freddy motioned to a vertical plywood faç ade with steps down one side and filled with holes of varying shapes and sizes. They carried the mock barricade to the center of the range and set it up next to the Mercedes.

“Go ahead and get the kinks out with your nine-mil while I get some of this other stuff set up. There’s ammo in the back of the truck. ”

Reece nodded and walked toward a row of three steel silhouette targets. It occurred to him that the last time he’d fired a handgun, it had been into the mouth of a federal agent responsible for killing his family. It was difficult for his mind to reconcile that act with the fact that he was back in the employ of the United States government. Crazy world.

Reece was wearing the SIG 320 in a holster on his belt rather than his usual BlackPoint Tactical Mini WING concealment rig; there was no reason to try to conceal a handgun while wearing full battle gear.

Skills such as shooting are highly perishable, and Reece hadn’t done any serious firearms training in close to a year. Being an “expert” in anything means doing the basics exceptionally well, so Reece started with the fundamentals. Putting on his ear protection, he took a deep breath to focus. Then, standing ten yards from a steel plate, Reece drew the handgun from his holster, his left hand meeting the gun at his pectoral muscle as the muzzle rotated toward the target. He pushed the SIG out with both hands gripping firmly until his elbows nearly locked, pressing the trigger as he drove the gun swiftly toward the target. His eyes met the front sight just as the trigger broke and his brain recognized the instant gratification of a center-mass hit on the steel target as the gun recoiled slightly upward. Keeping his trigger finger on the trigger, he scanned to the left and right of his target before moving his finger to the frame to look behind him for threats before replacing the handgun in his holster. Situational awareness.

He drew again, a bit faster this time, and put two rounds into the target in quick succession. He repeated the process until the magazine ran dry, performed a slide-lock reload, stepping to his left, and fired two more rounds. He moved farther from the targets and began engaging multiple plates in rapid succession, quickly transitioning from one to the next. Speed came back quickly, thanks to hundreds of thousands of rounds fired over the past eighteen years during similar training sessions. He had burned his way through ten magazines when he saw Freddy watching him over his left shoulder during one of his post-target scans.

“Just like riding a bike. Looking sharp, Reece. ”

“Thanks. Feels good to be back at it. ”

“I bet. Let me paint these targets and we’ll get dialed in on the fun gun. ”

Freddy shook a rattle can of spray paint as he approached the targets that were covered with the gray splatters of Reece’s pistol rounds. He recoated them with glossy white paint and waved for Reece to follow him to a folding table with the suppressed MP7 and a row of loaded magazines. Freddy picked up the tan and brown camouflaged submachine gun and pointed the muzzle skyward.

“Okay, Reece, this will be a new toy for you. This thing shoots really fast and has almost no recoil. It’s also exceptionally quiet with serious penetration, so if the bad guys are wearing armor it’s a better choice than a handgun. We started using them at Dam Neck and a lot of guys fell in love with them. ”

Freddy retracted the small stock to its rear position and folded down a stubby grip below the barrel. “You can shoot it like a handgun in a pinch but you won’t hit much. The mags go in the grip like an UZI and hold forty rounds. You cock it here and the selector is here. ” He demonstrated, handing the firearm to Reece. “It might look like it works like the old MP5 but that’s just because it’s an HK. It’ll operate like an M4 from your perspective. Have at it. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. ”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before, ” Reece said, remembering the old SEAL adage.

Reece loaded a magazine into the hollow grip and moved the safety/selector to semiauto. His eye quickly found the crisp red dot of the Aimpoint Micro sight and he pressed the trigger. The shot was totally underwhelming, with almost no discernible recoil and minimal report, reminding him of the pellet rifle his grandfather had given him as a kid. A single tiny speck of gray was visible at the center of the target thirty meters away. He flipped the selector to full auto and leaned a bit harder into the gun to control its rise. Reece tried for a short burst and five or six suppressed rounds spat from the muzzle, pinging against the steel target downrange. The gun barely moved. He fired a longer burst, ten or so rounds, and was amazed by how controllable the little gun was. He emptied the remainder of the magazine into the target in a longish string and all twenty-four rounds stayed in the eight-inch circle.

He turned to his friend, grinning ear to ear. “I like it. ”

“I knew you would. It has its limitations but it’s definitely useful. ”

Reece spent a few minutes familiarizing himself with his new toy before Freddy began running him through some basic drills with it. He held an electronic shot timer that would measure Reece’s reaction time from the buzzer to his first round on target. Freddy set up orange traffic cones on the range and had Reece navigate them in various ways as he engaged the targets: shooting while moving forward, backward, and laterally and ultimately shooting while weaving through the cones like a sports car on a slalom course. Gunfights aren’t static events and perfecting the skill of shooting while moving could mean the difference between life and death. They fired from various positions over, under, and through the plywood barricade and practiced using the junk Mercedes for cover.

After hours of work with the handgun, MP7, and HK416 carbines, it was time for a breather. They broke for lunch and talked as they ate gyro-like sandwiches on the tailgate of the Hilux. Reece opened the paper wrapper and looked at the contents as if the food was booby-trapped.

“They put mayo on these things? ” he asked in disgust.

“You and your mayo. I’d forgotten about that phobia. Wonder if there’s a scientific name for it. ”

“It’s so nasty. ”

“Fear not, Reece. No mayo. It’s some kind of yogurt sauce. ”

Visibly relieved, Reece took a tentative bite. His face lit up in approval.

“You always were a natural, Reece. It kills me that I eat and sleep this stuff and you just stroll out here and shoot like a champ. ”

Reece shrugged as he chewed a bite full of lamb and pita. “Should I sandbag a little to make you feel better? ”

“Ha! No, dude, keep it up. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to our families. ” Freddy paused for a second, catching himself. “Sorry, bro, didn’t mean it like that, I forgot. . . ”

“It’s okay. Seriously, stop apologizing. You’re a dear friend and a great dad. No need to apologize. ”

“I’m just sorry, man. With all of the challenges we have with Sam, at least I can hug him when I get home. ”

“I admire the hell out of you and Joanie. You guys never complain, never ask for anything. You just get it done. ”

“You play the cards you’re dealt, Reece. That’s all you can do. When you look at the statistics of families dealing with special needs kids, the odds are that the added stress breaks you apart. For some reason, it made us a closer, more compassionate family. It made us a team. ”

“Never look at the odds, buddy. My hat is off to you guys. Now, let’s go train so you can get home to see them. ”

After lunch both men strapped on their heavy chest rigs, harnesses of nylon webbing laden with body armor, gear, and loaded magazines. They spent the afternoon working as a team, perfecting the choreography of shooting, moving, and communicating. They began at a walking pace and progressed rapidly to full speed. If one of them was moving or reloading, the other was putting rounds on the target. By day’s end, they were doing it seamlessly and without words.

When the sun went below the horizon, they attached NODs to their helmets and repeated the drills in darkness, their infrared lasers painting the targets, invisible to the naked eye. The only sounds came from the hard ground crunching beneath their boots and the suppressed gunshots from their muzzles. To the two professional commandos, who had spent more than half of their lives working at night both in training and on combat deployments, their actions were as natural as breathing.

⇐ Предыдущая 33 34 35 36 373839 40 41 42 Следующая ⇒