24 in the Black

Of all the lessons here, qualifying with the M-9 has caused the most stress for me and many others.  The Government has asked for volunteers with over twenty years of experience in their field to deploy to a far off land for a year.  One should expect a few medical imperfections for folks over 45, and for those without military experience, their skills with weapons to be limited. 

But alas, the machine has set standards that must be met.  Recruits must qualify on their M-9 lest they not deploy.  The criteria is 10 shots each from four shooting positions at a black silhouette 25 meters away.  To qualify, you need to get 24 total in the black.  MoDAs are going to be “outside the wire” on occasion either walking or driving themselves and other advisors to their destinations.  Given the drawdown, MoDAs are now each other’s guardian angles.  A sobering fact since only half the class has a military background.  So I guess having us up to some common standard makes sense. 

The first day on the range was pretty chilly and it rained.  Shivering and holding a weapon is never easy, but I shot 20 of 40 that day.  Not bad I thought as I only needed a little bit of polishing.  The second day was sunny and warm, a good shooting day I thought until I got 30% on the board, and then on the third day I went down to 20%.  I was filled with angst thinking I would not deploy for lack of a few holes in a large poster.  I now had the demonstrated skills of novice and it got into my head. I would have had better luck throwing the pistol downrange.  

The instructors did what they could telling me to change this and that; hips in, out, toes in, out, grip hard, soft but it didn’t change a thing.  I began to think someone had given me the evil eye and that maybe a call to mom would purge the spirits away.  My roommate is a Marine Reservist, a real focused and pleasant guy to be around.  I make him laugh often to compensate for my snoring and he answers my endless questions about military life.  When Fred shoots, he stands quietly at the ready, raises his weapon and comfortably puts 28 of 40 rounds into an 8X8 inch sheet of paper stapled in the middle of the silhouette, with the rest just outside.  This is a good Guardian Angel.  He senses my frustration as do the instructors since the next afternoon was reserved for qualifying, and tried to calm me down by making fun of the Air Force folks. 

My mind was not on classwork they next morning as I thought hard about how to fix this.  During class breaks I went outside and mentally walked through the marksmanship ballet with my cellphone in my hand turned on edge aimed at a stick I had planted in the grass.  On the third break, only a couple of hours before going to the range, it came to me. The sights were not as crisp as could be and maybe, just maybe, if I removed my glasses, I could focus near, and aim for the blur down range.  I was going to take a gamble and qualify without my glasses on. 

There was no other option. Victory or go home. Aim small…miss small…..aim small……miss small I murmured as I practiced my breathing in the back seat of the van.