- Will Rogers
They moved the show-up time back on us by an hour so my wake up time was 0330 this morning. I thought I was going to puke.
Got up in the dark, got ready in the dark, mustered in the dark, got to the Consulate in the dark, and was heading into the desert by the time the sun made its ghostly appearance on the horizon. You can imagine every sunrise and sunset is filtered through sand and deceptively serene.
Back out to the middle of the desert for another day in the sun shooting weapons. But today we got to wear out civilian clothes which meant I got to completely soak my civies in sweat instead of my cammies. Lovely image, I know.
Today I actually had to be one of the shooters and once again, I was amazed how much better the Marines are than the other services, even me who is on the short-bus end of the spectrum for Marines shooting pistol.
I didn’t start out auspiciously though. We had to make our targets today and the others were struggling with putting the paper on the cardboard and stapling it so I put mine on the ground and did it from there. I slapped the staples on and one of the Army guys said “Looks like you’ve done this before” which I really hadn’t but again, I wasn’t about to tell him this.
Ironically, it wasn’t 5 seconds after he said that when I grabbed the outer part of the target, curled my fingers around, and shot a staple through the paper, through the cardboard, and right into the pad of my middle finger.
I tried to play it off but the blood was coming out in big drops. It stung like a bastard but I needed to get the blood stopped before we shot. I put it in my mouth, but that only resulted in me drinking a good mouthful of my own blood. My hand was completely red and I was starting to worry that I wasn’t going to be able to stop the bleeding without a bandage.
I tried to wave the blood off with a shake but that only caused my pants to get a good splattering. Finally, I let it bleed and clog, then used my shirt to apply pressure. I got it stopped just in time to start the course.
Great start.
We ran through the drills against targets that, comically, had a picture of a very Arab-looking cartoon. We did failure drills (two to the chest, one to the head) and my first group were close in his chest and the third hole was right in the middle of his forehead. One of the Army guys looked at my target, looked over at me, looked at my target… I saw all this in my peripheral vision as I was staring at the target, waiting for the next command.
His target showed that he gave his Arab an earring hole.
After we were done, the Gunny from the Consulate came up to me and asked if we wanted to cook off some shotgun rounds. To tell the truth, all I wanted to do was get out of the heat and blowing sand but when a Marine Gunny asks you if you want to shoot free rounds, it’s not a question.
He gave us a quick class on how to use the shotgun but kept peppering his explanations with phrases like “but you already know this. All of you are experienced and have shot the shotgun before.”
I was not about to tell him, in front of everyone, that the Marine Major had never shot one before.
Ever.
Thinking about this, I must have fired one at TBS 10 years ago but I really don’t remember. All I know is that I don’t like firearms in general and the famous kick of a shotgun is not exactly on the top of my “What I Want To Experience” list.
But I couldn’t back down. I just listened intently so it wouldn’t look like I was Barney Fife out there.
The Gunny was so happy bringing us the ammo. Like a big kid, he carted a box out to us…with 160 shotgun rounds!!!
To be shot by 4 people.
See ya, shoulder.
We set up some plastic targets we knew wouldn’t last long and started. I had never even loaded a shotgun so it was a new experience, especially after the first few when your hands were shaking and sweat was dripping into the breach.
I put the butt of the shotgun in my shoulder, leaned forward, and pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
Yep, it’s a kick but not as bad as I thought.
Then about 10 rounds later, I started to change my initial assessment.
A few times, I had the buttstock in the wrong position and it came slamming back into my shoulder like a donkey kick.
The final blow was something I didn’t expect. I thought I had it positioned deep in my shoulder but when I pulled the trigger, it hurt more than any other shot. I think I hit a nerve or something because it was instantly obvious that it was going to be my last shot. It just friggin’ HURT.
We finally finished up, not even shooting all the rounds but completely annihilating the targets.
But the Gunny was not done. He wanted us to shoot the rifles the guards were using so he gave two of us them. I was really put on the spot because although I was a multiple expert on the rifle, I hadn’t shot one in a decade. Everyone, to include the guards, were watching and I felt a lot of eyes on me. We had been off to the side and not treated as harshly as them the whole range and not to mention, we were U. S. Marines so a “Major” screw up at this point would not be good.
He handed me a mag and I hoped to God I was putting it in the right way and when it clicked, I was relieved. But that relief was short-lived because I had to actually send the release home and I realized I hadn’t done that in quite a long time.
I just stared at it for a second as I felt a thousand eyes bore into me. I hit the lever and if rode home with authority.
Whew.
The instructor had his hand on the back of my collar along with the guy next to me and urged us forward as we shot, and then backwards. The targets were already riddled so there was no way they could tell if I was hitting anything which was a relief since I was more worried about firing than I was aiming. Although I claimed I hit dead center each time. Of course I did, I was a Marine, right.
Shhhh!!!!!!
When we were done, we “smelled the barn” and couldn’t get ready to go fast enough. The thing is though, we had spent a good portion of the day sitting in an air-conditioned car bemoaning the fact that it was stupid degrees outside and yet we were still wiped out. The others had been out in the heat the entire time so they must have felt quantum levels worse.
We really needed to stop by the Consulate to get our badges but I was tired, burnt up, dehydrated, and starving so stopping by to play reindeer games with the Consulate was out of my skill set at the moment so I made the command decision to just go back to the villa.
In a moment of silence, Mike uttered, “I ain’t working out today, Sir.”
This is the point that I should have said “The hell you aren’t. We gotta keep the schedule.”
Instead, it came out sounding something nearer to “Good, because I really didn’t want to either.”
When the going gets tough, the tough scramble back to their air-conditioned villas, take showers, and nap for a few hours.
I would have slothed for the rest of the day and night if it wouldn’t have been for the Brits inviting me to go horseback riding.
Sure! Sign me up.
It was the last outing we would do with Linda before she left for good so I really didn’t want to bag on it. That’s why Mike felt really bad when he got snagged to ride along with someone else to pick new people up at the airport. He had to bow out so it was just me and the Brits.
On the way out, when I had only seen my life flash before my eyes 39 times due to J’s driving, we came across some camel herders on the side of the road. So J whipped the car around, violently, of course, and we pulled up to get a picture.
In broken English and hand signals, we got across the fact that we wanted a picture and they gave us the OK. At least I THINK they gave us the OK and I HOPED they gave us the OK because I started snapping away (you can see it on my Flickr).
Then one of them came up to the door and motioned to see my camera.
Crap.
For a moment, I thought he might have been offended but it ends up he just wanted to see the picture. I pulled it up and he gave a big rotting-tooth smile when he saw himself sitting on his camel. Then I think he wanted us to buy some camel milk but I intelligently declined.
I guess the camel milk is sort of an aphrodisiac of sorts but it also causes tuberculosis so that would be kind of a bad thing.
“Honey, I got good news and I got bad news…”
When we got to the stables, I was surprised at a couple of things. First, it was about 10 degrees cooler out where we were and there was a breeze that actually felt good. For the first time since I got here, I was outside with jeans on and I wasn’t sweating like a glass of iced tea in Alabama.
The second thing was the stables. Unlike many (all) places around here that wasn’t insanely ornate, this place was clean, well-kept, and organized. When we went to the stables, the horses were utterly gorgeous. It was obvious they were well cared for and all of them were friendly enough to walk up to and pet.
What I WASN’T surprised at was J’s comments and comparisons about the general size of the horses and their body parts.
Paul, the Brits’ son, had his riding boots and riding cap on, looking like the most stereotypical little British lad you will ever see. They brought out a horse for him and he rode it around a running ring.
I watched them for awhile and then they brought out a horse for me. I had made the mistake of telling them that I rode before but what I MEANT was that I had ridden a few times as a kid and once or twice as an adult.
I was really hoping I would be able to get on the horse and ride it around a little without hurting myself, the horse, or the spectators. Any combination was possible.
This can’t be all that tough…
Famous last words.
Actually, I did OK only because I convinced myself that it was intuitive. You get up on the horse, you kick the bastard a little, and crank the reins in the direction you want him to go, right?
I had a better attitude than that and I was hoping I was being gentle but confident. I was trying to be the alpha of the situation and not show fear.
I guess it worked to some degree because I got it to go in circles in basic directions I wanted him to. I even got him to gallop which, since I never really got the rhythm down, was pretty much a continuous attempt by the horse to cram the saddle clear up my ass.
“Fine horse! Had a great ride. Are we through here?”
(to the horse as I walked off…) “call me…”
After the riding, we retired to the same routine that is so prevalent around here. We sat around and drank tea while talking about not much of anything.
Eventually, we said our goodbyes and got back to the Compound despite J’s Mad Max driving.
Tomorrow should be a sheer joy. The aftermath of a couple a dozen shotgun firings and a horses flailing attempt to lodge a saddle where the sun never shines will be interesting to experience. Wish me luck.
Free FML for Today: “Today, my girlfriend asked me to hold her purse while shopping. All of a sudden, a robber punched me in the face and took her purse. She started crying about her purse and told me to get off the ground because I was embarrassing her. FML.”
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment