My Little Armalite

by James Hawes

  Ghosts seemed to nibble at the edge of this gloomily wet and woody world, the ghosts of so many Europeans driven out into forests at gunpoint to dig their own graves. I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to go home. This was not my world.

  A platoon of the Russian Army crossed the compound in front of us.

  —Christ, do the Russians use this place?

  —No, that’s just a local club.

  —A club?

  —Yeah. Local Slavonians. Not Czechs. The Czechs think of them like we think of the Irish. You know, thick and drunk and dodgy, ha ha! They dress up in Russian uniforms, they come here, they shoot Russian guns and drink vodka. It’s some kind of Slavic Brothers thing. Don’t ask me. Don’t worry, they’re harmless enough. At least it isn’t a Red Army club, eh? Ha ha!

  —Gerry, look, I think perhaps I’m just too tired, I think perhaps …

  —Here we are. Your teacher. George, this is Tony Bush.

  I looked down at my mud-caked lecturer‘s shoes, trying to think what excuse I could use to wave the man away but still have a chance of getting some of my euros back. I just wanted to flee, to run from this nasty forest world that was so palpably not mine. I was a normal Englishman, for Christ’s sake, what was I doing here? We don’t do dark forests of dripping pine in England, thank God.

  —No, look, Gerry, I’m really sorry but the thing is …

  —Hello, I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Bush. My name is George. Is good joke, yes? Ha ha. I look forward very much to our special afternoon.

  A delicate olive-skinned hand was stretched out to mine, and I looked slowly up from the ground. I saw light-coloured camouflaged combats with very neat sand-coloured boots, a US Navy Seals baseball cap and a big, loose, black-and-white chequered scarf of the sort made famous by the first generation of Palestinian terrorists (I had worn one myself for several years in the early eighties as a badge denoting general-purpose radicalism). Earphones nestled around a lightly bearded chin, high up in the folds of this scarf, looking not in the least absurd or unpleasant, for they framed the enchanting smile and dark, friendly eyes of quite the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

  PART THREE

  Firestorm

  51: Singing for the Dying

  When George handed me the gun for the first time, he must have known that I was scared of it. I don’t know if he actually saw my hand shaking as I tried to load the bullets into the magazine, making an awful hash of it (I tried to sort of slide them in, of course, not simply press slowly but firmly down). But if he saw my fear, he gave no sign of it.

  —Sorry, I stammered. —It’s just, I’m, it’s a little bit cold out here, isn’t it?

  —You will grow warm. This jacket I like. Is very good, the English, how you call it, tweedy, yes? Is very tactical.

  —Tactical? It is?

  —Yes, yes. No noise when you move. This is very important, Toni. Most people do not remember this, I often have to tell these idiots, no Gore-tex! Think, Toni, you are in forest. You are hunting bad guy, but he is hunting you too, oh yes. What you do? You watch? No, no. You listen. You hear him long time before you see him, in forest. These ears, these are your early warning system, Toni. When a man dies, these are the last thing that go. Why do people sing around the bed when a man is dying, Toni?

  —What? Oh, well, actually, you see, in England, we don’t actually sing when people are dying.

  —No? This is very foolish, Toni. The man who dying, he cannot move, he cannot feel, he cannot talk, but yes he can hear singing. So now you know. Next time you are with a dying man, your friend, you sing for him. You sing nice song for him to hear, goodbye, my old friend.

  —Right. Right.

  —So, now, you are in forest, Toni, you listen for your enemy, with all your ears. And he is listen for you, of course, oh yes, this bad man who wants to kill you, kill your sons. And now you are understand, yes, Toni? Yes, if he is wear black Gore-tex thing from Austria and you are wear this good green brown English tweed, I tell you, Toni, aha, you win. You hear him very good, then you see him, then you get him first.

  —Well, I had no idea.

  —But now you have idea, yes? Good. This is why I am here, Toni. To give you idea.

  And he did.

  Like a patient piano tutor, he massaged my grip into place, his fingers upon and over mine; like a kindly but strict ballet master correcting a girl doing bar exercises, he gently pressed behind my knee to angle my weight a fraction forward and downward; like a painter, he stood back to observe me and then, like a hairdresser, he moved in and laid the flat of his hand on my left cheek, so as to carefully set my right cheek against the plastic buttstock. Most of all, his soft voice was that of a man communicating undoubted expert knowledge of a thing he truly loved.

  I was grateful to give myself over, body and soul, to his complete certainty. It was better than any holiday. At last, someone else was in charge of my life. It felt like the best four hundred euros I had ever spent.

  —I see now you are a tall man, Toni. This is the shorter version of this gun. It is my favourite. For close work in urban environment is quicker, I show you afterwards. But perhaps if Gerry tell me before, the longer version would be better for you. Let me see. But no, I think will be all right. Yes, is fine. So. This is the safety switch.

  —Ah, that one.

  —You see, with your thumb, is very easy. Like this, safe. Like that, live.

  —Is that all you have to do, to make it safe? Just that?

  —Is all, yes. Now you can drop it, kick it, nothing happen.

  —Right. Oh well then. Ha. God, that’s so easy.

  —Oh yes, is very good design. So, yes, this is safe and now you click this and now you are fire. Do not worry. What can happen? Still nothing. Your finger on the trigger now please. Not with the hook of the finger, this will spoil your aim. Just the first part. No, no. There. Yes. Very good. Now, listen and look like I do. You breathe in, you breathe out and then just when you finish to breathe out, before you breathe in again, you press, softly, smoothly, yes? But wait, my friend, first you put on your ear-protectors, yes? Or else you never hear a girl sigh again in your ear, poor Toni!

  —Right, yes, sorry!

  —Now you go.

  —Right, um, I suppose it will, you know, kick back at me?

  —This gun kick? No, no, Toni. Not she. Not if you hold her close.

  —Right. Sorry. OK. Breathe, right.

  —Good, Toni. And now you shoot.

  —Right. Now I shoot. OK.

  BANG!

  52: A Mere Liberal Englishman

  I blinked with disbelief. Then I remembered that I needed to breathe in again, and did so.

  It was impossible.

  I, a mere liberal Englishman, had just fired an assault rifle with live ammunition and nothing spectacular had happened. I had not dropped the gun shamefully from the kick-back. There had been, indeed, hardly any kick-back at all. I was not deafened. My finger had not been taken off. No burns had seared my face. The world turned as normal beneath my feet. Normal, that is, considering that I was in a shooting range and had just fired an assault rifle.

  —Perfect. Again. No, too fast. Again. Very good. Again. Again. Now we check the gun. Always, this is very important.

  As George came to stand beside me once again, I forced myself to stop smiling like an idiot. I bit my lip, furrowed my brow and made myself listen and watched with all my concentration.

  —First release magazine, here, with your finger. Yes, here.

  —Oops, sorry, dropped it!

  —Yes, it drop fast. You see, for speed of change this is very good. If you are in moving firefight, maybe you let it fall and leave it. But be careful how many you have left! If you drop all clips, what you do then when you need to reload?

  —Yes, gosh, I see.

  —Good. Now, you look in here, yes? This is very good with AR-15, at end of clip the chamber stay open, you can see. So now you look. Is there thing inside the chamber?

>   —Um, no. Nothing.

  —So, is clear. Very Good. Now roll the gun this way. You see this? Now you just, how you say, you hit this button with this flat part of your hand. Not hit.

  —Slap?

  —Yes, very good, slap. Not too hard, but hard enough. Just like you slap your girl on the ass when you show how you like her. Slap! There. Very good. You see? You hear this click? Exactly. Now you must make the safety shot to be sure one hundred per cent. You point at safe place or at ground if ground soft. You make the shot, yes. Nothing, you see. So now you are all safe.

  —Safe, right.

  Yes, safe I was. Totally safe now. And God it felt good.

  —So now we try again, from start. You see? Already you know the gun, now you are not so nervous. Is much better. Now the gun she is your friend.

  —Um, George, sorry, I was just wondering, if, I mean, if there was actually a bullet left in the gun, sort of stuck, or if you were halfway through a clip?

  —Oh, this is very good question, Toni. Stupid me, I do not tell you. From start I know you are special pupil. It is very easy. First you make sure is on safe, yes, here? Then you just do like you cock it again. You see? Now the chamber is open again. If there is round in, now you can just turn the gun, she fall out so easy, you catch. Or you can pull her out with these fingers if she stuck bad. But I do not think this happen to you ever with good ammo like I give you from United States. Maybe with Belgian ammo or Czech ammo. Sorry, my new country, but this is true. So sad. So, now we shoot again, yes?

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  —How that is feeling, Toni?

  —Ha ha, it feels, I mean, well, it felt better that time, I think.

  —I also think. So now we check the gun like I show you. Good. Very good. And slap, yes. And safety shot. Very good. Now we see how good you have shoot, yes? Come, Toni.

  —Right.

  I pulled the earphones down around my neck. The plastic conches made a strangely comforting collar around my jugular veins.

  So now I knew. I could make my Armalite safe in a few seconds. How easy it all was! How absurd that I had not known. But now I did, so all was well.

  I could leave now, really.

  But then again, I had paid, I was here, they were getting me to the station and, well, consider: if I went away now it would seem extremely weird. Certainly it would. Who knew if Gerry might decide to tip the police off about this curious last-minute student with the (surely the idiot had seen?) blatantly false name and ridiculous hat, who suddenly upped and left right at the start of an expensive class? I’d stick out as clearly as an Arab in Florida asking to learn just how to steer a Boeing. And George was so warm and enthusiastic. I was, it seems a strange thing to say, but it was true, I was actually moved by his simple desire to tell me what he knew. And every bit of knowledge is a good thing, surely? So why go now? Why insult him?

  We walked slowly up the range, to where fresh paper shapes of symbolic human forms had been taped over the targets. But there was no sign of damage to them. I felt deep shame, compounded by the vague feeling that I was treading on cursed ground, and wished once again that I was somewhere warmer, drier and safer, far from all guns. But George chatted companionably away.

  —You see how there is no kick-back at all, Toni, hardly any at all, like I tell you? Exactly. You think it will kick, it does not. That is why I like this gun, I think she best in the world. They say she jam too much, always we hear this, but I say, here is not Vietnam, if you treat her right she will be good for you. I think you like too, yes? The AK-47 jump much more. Too much I think. There. This is good. You see?

  —Good God. I hit it!

  —Yes, nearly all times. This is not so good grouping, I tell you true. We fix this. But for begin is fine.

  I stared. The holes in the paper were smaller than you would make with a stabbing biro. But holes they were. I could already shoot! I felt a ludicrous grin tugging at the edges of my mouth. Suddenly, I wanted very much to giggle and slap my leg.

  —You think this hole is small, yes? This is the small bore for you. But remember high velocity. So there is no kick and the hole is small here, but the high speed will destroy, how you say, when it go in it will kill all the, in here, I do not know the word, I am sorry.

  —Internal organs?

  —Yes, yes, exactly. The internal organs. And, of course, the round she will tumble when she hit, so exit wound is much greater, Toni.

  —Ah, of course.

  —If you get shot close with Armalite, is better than get shot at two hundred yards, because the bullet she is not yet tumbling. She go in straight, out straight, pow.

  —Yes, I can see that would be true.

  I watched, trying not to smile with pride, as George placed small black stickers over my ten bullet holes. Six were clearly within the angular outline of the humanoid form; two were high and to the left, one low and to the right. I had only missed completely once. How could it be so easy? I did not trust myself to wire plugs safely enough for use in my kids’ bedrooms, but I could already hit a man-shaped target with an assault rifle six times out of ten at fifty yards. And come close enough to scare the shit out of the bastard another three times out of ten, ha ha!

  But of course it was easy, I reminded myself.

  I was a cultural historian, I should know that. The medieval longbow had a far quicker rate of fire and as great an effective range as the musket right up to the Napoleonic Wars. So why bother using muskets? Because it takes years to train up a longbowman, but any idiot farm labourer can be rounded up, taught to fire a gun reasonably straight in half a day and then sent out to charge cannons or shoot demonstrators. Extraordinary, nonetheless, to have it demonstrated so concretely. No wonder governments keep these things out of people’s hands …

  —I think you miss these two because you use the hook of your finger, like I tell you not. This pull the gun, like this, you see? Give me your hand, I show you again now.

  —Oh yes, I see. Sorry, George.

  —No, no, this day is for you to learn. Toni, I see you are wise man, serious about gun. I like this. Most days is just drunks from Germany, England, Holland. This is not why I make career as instructor. You understand me?

  —Yes. Actually, George, you know, my career didn’t really turn out as I expected either.

  —So you understand. I am Muslim from Sarajevo. You know this city? Of course. My father has shop, one day it will be for me. What do I know about guns? Nothing. But then the Serbs come, the Chetniks. So now we fight, or we die. We have some good guys with us, mujahidin, paid for by CIA. They train me, they teach me Arabic for jihad. All paid for by CIA, yes, ha ha, crazy! But we have no guns, why? Because nice England and nice France say no sell no guns to anyone. Oh, poor us, the Serbs already have the tanks and the artillery! But at last the Americans bomb the Serbs and we are so happy. The airstrikes come, bang! We see a big ammo dump go up, in the mountains, where those Chetnik bastards been shooting us for a year, killing our children, our mothers. Boom! We know this time it is they die. We cheer. Bill Clinton very good guy, Americans very good people. I go to train with US Marines. Never again I am the one who do not know to use gun, I say. Very good. So I am trained. I think maybe I get career in executive protection. But now Americans make this war in Iraq. They cannot win, they will lose. Now everybody think they are stupid, everybody hate them. You think I show my nice certificates from US Marines now? I am so stupid I want my head cut off? I want to go to America. But guess what? I am Muslim. Muslims were good guys in 1994. Now we are bad guys. Not so good to get visa now, oh no! Maybe I go to England. But I think is not much gun work in England?

  —We don’t really do guns, in England.

  —Still, maybe I think I try. I like British Army. I train with them also a little in Germany. I meet very funny guys. So, enough, I waste your money talk of me and my life. Not professional. So sorry. Perhaps we have nice coffee later, then we talk.

  —Yes, that would be nice. And rea
lly, George, it isn’t a problem. It’s, well, actually, it’s nice to talk.

  —Yes, very nice. But now it is time for tuck-tuck.

  —Tuck? Well, yes, a sandwich would be nice. I’m pretty hungry, actually. Missed breakfast. And dinner, come to think of it. Amazing, that you use that word. Tuck. Did you learn it when you were talking to our army men? I mean, obviously, yes, don’t get me wrong, George, it’s a perfectly good word for food, well, snacks, you know. But pretty old-fashioned. Sorry, George, did I say something wrong?

  —I do not understand, Toni. You want to stop and eat food?

  —Um, well, sorry, I thought you said it was time for tuck?

  —Tuck-tuck, Toni. I teach you tuck-tuck next. Two quick shots.

  —Oh. Oh, I see. God, sorry, yes, of course.

  —You are happy we go on? I can stop. Karel can make you sandwich.

  —No, Christ, George, please. This is what I came for. And I’m very glad I did. Tuck-tuck, eh? Two quick shots?

  —Yes. This is very important, Toni. Think, Toni. If you need to shoot them once, you need to shoot them twice.

  —Well, yes, I suppose you would.

  —The Israelis are very haa haa! aah! Always they go full auto, but with full auto most times the third shot go where you think? Yes, no one knows. Also, is hard to count your shots with full auto. I can do this counting now, full auto, but many times when I start I get it wrong. This is very important. You must know always how many shells you have left, or maybe you see two bad guys, you think, aha, now they are mine, but you have only one shell left. You do not know this. You get one but then, ah! Poor you! This is why with US special forces always we use just two quick shots, you see, not full auto, just tuck-tuck.