by JL Curtis
Jogging to the line, they stepped into the shooter’s box, went to prone, and confirmed targets.
“Papa, I’ve got the left target, ready any time.”
“I’m on the right, in three; one, two, three…”
The two shots sounded almost as one, and they safed the rifles, got up and jogged slowly off the range.
“Okay, hon, steady slow jog here,” the old man said, looking down at his compass to get a good heading and looking at the trail. It was scuffed by military boots, so everything was matching up.
Eight minutes later, they got to the first stage, clocked out and got the scenario, which was four targets spread across the hillside. Clocking in, they dropped down in the shooters box and Jesse started calling ranges. “Far left—75 yards, left center—125 yards, right center—225 yards, far right—256 yards; do you want me to take the two left?” She said as she reached for her rifle.
“Yep, left two are yours. I have the right two, engaging now.” Boom…
Jesse shot the seventy-five yard target, the old man shot the far right target as Jesse jacked another shell into the Winchester, and shot the one hundred twenty-five yard target. Safing the rifles, they got up and took a heading to the next stage.
Stage after stage, either at a fast walk or slow jog, they proceeded around the course until they got to stage seven. Twice, they were passed by teams that had started behind them, but the old man just kept to a steady pace. At stage seven, they were caught by a third team at the clock, so the old man let them go ahead. Jesse was a little miffed. “Why did you do that, Papa? We were here first!”
Dropping down onto a convenient boulder, and patting the space next to him, he responded, “Think about it, Jesse. We get our breath back, get a break off the clock, and get our heart rates down. Let those boys get up there, shoot and move on. Betcha we do better than they do!”
Listening, he heard fifteen shots, before the team scrambled down from the shooting box. Jesse drew a card, and the RSO told them their color was blue, clock in and go.
The old man clocked them back in, and they scrambled up the bank the fifteen feet to the shooting box. Going prone the old man called, “Range check! You take the blue dots. I’ll take the blue shapes.”
Jesse got a quick range on the board. “One hundred and eleven yards Papa, looks like fifteen knots of wind, dead crosswind from the right.”
“Aim point is bottom of the dot for elevation, right edge of dot for wind Jesse, there are five dots, you get em, I’m on the five shapes.” Boom…
Jesse alternated shots with the old man, and had to take one extra shot as the wind shifted and she dropped one shot just to the right of the dot, “Cleared mine, Papa.”
“Confirmed, safe and let’s go,” the old man said as he levered himself up off the ground.
“Jesse, something tells me it’s about to start getting harder, this has been too easy to this point,” the old man commented as they trudged further up the ridge line.
Getting to stage eight proved him prophetic, as they had to shoot from under a barricade with about six inches of clearance. Jesse grumbled in protest, as she had to get down in the dirt to get good ranges, and take one shot with dirt in her hair and dirt blowing back in her face after the shot. The old man just ticked along, not saying much, just shooting the calls.
As they headed to the next stage, the old man remembered how Jesse hated to get dirty while she was shooting. But had no problems as a kid or even now about getting down and dirty when it was time to brand calves or when either the cows or horses were foaling. Odd little quirks, but that was Jesse being raised without a woman in the house for years, he thought with a smile.
At stage ten, they finally got some long range targets, and also got their first significant angle shots. “Papa far target is 778, looks like fifteen degrees down, go up twenty-two MOA, wind is about fifteen knots, and it’s about 135 degrees to us slightly helping so I’d say hold low and four MOA right.” Jesse advised as she dropped the rangefinder down.
“Got it, glass and check my hit,” the old man responded.
Jesse pushed the laser out of the way, got on the binoculars and gazed through them. She called, “On it.”
“Target.”
“Send it.” Boom.
“Hit.”
“Adjust right, second target, 525, ten degrees down, come down ten MOA, wind is 120 degrees, hold is five MOA right.”
“Target.”
“Send it.” Boom.
“Hit”
“Adjust right, third target, 438, ten degrees down, come down four MOA, wind is 100 degrees, hold is six MOA right.”
“Target.”
“Send it.” Boom.
“Hit”
“Last target.”
“Okay, safe and let’s roll,” the old man said, getting slowly to his feet. Hunching and rolling his shoulders, he reslung his rifle and looked at Jesse. “How you holding up?”
“I’m okay, Papa, but we’re about to get passed again.” She glanced at him as he rolled his shoulder and winced. “Is your shoulder bothering you again?”
“A little, hon, but I’ll survive. Don’t worry about them passing us. Just concentrate on us getting through this.”
At stage twelve, they had to shoot from the kneeling position to actually get clear shots at the target, and the old man noticed a couple of bullet tracks through the weeds, so he knew someone had tried to shoot that set prone.
On stage thirteen, Jesse burst out laughing when they got to there and saw a door and window standing there. The RSO told them they both had to shoot, one offhand through the door and one kneeling through the window. The old man had Jesse take the short target through the window using it as a rest, and he used the doorframe as a rest for his shot. Both hit and moved on to stage fourteen, which turned out to be a mover, the first one they’d seen in the competition.
The mover was a steel silhouette cycling back and forth at about the pace of a walking man, between the ends of a tar paper ‘wall’ that was angled away from the shooters. The mover could only be shot while visible through the windows in the tar paper. The windows ranged at 75, 85 and 95 yards from the shooting position.
Three shots were required, and three “windows” were available in the tar paper wall. The old man took the first shot through the first window, Jesse shot through the second window and the old man cleared the target in the second window as well.
Trotting back into the range an hour and a half after they left, they were directed to the right side of the range, where a clock was sitting next to some scaffolding. Kyle was there and took the card from Jesse after she punched in. “Last stage: you have a school bus hostage situation, one shooter on the bus and moving around. He has a blue hat on and is surrounded by children and is threatening to shoot them in the next five minutes. You have to climb the ladder to get a shot, and the powers that be want him taken out before the five minutes are up. Ready?”
The old man nodded and Kyle punched the time card in. “Go!”
Jesse immediately started scrambling up the ladder while the old man groaned. At the first landing Jesse stopped momentarily. “Can’t see everything from here, going up to the top.”
The old man continued climbing, shaking his head and thinking to himself that this heart rate was going to be through the roof by the time they both go to the top of the scaffolding. “Go, I’ll get there in a minute.”
Jesse got to the top of the scaffolding, flopped down, and pulled the range finder out of her backpack. As the old man got to the top, she yelled, “One hundred thirty-eight yards, wind is ten knots quartering left to right.” She reached for the binoculars from the old man’s backpack to start looking for the target.
“Got it, Jesse, get on your gun, ‘cause we’ve only shot forty-five targets, so there might be two on this one.”
Jesse stopped, and shook her head, then picked up her rifle and set up on the target, rolling the scope back to a 2x. “Looks like random tim
ing on pop-ups in the windows Papa, first three windows left haven’t seen a blue hat yet.”
“M’kay, keep watching and tell me if it’s the same figures that come up every time. I’ll take the two back windows.” Settling the scope on the bar between the last two windows gave the old man enough coverage to see both of them. A small head popped up in the last window, and he moved over to the next to the last window figuring that would probably be where the target showed.
Suddenly, it was there for about two seconds, but he wasn’t ready for the shot with a small child being held in front of the target. Wiggling down one more time he called, “Got the target fourth window back, hostage child in front, tight shot. I’ll take it if I get it again.”
Jesse didn’t answer, just kept watching the front windows. It seemed like it was taking forever for the targets to pop back up.
Boom! The old man had taken the shot and Jesse jumped a little bit, not expecting it.
Suddenly, there was a swinger at the front of the bus, Jesse sighted in, saw the gun on the target and took the shot. Crack! “Swinger at the front, Papa, I think I got him.”
“Okay, unload and safe the guns and let’s get down from here,” the old grumbled.
Jesse repacked her bag, threw it over her shoulder and followed the old man down the ladders back to the ground. Kyle was standing there when they stepped up. “Unload and show clear on the rifles please. Y’all made it in the five minute window and y’all are completed.”
The old man and Jesse both showed their rifles were empty and the old man grinned. “That was a tricky little set up there, with that swinger coming out. I can’t help but wonder how many have gotten it, and how many missed it.”
Kyle just smiled. “Well, let’s just say you’re one of the few who may have gotten it. Y’all can unload and either come back here and watch shooters come in, or go grab some lunch inside, or go back to the hotel and catch some down time. We’re not posting any scores here. Those will be posted tonight at the restaurant after we award the various teams. Don’t forget, six PM for the feed.”
Walking back to the line, they stowed their rifles in the cases and carried them back to the truck. The old man opened the tailgate and they shoved the rifles into the back and covered them back up with the blanket. The old man sat down on the tailgate and reached over giving Jesse a hug. “You done good, girl. I’m proud of ya for hanging in there today, and I hope you’ve at least had a little fun out here.”
Jesse hugged him back and laid her head on his shoulder. “Papa, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. It’s been an education and then some. Thank you, but I stink, I’m dirty, and I’m hungry. So let’s go eat then I want to go back and take a nice long hot bath!”
The old man just shook his head and chuckled, “Women…”
Getting up, they walked back to the clubhouse, grabbed some lunch and headed back to the hotel. Jesse got her long hot bath, and the old man got a nap in.
8 The Party
Pulling up at the restaurant just before six, the old man saw the same deputy directing traffic in the parking lot. The deputy held up his hand and walked over to the truck as the old man rolled the window down. “Sir, y’all drive around back, there’s parking for y’all there and you can go right in the back to the room that’s reserved for you.”
Jesse smiled at the deputy as the old man grunted and pulled around to the back. Getting out of the truck, they met Matt and Aaron walking from their truck. Both of them were in khakis and red polo’s with the Marine emblem. Jesse smiled. “Geez guys, I didn’t realize it was ‘formal’ tonight.”
Matt chuckled and Aaron blushed. Matt drawled, “Ma’am, us Marines are always formal.”
Everyone laughed at that, and Aaron held the door for the four of them to enter. Jesse went left through the door, the old man to the right. Matt entered and stepped to the side as well, asking,“Mr. Cronin, why do you do that every time you walk through a door? I know we’re trained to do that in our MOUT[11] training, but I don’t normally do that back here.”
The old man glanced around the room. “Well, Matt the only two times I’ve ever been shot that counted were both coming through doors, so I kinda have an aversion to standing there being a good target!”
“Twice that counted?”
“Yep, once in Nam, and once in a bar in Fort Stockton. Decided not to be a target anymore; sides, it’s harder’n hell to hit a moving target.”
“That counted, Mr. Cronin?”
“Well, the others weren’t serious, they were just dings,” the old man said as he turned away.
Matt just shook his head and followed the others into the meeting room. They were some of the last to enter, and finally found an open table at the back of the room. The old man took a seat facing the door with Jesse on his left. Aaron and Matt took the two chairs facing the stage and left the last two open. At the head table Kyle was once again standing in front of the microphone scanning the room. He seemed satisfied with the crowd, and bent to the microphone. “Okay folks, buffet style for dinner, and the bar is open, but it’s a cash bar. Y’all eat and then we’ll give out the awards. Enjoy!”
A waitress came around as the crowd surged to the buffet, so the four of them stayed seated and ordered tea and took their time getting up. Finally, the line got short enough to make it worth their while to get up and get in line. Going through they piled their plates high, and headed back to their table.
Jesse picked through her plate. “This barbecue sauce is sure different than what I’m used to, and I didn’t see any brisket at all. But it’s not bad.”
Matt, having grown up in Western Virginia, proceeded to give Jesse and the old man a history lesson on barbecue and the infighting between Virginia, North and South Carolina and Eastern and Western variations within each state that had both Jesse and the old man rolling laughing. Aaron just chuckled and refused to comment, since he had grown up around Boston, and didn’t “do” barbecue until he’d joined the Marines; but he watched Jesse any time he thought he could get away with it. The old man picked up on it, and noticed that Jesse wasn’t ignoring Aaron’s attention either. He leaned back and decided to let nature take its course.
Finally, Kyle got back up from the head table and picked up the microphone while two assistants went over and unveiled two whiteboards standing off to the side of the room.
“Awright, let’s get this show on the road. We’re gonna start with third place and work up to first for LEOs then military; then then we’ll hold the drawings for the prizes. Applause is fine. Boos are fine. No cussing the winners allowed. We’ve got ladies present.”
Merle chimed in with a cackle, “Who you calling a lady you old fart?”
Over the laughter, Kyle responded, “Well, excepting you, Merle, there are a few ladies here…”
More laughter erupts and Merle just waved to Kyle, conceding the point to him.
“Third place, law enforcement, is… Jacksonville PD! Y’all come on up!” Kyle started clapping and the crowd joined in as the two officers from Jacksonville came forward. Kyle presented them their plaque and various cameras flash as the three pose for pictures. Kyle pointed off to the side of the stage and the JPD officers stepped to the side.
“Second place, law enforcement is Tulsa PD, come on up!” The Tulsa officers came forward, receive their plaques with more pictures, they move over to the side and the four shake hands as they juggle their plaques.
“And in first place, Broward County Sheriff’s Department with a net score of 460 and a time of fifty-one minutes, give em a big round of applause!” Kyle led the applause and once the two officers got to the stage, presented them their plaque; gathering all the awardees, they posed for more pictures and shook hands all around to applause and various good natured catcalls from the audience.
Kyle walked back to the microphone and started on the military placing, “Okay folks, for this group please do not take pictures, as these folks are still going in harm’s way and we d
on’t want, nor do they want, their pictures out there. Now having said that, in third place are the Marines out of Quantico! Come on up fellows!”
Matt and Aaron looked at each other and got up and headed to the stage, as they were walking up, Jesse let out a wolf whistle that got everybody around their table laughing, and Aaron turning various shades of red.
Once on stage, Kyle covered the mic and whispered a question to Matt, then turned back to the microphone. “Folks, our Marines are First Sergeant Matt Carter and Sergeant Aaron Miller from the Weapons Battalion at MCB[12] Quantico. They are both instructors in the Scout Sniper course and former Scout Snipers in the Second Marine Expeditionary Force. And Aaron tells me they are known as ‘Hogs.’ Let’s give them a big round of applause and again, no pictures please. And their score is 459 and forty-six minutes!”
Matt and Aaron shook hands with Kyle and walked back to the table as the applause continued along with a few good-natured jibes from the other services. The old man leaned over and shook both Matt and Aaron’s hands saying, “Congrats, guys. Y’all had some pretty round competition to overcome there, and that’s damn good shooting.”
Jesse chimed in, “And pretty damn good running too!” Sticking her tongue out at Aaron, who promptly blushed.
Kyle started up again, “And in second place we have the Navy SEALS, come on up gents!”
As the SEALS made their way to the stage, Kyle again muffled the microphone and spoke to the SEALS. Shaking his head, he came back to the mic, “Um… Mr. ‘Smith’ and Mr. ‘Jones’ here scored 460 and forty-three minutes! Let’s give them a hand.”
Laughter, applause and catcalls for “Smith and Jones” continued as the two SEALS returned to their seats.
Kyle waved at everyone to be quiet and said, “And the first place team are our friends from across the pond, the Brits! Y’all, er… I guess I better use proper English, you gents please come up to receive your plaques.”
