Moving too fast.”
“I’m not that accurate when I’m kneeling. She’s just standing there. Who the hell is she?”
Samantha turned and glared at the crowd. She held up a pair of fingers.
“You boys have two problems!” She started stalking up and down the line of admirers, professional soldiers in awe. “One, you’re moving too slowly. You’re concerned with silence. Forget silence. This isn’t elegant. War isn’t elegant. There’s no silence in combat! You shouldn’t be using a bolt-action anyway. You need the semi-automatic M110. Reloading messes with your mind. When you’re worried about silence and about reloading, then you’re worried . Worried. Guns. Don’t. Hit. Targets.” Her teeth were grinding and she snarled in their faces. “Your enemy, this new enemy on the television screens, won’t give you time to worry. They’ll rip you open. Never practice silence. Never practice worried. Practice angry. Practice desperate.
“Next! Your second problem! You’re practicing with scopes?! No! Lose the damn scopes! Anyone can hit anything with a scope from a mile away. You don’t need to practice that. You don’t need to practice with a scope. This isn’t Boy Scouts! This isn’t Sniper Camp! You need to practice firing at targets sprinting at you fifteen feet away. Practice firing at targets moving too fast to see. There will be NO time for scopes! Scopes make you worry. You won’t have time to worry. You won’t have time to fret over being accurate. Forget about accuracy. Your ass will be dead. You want something to worry about? Worry that you won’t even hit them once . That you won’t have time to fire. That you’ll miss entirely. Forget perfection. Forget aiming for the heart. Just hit them anywhere. If you can. Otherwise you’re dead.”
She tossed her rifle to the man behind her, and said, “Where’s your Armory Officer? Where’s your Gunnery Sergeant? Speed up the targets. Triple the speed. Get semi-automatic weapons, not single shot sniper rifles.”
Katie whispered to me, “She’s very impressive. I didn’t know she could do all this stuff.”
One of the observers, probably the senior ranking officer in attendance, spoke up. His hair was buzzed and he spoke quietly. “This is very impressive. But I don’t recognize you, soldier. You’re not Green Beret. And I don’t believe you’re Navy SEALs. Our soldiers need to use the weapons they’ve been trained on.”
Samantha stared at the emblem on his shirt and said, “That’s very cute, Captain. However it’s obvious you’ve never seen combat. None of you boys have. Just arrive here from some safe outpost in Texas?”
“Training matters. Repetition matters. Comfort level matters. Working as one unit matters. And who are you?”
Samantha Moved . She had the Captain’s firearm out of his holster without warning, and she pressed the muzzle into the soft underpart of his jaw. The assemblage tensed and stepped back as one body. It happened so fast. I groaned.
“Tell me about comfort level now, Captain,” Samantha said quietly. “Go ahead. I’m listening. Explain to me how repetition is going to save you.” His eyes were wide and he didn’t move. More guns emerged, pointed at Samantha. Voices were raised. Radios began squawking. “Here’s the point, Captain. Your enemy is ten times faster than you are. You have no time to worry. No time to reload. No time to aim through a scope. Get it?”
More boots came pounding across the pavement. More yells. More weapons. I mumbled, “This is going well.”
Katie said, “She’s so cool. I hope she doesn’t get shot.”
“Might be good for her.”
Two MPs ran up, guns drawn, and began bawling orders. “Drop the weapon! On the ground! Everyone back! Drop the weapon now!” With recent hostilities on military bases, this could escalate quickly.
“Drop the weapon?!” Samantha cackled. “Drop the weapon! You think your enemies are going to drop their weapons??” She
“I’m not that accurate when I’m kneeling. She’s just standing there. Who the hell is she?”
Samantha turned and glared at the crowd. She held up a pair of fingers.
“You boys have two problems!” She started stalking up and down the line of admirers, professional soldiers in awe. “One, you’re moving too slowly. You’re concerned with silence. Forget silence. This isn’t elegant. War isn’t elegant. There’s no silence in combat! You shouldn’t be using a bolt-action anyway. You need the semi-automatic M110. Reloading messes with your mind. When you’re worried about silence and about reloading, then you’re worried . Worried. Guns. Don’t. Hit. Targets.” Her teeth were grinding and she snarled in their faces. “Your enemy, this new enemy on the television screens, won’t give you time to worry. They’ll rip you open. Never practice silence. Never practice worried. Practice angry. Practice desperate.
“Next! Your second problem! You’re practicing with scopes?! No! Lose the damn scopes! Anyone can hit anything with a scope from a mile away. You don’t need to practice that. You don’t need to practice with a scope. This isn’t Boy Scouts! This isn’t Sniper Camp! You need to practice firing at targets sprinting at you fifteen feet away. Practice firing at targets moving too fast to see. There will be NO time for scopes! Scopes make you worry. You won’t have time to worry. You won’t have time to fret over being accurate. Forget about accuracy. Your ass will be dead. You want something to worry about? Worry that you won’t even hit them once . That you won’t have time to fire. That you’ll miss entirely. Forget perfection. Forget aiming for the heart. Just hit them anywhere. If you can. Otherwise you’re dead.”
She tossed her rifle to the man behind her, and said, “Where’s your Armory Officer? Where’s your Gunnery Sergeant? Speed up the targets. Triple the speed. Get semi-automatic weapons, not single shot sniper rifles.”
Katie whispered to me, “She’s very impressive. I didn’t know she could do all this stuff.”
One of the observers, probably the senior ranking officer in attendance, spoke up. His hair was buzzed and he spoke quietly. “This is very impressive. But I don’t recognize you, soldier. You’re not Green Beret. And I don’t believe you’re Navy SEALs. Our soldiers need to use the weapons they’ve been trained on.”
Samantha stared at the emblem on his shirt and said, “That’s very cute, Captain. However it’s obvious you’ve never seen combat. None of you boys have. Just arrive here from some safe outpost in Texas?”
“Training matters. Repetition matters. Comfort level matters. Working as one unit matters. And who are you?”
Samantha Moved . She had the Captain’s firearm out of his holster without warning, and she pressed the muzzle into the soft underpart of his jaw. The assemblage tensed and stepped back as one body. It happened so fast. I groaned.
“Tell me about comfort level now, Captain,” Samantha said quietly. “Go ahead. I’m listening. Explain to me how repetition is going to save you.” His eyes were wide and he didn’t move. More guns emerged, pointed at Samantha. Voices were raised. Radios began squawking. “Here’s the point, Captain. Your enemy is ten times faster than you are. You have no time to worry. No time to reload. No time to aim through a scope. Get it?”
More boots came pounding across the pavement. More yells. More weapons. I mumbled, “This is going well.”
Katie said, “She’s so cool. I hope she doesn’t get shot.”
“Might be good for her.”
Two MPs ran up, guns drawn, and began bawling orders. “Drop the weapon! On the ground! Everyone back! Drop the weapon now!” With recent hostilities on military bases, this could escalate quickly.
“Drop the weapon?!” Samantha cackled. “Drop the weapon! You think your enemies are going to drop their weapons??” She
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