Dozens of soldiers could be seen seated in shaded bleachers, facing the shooting range. Yet more soldiers were gathered on the range itself, and they appeared to be in the middle of a demonstration of some sort.
Thomas parked beside a trio of HUMVEEs and a pair of two and-a-half-ton trucks. The distinctive sound of pistol fire crackled in the distance as he continued by foot to the slightly elevated apron where the shooters were gathered. It was so humid out, Thomas felt like he was pushing his way through a hot sponge.
The targets were a trio combination of paper silhouettes, steel Pepper Poppers resembling the vital areas of a human head and torso, and eight-inch-diameter steel plates. They were spread out in a 180-degree arc, at a variety of distances ranging from fifteen to fifty yards.
Thomas smiled upon spotting the officer who was prepping himself to be the next shooter. Colonel Ted Callahan was attired in BDUs, and was standing in a white, chalk-outlined box, facing downrange and making the final adjustments to his equipment and quick-draw hip holster. He obviously wasn’t aware that Thomas had arrived, his attention focused on scanning and mentally rehearsing the target sequence he was about to shoot.
“Special Agent Kellogg,” called a man’s voice from behind.
Thomas turned and set his eyes on a solidly built, brown-haired officer with movie-star good looks and a warm smile.
“Special Agent, I’m Captain Jay Christian. The Colonel’s been expecting you. Shall we tell him you’re here?”
“Why don’t we let him shoot first?” replied Thomas while accepting a firm handshake.
“What’s his target and stage scenario?”
“It’s a hostage situation, sir. From the first box he will engage the group of Pepper Poppers to his front, which are all bad guys.
Once they’re downed, the Colonel will move five yards to his right, reload, and enter the next shooting box. There he’ll be required to shoot through the open-ended barrel, at a variety of plates, gravity-activated appearing/disappearing targets, and a final array of poppers arranged to protect the hostage taker and his victim.”
“Will it end with a tactical neutralization?” Thomas asked, having encountered many a similar scenario on the aTF range.
Captain Christian nodded affirmatively.
“The white plate will indicate the no-shoot, the slightly elevated popper behind, the hostage taker. It’s a gun-to-the-head situation, and requires a single T-zone shot to be successfully resolved.”
Thomas knew that the T-zone referred to the exact center of the forehead, right above the bridge of the nose. By hitting this target, one could take down a subject, instantly severing the nervous system in such a way that the bad guy would never be able to depress the trigger of his own weapon. In a tactical situation, it was one of the most difficult of all shots, and used sparingly.
At the shooting box, Callahan drew out his pistol and inserted a magazine. Still facing downrange, he racked the slide and chambered a round, then replaced the pistol back in its holster, before readjusting the fit of his eye-and-ear protection.
“What kind of weapon is he using?” Thomas questioned.
“It’s a Caspian .38 Super with a C-MORE electronic sight that emits a passive red targeting dot,” answered Christian.
“It’s a high-capacity race gun with all the bells and whistles, like the compensator, enlarged mag well, and safeties. All this makes the gun feel good and shoot fast and accurate.”
“I haven’t had much experience with those electronic sights,” admitted Thomas.
“How hard is it to acquire the red dot on target after drawing or when you’re shooting? Do you actually take the time to find it, or do you do it by feel?”
“As in all shooting, sir, once you get used to your equipment, nearly all of the physical mechanics becomes muscle memory, the gun feeling comfortable and becoming a natural extension of your hand and arm. With practice, not only can you acquire the intended targets more rapidly, but you can also see more and even think faster.”
“Are you ready. Colonel?” asked a soldier from the direction of the shooting box as he positioned himself behind Ted Callahan and held up a palm-sized digital timer.
Callahan carefully scanned the targets one more time, then took a deep breath and nodded that he was good to go.
“Shooter ready… Stand by…”
The timer activated with a loud, piercing tone giving the signal to begin, and Ted Callahan drew his pistol, aimed downrange, and began firing rapidly. In a matter of seconds, the first line of torso-shaped steel poppers fell. It was while running to the next box that he ejected the mostly spent magazine from his gun, and reloaded a full one that he retrieved from his belt. This time his aim was restricted by the steel barrel he was forced to shoot through, the exploding report of bullets striking steel clearly heard as the individual plates and gravity-turning targets were engaged.
Thomas counted off eighteen shots before the next-to-last popper fell, revealing the final target of the scenario. From his vantage point, Thomas watched Callahan aim the red dot of his pistol to the head of the hostage-taker popper and hesitate the briefest of seconds before squeezing off his final shot. The popper fell with a perfectly centered head shot, and he ejected the magazine, cleared the live round from the chamber, and bolstered a safe weapon.
“Hoo-ah!” exclaimed a massed chorus of voices from the bleachers.
“One miss in seventeen-point-five-four seconds, with hostage taker eliminated,” reported the official scorekeeper, after sweeping the range with his binoculars.
Another resounding chorus of “Hoo-ah” emanated from the bleachers, and Ted Callahan looked relieved as he removed his ear protection and turned around to acknowledge this cheer of support. And it was only then that he spotted Thomas.
“Hell, if I knew you were watching, Kellogg, I wouldn’t have gone and intentionally missed that target,” Callahan jested, his smile wide and genuine.
“That’s not bad shooting. Colonel, for a desk-bound fast-food junkie,” replied Thomas, who accepted his old friend’s handshake, and followed him over to a nearby table holding refreshments.
“Seriously, Thomas, it’s good to see you again,” said Callahan, who toasted his newly arrived guest with a cup of ice water.
Captain Christian was in the process of taking his place in the shooter’s box, and Callahan beckoned toward the young officer, saying, “And now we’re about to see a real shooter do his thing. Captain Jay Christian is an instructor at the MP school. He was formerly with Delta, and came here from Benning, where he was an award-winning member of the Army Marksmanship Unit.”
They watched Christian prepare his weapon, and Callahan’s voice lowered to a bare whisper.
“I’m sorry I had to pull you off the abortion clinic bombing case, Thomas. But when I called your office at aTF headquarters this morning and learned that you were nearby in Union, I couldn’t resist the opportunity of asking Director McShane for your services.”
“Your timing couldn’t have been better, Ted. In fact, your call reached me just as my latest lead was in the process of fizzling out. It seems for the last month I’ve been going in circles, and I must admit it’s good to get away, clear the old head, and hopefully find some new perspective. Besides, I’m really enjoying being back on an Army post, though with all these young faces around, I’m feeling my age.”
“Are you ready?” asked the timer from the shooting box.
Captain Christian nodded that he was, and when the timer’s electronic tone sounded, he expertly drew out his pistol and began firing. The first series of shots went downrange like an automatic weapon, and when he sprinted to the next box and reloaded, the entire sequence passed in a blur. Bullets hit steel, the targets fell, and unlike Ted Callahan, Christian didn’t hesitate when it came down to the final shot.