He turned. Earl stood behind him, 45 leveled straight at his face for a perfect head shot, and snapped the trigger.
Then Earl said, 'Congratulations, Short. You killed three of your own team members, you killed your partner, and you got yourself killed too. Just think of what you could have done if you'd have gotten to the second floor!'
D. A. gathered the young men in the dirt road out front of 3-3-2, invited the fellows to shed the body armor, stack the guns, take off the hats and coats and loosen the ties and light 'em up if they had 'em. It was blazing hot and most of the men had sweated through their clothes. They were a pretty sad-looking bunch: dampened and dejected.
'Now fellows,' he said, 'I'd be lying if I told you you did a good job. Frankly a bagful of coons locked in a cellar with ten pounds of raw meat might have behaved better. Basically what I saw was a series of mistakes compounding mistakes. I don't know what happened to your communications. Front-entry team at least hung together; too bad you got wiped out by the rear-entry team. Now, as I told you, the deal is simultaneous entrance. That's the trick. You have to be coming from two directions at once with overwhelming force. They have to understand that there is no possibility of victory and that resistance is futile.
'I will admit that we threw you some ringers. Mr. Earl popped a smoke grenade just to confuse the issue. I would say it confused you plenty. Would anyone disagree with me? The back door was locked. Did anybody think to look above the doorjamb? That's where the key was. Instead, at that point, rear-entry team just fell apart. Did rear-entry team walkie-talkie front-entry team? Nah. I was monitoring the radios upstairs. You were out of contact, and when you're out of contact, all kinds of hob can play. Finally, fellows, you can't let yourself get too excited. We had an unfortunate experience where one team member became separated, and got extremely aggressive with his weapon. He was supposed to be in support, but he rushed ahead, brought fire on die other team, then shot his partner, then rushed up a stairwell without securing the zone behind him and got shot by Mr. Earl. Fellows, you have to stay calm. If you let your emotions get the best of you, you become dangerous to your team members. This is about teamwork, fellows, remember. Teamwork, communications, good shooting skills, controlled aggression, sound tactics. That's the core of the art. You got anything. Earl?'
'Only this. I learned this one the hard way. The fight is going to be what it wants to be. You got to be ready to go with it, follow it where it goes, and deal with it. Remember: Always cheat, always win.'
Fire and movement.
It was the most necessary training and the most dangerous.
'I saved this for last,' said D. A., 'because you have to work on your gun-handling skills and your self- discipline before you can even think about such a thing. This is the one where if you screw up, you kill a buddy or a bystander.'
The course, as D. A. designed it, was set up in a tempo office building that administered the ranges back when the depot was turning out men for war. Now it was scheduled for destruction when the government's budget would allow it. It could be shot up to everybody's content and all walls but the front one were declared shootable. That gave the men a 270-degree shooting arc.
'You move through in two-man teams, just like on a real raid. The man on the right takes the targets on the right. The man on the left the targets on the left. Short, controlled bursts. Remember, trust your buddy. And, for God's sake, stay together!'
That was Earl. He would walk behind each team as they ran the course, as a safety measure.
The guys waited their turns as each two-man team ran the course. Inside the house, they could hear the quick stutters of the tommy guns and the bark of the.45s as each team popped its targets. One by one the teams emerged intact, joyous, and Earl would call up another team.
Finally, it was Frenchy and Carlo's turn.
'Okay, guys, you just take her easy. Short, you listening today?'
'Yes sir.'
'Good. Okay, who's on the big gun?'
The two hadn't discussed this. They looked at each other.
'Henderson, you're bigger. You run the big gun. Short, you're a damned good pistol man. You work your.45. Remember, controlled speed, make sure of your targets, keep relating to your partner. Know where he is at all times, and nobody has to get hurt.'
'Gotcha,' said Frenchy.
The two young officers locked and loaded their weapons under Earl's supervision, then bent and got into the heavy armored vests.
'All right,' he said, 'muzzles level, we're shoulder to shoulder, we're not rushing, we're all eyes looking for targets. You shoot the black targets. You don't shoot the targets with white Xs on them. That would be civilians. Henderson, remember, three-shot bursts on that thing, dead center. You, Short, you're responsible for the left-hand sector. Henderson, you take the right. Don't hold the gun too tightly. Okay, fellas, I'm right here for you. All set?'
Both youngsters nodded.
'Let's do her good,' said Earl.
Frenchy kicked the door, which yielded quickly. They entered, walked in tandem down a long corridor. At a certain point Earl flicked on a wall switch and two targets stood before them. Frenchy, his pistol out, was fast-fast- fast, putting two shots into the chest of his. A split second later Henderson's three-shot burst tore the heart out of the target on the right.
'Good, good,' said Earl. 'Now keep moving, don't bunch up, don't stop to admire yourself, keep your eyes moving.'
They came to a corner. Frenchy jumped across the hall, his gun locked in the triangle of his arms and supported by the triangle of his legs as he hunted for targets. Carlo came next, dropping into a good kneeling shooting position. Two targets were before them, and Earl felt the boys tense as they raised their weapons, but then relax; the targets were Xed.
'Clear,' sang Frenchy.
'Clear,' came the answer.
'Good decision,' said Earl. 'Keep it up.'
They moved on to a stairwell.
'Remember the last time?' Earl asked.
That was a hint. Frenchy jumped into the stairwell, covering the back zone, while Carlo fell to the far wall, orienting his Thompson up the stairs. Both saw their targets immediately. Frenchy's.45 rang twice as he pumped two shots into the silhouette from two feet away and Carlo fired a seven-or eight-shot burst, ripping up two silhouettes at the top of the stairs.
'Clear.'
'Clear.'
The gun smoke heaved and drifted in the smallish space. A litter of spent shells lay underfoot.
'Good work,' said Earl.
Frenchy quickly dropped his magazine, inserted another.
'Great, Short. Nobody else has reloaded and some of 'em have run dry upstairs. Good thinking, son.'
Frenchy actually smiled.
The team crept up the stairs.
They did another explosive turn as they emerged from the stairwell to confront yet another empty hallway. Down it lurked a series of doors.
'Got to clear them rooms,' said Earl.
One by one, the team moved into the rooms. It was tense, close work: they'd kick in a door, scan the room, and find targets that could be shot or targets that couldn't. The gunfire was rapid and accurate, and neither of them made a mistake. No innocents were shot, no bad guys survived.
Finally, there was one room left, the last one.
The two gave each other a look. Frenchy nodded, took a deep breath and kicked the door open, spilling into the room to find targets on the left. One step behind plunged Carlo, who saw three silhouettes behind a table and raised the tommy, found the front sight and pulled the?
