Book 1: Ch 1

*BEEP*

“Go, go, go!”

I heard the beep and I took off running. My lungs already felt like they were burning and my legs as if being pumped full of battery acid. My gear I brought with me felt almost twice its weight and the ten pound piece of metal hanging off the two point strap slung on my shoulder seemed almost like a burden. It was my third run in the day and I already felt spent from all of the running and gunning. At the uninitiated, running around and shooting guns would sound like a lot of fun, but what most would love to tell you later is that you also have to carry your all your gear with you.

I reached the wooden barricade set up on the dirt road and laid my hand on top, then my rifle, my fingers followed by pinching the handguard between my index finger and thumb. It was done to give the rifle maximum stability for aiming and shooting, I used to have to always remind myself to do it but now it just comes to me automatically. The crisp click of the safety being turned off immediately followed, and like I said, it now just comes automatically.

The hilly desert contrasted very well with the black colored steel silhouettes and it made easy target recognition. I didn’t waste any time as I immediately took aim at the targets but my crosshairs kept getting interference from my still elevated heart rate. After applying some breathing techniques, I finally had it down to a manageable level.

I aimed the illuminated crosshair just above the target and to its left, compensating from both the bullet drop and the 15 mile per hour crosswind. Squeezing the trigger, the rifle barked and I felt the recoil push against my shoulder. I didn’t bother with it as my attention was in the visible vapor trail left by the bullet as it sailed up and to the left of the silhouette and down to hit it right below center-mass, the target swung from the impact and gave off a delayed crisp ping.

“Hit” Ron said, followed by the ring. He is serving as my spotter and is currently looking at the wide angle 20x spotting scope. He is to tell me where the rounds landed in the case of missed shots and call out hits. That is in case the recoil of my weapon made me unable to see where the bullet went.

I traversed the rifle just a few degrees and then saw the next target. I gave the same amount of holdover the target and gently squeezed the trigger, almost getting myself startled by the report.

“Miss, two feet left and one just above”

The present wind speed would have blown away the puff of dust that the bullet made on impact. I then made my adjustments according to what Ron said and squeezed again and rewarded by the crisp sound of the steel bells ringing, that’s two out of five. And kind of knowing the right holdover in this distance gave me some confidence on my shooting.

*BANG!*

“Hit.”

*PING*

*BANG!*

*PING*

*BANG!*

“Hit, now go to the next point. Move!”

I picked myself up and took off running for the next checkpoint, another hundred yards uphill towards the next barricade. This one bringing its batch of problems. The next targets would be in the excess of three hundred yard distances, although my rifle with its 14 inch barrel would reach that distance, I couldn’t trust my skill in achieving such a difficult shot with such a light round, I would most likely miss more than I would hit. So I laid down my rifle and picked up another, one I put there for such an occasion, this one much more suitable for the job at hand.

The Vepr rifle, unlike its Dragunov counterpart designed purely off the Kalashnikov series, was designed taking account of the heavier RPK’s receiver, which is a light machinegun compared to the assault rifle that is the Kalashnikov. Allowing it to handle the high pressures present in the upgraded round. Also, the fact that the Vepr is now being produced for the civilian market as a hunting rifle allows the manufacturers to employ tighter tolerances and thus making it more accurate. Slap in a pair of good mount and a piece of glass on top and you have your own big game hunting rifle/ designated marksman rifle comparable to the best ones in the market at the fraction of the price. Both in the rifle itself and the ammo, as the 7.62x 54mmR 440 round surplus tins are sold at an excess of a hundred bucks, delivering the same amount of fun and energy while being cheaper than dirt.

There’s also the fact that the SVD Dragunov is almost nonexistent in the civilian market and is very expensive when found. Unlike the Vepr which is available and affordable.

I picked up the rifle, even took a second to admire the beautiful checkered walnut handguard, then laid it on the barricade, employing the same technique of pinching the stock to keep it steady. The 16x scope allowed me to easily find the steel target by looking for the bright colored flag placed right next to it. We placed it to help the shooter with easier target location and wind measurements because, I mean come on, it’s already hard enough running hundreds of yards carrying an ten pound rifle and around twenty worth in gear. Throw in a long distance target without proper range finding and no wind measurements then you’re just torturing yourself and not trying to have some manly fun.

Looking at the sway of the flag gave me a close estimate of the windspeed and direction. After a quick calculations using the mildots etched into the riflescope, I managed to estimate the distance between me and the target, bringing those two numbers, I have my windage. I held the crosshairs two dots above the steel target and one to the left. I fired and watched as the bullet reach its trajectory and fragment against the hardened steel target and bringing up multitude of dust puffs all around.

Ron whistled, “Hit, right on the first shot, very impressive bro considering that you look like you’re going to have a heart attack for a moment there.”

“My rifles speak to me, they love me and do their best to please me. That’s why I could always beat your ass using comparatively cheap ass rifles.” Bullets have their trajectories, the trick is knowing them and knowing your rifle well. Pit a grizzled veteran with an old rifle against a rookie with the latest gear, you wouldn’t have to guess who will leave alive.

It would be safe to say that I demolished the rest of the targets set in the range within 500 yards, me, using a trusted and well used weapon system alongside a very good spotter. “Thirty-two seconds faster than your last run, good job bro.” Ron said as he looked at the timer hanging off his wrist.

“It’s a thing called talent Ron, something you probably never had or even heard of.” I said, picking up my rifle then resting it on my shoulder and ending with a pose.

He scoffed, “Yeah right, if you call something like that a talent, then I wonder what you’d call my next run.”

“A failure?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, it’s like you really thought you had a chance.” He said then held the radio he carried in front of him. “Yo Nick, it’s your turn. Get to the starting point, oh, and time yourself, I’ll be waiting at the first checkpoint because I’m lazy.” Nick was the youngest and the newest in our group out here in the middle of nowhere so it’s customary that he gets shit for it.

“Cool, I’ll be running my AR but I don’t have anything that could reliably reach out past 300 yards. Can I borrow any of your rifles for that?”

Ron sniffed “Let’s see if you could get past 200 first, then we’ll talk. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, then go!”

Nick is starting off in the base of the hill and is currently running up. He was wearing a pair of 5.11 tactical pants and a desert tan plate carrier atop his collared shirt. Along with some quality hiking boots, he looked like some character in a movie whose task is to bust down a drug dealer in Cuba during his interrupted golfing session or something.

“Jog, don’t sprint.” Ron said in the radio and I could see Nick slow down on his ascent. It wouldn’t do much getting to the checkpoint at record time all winded since it’s pretty much impossible for someone to shoot accurately while breathing heavy and having his heart pound like a double kick drum on a heavymetal concert.

We got down to the first barricade the same time as Nick, he then quickly set himself up in the most stable position he could afford and laid his rifle on top of the lip of the barricade, employing the same finger-thumb pinch to keep the rifle from sliding sideways. Ron also set himself up in the spotting scope to see where the rounds would be landing and give Nick some tips whenever needed. “Shoot whenever ready.” Ron said.

I was looking at Nick’s trigger finger to see if he would be jerking his triggerpull, which is a very common thing done by new shooters, and sometimes even experienced ones, it’s just a simple problem that could be easily solved by calling them out when they’re unknowingly doing it. He pressed his finger on the trigger and gave a consistent pull.

*CLICK*

Nick gave off a face of bewilderment and Ron looked up from his scope and patiently waited, just one of the many common mistakes a shooter makes at least once in his lifetime. Nick pulled the charging handle and took a peek at the chamber, “Fuck!” I heard him swore under his breath followed by him dropping his magazine, which fell and hit the barricade with the familiar clack unique only done by an empty magazine. He then fished another magazine from his vest and took a look inside just to be sure.

“Sorry about that.” Nick said as he slapped the magazine home and charged the rifle.

“Its fine, if there is a best time to do your mistakes, it would be now. One of the reasons we do this is to find mistakes and oversights so we don’t get to have them later when it counts.” I said.

Ron nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry man, people may not want to admit it but everyone has made the same mistakes you did at least once in their lives.”

“Right. Thanks.” He said, his ears turning red.

The clock was ticking and everyone went back to their previous roles. Nick settled back into his firing position and looked through his sights, his target would be around the ballpark of a hundred yards, increasing with fifty yards. He took a long slow breath, and gave a steady trigger pull. The rifle went off with a crack. “Miss, you got it centered low with only a little bit.” Ron said.

Nick made the adjustments and fired the second time, “Hit” Ron said followed by the crisp ping of steel. Nick gave off two more shots, producing the same effect, that target done, he moved on to the ballpark hundred fifty yard target. He paused and raised his head away from this scope, and suddenly I saw blood dribbling out of his nose as he raised his hand to dab the bleeding.

“Hey man, are you okay?” I asked as I bent over to help and noticed blood dribbling out of my nose too.

“Adrian, your nose is bleeding too.” Ron said who also had blood dribbling out of his nose, the red spots of his blood in stark contrast to his desert tan vest.

“You too bro” I said, pinching my nose and reaching over to the small of my back where I keep my small medkit or ‘booboo kit’ as I call it, it had a pair of tampons in it and its perfect for bleeding noses. I put them on, not giving a fuck on how ridiculous I must have looked, and tossed a patch of gauze to the two.

The two took the gauze and almost shoved it to their noses. “It must’ve been the heat.” Ron said as he looked up at the noonday sun “how ‘bout we get to the trucks and wait it out.” He then groggily stood up and walked like a drunk as he made his way to the parked trucks.

I was feeling like shit as I followed his lead, and was trailing behind Nick. He then fell over limp after a couple of steps and hit the hard packed dirt road with a thud. I went over to help him, only to find the ground coming at me fast. I felt weak, really weak and with the last ounce of the feeble energy I had I only managed to look over to Ron who was also on the ground, unmoving.

Well. Shit.