Blasphemy & Heresy

Lots of you have written asking what handgunning “discipline du jour,” signature school of shooting, trademarked technique, or method-of-the-month I subscribe to. I don’t. I have what I call “evolved practices,” and they’re still evolving. It’s kinda hard to explain, but imagine most, but not all of your “mechanical firearm handling, feeding and functioning” details being derived from training here, there, and everywhere, military and police, and then, your “engagement processes and procedures” being built like the layers of a monster sub sandwich, as you learn just exactly how you — and others — tend to react under fire, fear, fatigue, pain and anger; what sticks with you and what doesn’t. What you wind up with is, “Here’s How I Fight — Generally — Today. It may differ somewhat tomorrow, and I’m sure I’ll make some stuff up as I go along.” These “evolved practices” are the result of my experiences and I’ve bet my life on ’em, so they’re sorta the Ultimate Empirical Experiment, you know? They principally spring from three episodes in my life, supplemented by scads of fill-in slices from other scenarios. We’ll call ’em The Two Dudes, The Greyhound Rules, and The Shoot-Down Drill. You may not understand until I’ve explained all three and then wrapped ’em up for you.

The Two Dudes

My first two engagements with handguns occurred in the three months before my twentieth birthday. In both cases I was moving, pistol in hand on rough ground, with my off-hand “occupied,” in the first instance with a jammed long gun, and in the second, I was half-carrying half-dragging a wounded comrade, with our two rifles slung. Both took place in heavy foliage and in both cases I suddenly came up against lone enemy troops.

I had just turned a blind hook to the left on a moderate downhill grade when the first dude appeared at about 20 feet. He was holding a rifle in his right hand at the receiver. Still running, I shot him twice at about ten feet. In the second, I was struggling on a steep, heavily-jungled trail when up popped Dude #2 at about 15 feet. He was rising from a crouch and reaching for a rifle leaning against growth to his right. He looked shocked and confused. Without breaking forward movement, I shot him twice.

Only in retrospect was I surprised at the similarities of these events. At the time they seemed like “business as usual.” There were other similarities, and some differences which may only seem significant to other people — not to me. Results and reactions were the same in both cases. They sat down hard and fell over. In neither case did I stick around. Their side of the fight was over, and that’s all I cared about.

Both were hit solid twice in the torso. I was conscious of a firm grip and trigger control. I didn’t glimpse my sights. I was only aware of forcefully extending my right arm and pointing. I had not been taught “double-taps” — that wasn’t included in Marine Corps training. I just shot ’em twice. In one case my sidearm was an issue 1911; a well-worn warrior that rattled like your Uncle Fred’s flat-bed farm truck. Ammo was issue 230-grain round nose ball. In the other, I was carrying the standard sidearm of the unit I was working with — an equally experienced Hi-Power — and ammo was standard NATO 124- grain round nose ball.