2 Shots

2 Shots

From this range, the enemy looked about 3 inches tall. He could see half a dozen of them spread out, and in partial cover. They were in olive drab uniforms and he could see them clearly in his sights. He could have used a scope; but he didn’t. That was mainly because it was easier to shoot with his glasses. He had been wearing corrective lenses for several years and using a scope with his rifle was problematic. 

He routinely qualified Expert on the range and could be counted on to out shoot the other members of his company on a regular basis. His father had taught him to shoot as a boy; and one thing he always remembered as he sighted through the notch of his rear sight down to the blade at the front of his rifle was B.R.A.S.S. This was an acronym that his father had taught him and also had taught to marine recruits during his time as a Drill Instructor. It stood for: Breathe, Relax, Aim, Slack, & Squeeze.

His primary target was holding a sidearm of some sort; perhaps a 9mm, and fell to his first shot. Center of mass was what he usually went for: head shots were for zombie movies and in reality would often mean a miss, whereas center of mass meant that even if you were a little off, your target would go down. He quickly sighted in on the next figure; this one had an assault rifle, and this one went down as well. All told; he took down half a dozen figures in less than 20 seconds.

“Good shooting man” both of his friends said nearly simultaneously. “Your turn to set them up” he was told. That was the drill; so he got up from his prone position and walked out through his patio door to the back of his yard where the half dozen “slain” plastic army men lay strewn about.

He carefully set up the half dozen olive drab plastic army men in various spots in the back yard. Some of them were behind partial cover because his friend Bob had placed his targets in some partial cover; he thought it was because Bob knew that he was a better shot so the partial cover might mean that there could be a miss. Of course this was important, because of course this was a competition. Everything between teen age boys is a competition even if they are very good friends. 

Once the army men were set up; he retreated back beyond the patio door and behind his now prone friend Bob. Greg was standing there watching and waiting for his turn. Greg and Bob had come over that morning with juice and donuts, and a plan to do some shooting.

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He watched quietly as JDR took aim at the first of 6 green soldiers hidden in and around shrubbery in the back yard. He had placed the men in semi cover because JDR was an awesome shot and he knew that he; Bob, needed any advantage he could get if he was going to win this thing. Even though they hadn’t talked about it being a contest; of course it was a contest.

 This was turning out to be a pretty cool Saturday hanging out with 2 of his older friends. All 3 of them were in R.O.T.C. and the other 2 were juniors while he was a freshman. He only hung out with the older boys because he had known JDR when they were both in grade school back in another neighborhood. 

All 3 of the boys were smart and funny, and they got along despite the age differences. Bob watched as JDR held his breath and fired. The first plastic man went down followed pretty quickly by another 5. A perfect round was not uncommon for his friend; even with the slight disadvantage that Bob had given him by partially hiding the plastic figures. “Good shooting man”, he and Greg said at pretty much the same time. It was a true statement and then Greg told JDR: “your turn to set em up”. Bob watched as his friend JDR took a few minutes setting up the plastic men. Most of them were in at least semi cover beside a rose bush here and a clump of grass over there. One of them was hanging from a twig on a rose bush and was mostly concealed.  That was going to be a tough shot.

He waited till after JDR finished setting up the men and then went back behind him with Greg to wait while Bob took his turn shooting.

Bob took a knee and put his Crossman 2100 classic model bb gun to his shoulder. Bob remembered his friend telling him something about brass and shooting but most of his own experience came from the arcade and plinking in his own back yard. His own father who was a marine like JDR’s, was in the quartermaster corps, not a bad ass Drill Instructor like his friends. The advice his father gave him leaned more towards organizing his collection of comics and maintaining an orderly room. Clean Room! Like that’s a thing that teen age boys do.

The first 3 green army men were taken out quite handily by Bob; but the 4^th was the one that was very nearly hidden and even though he clipped the twig that the plastic soldier was hiding behind, it refused to go down. That rattled him and he missed the next shot as well. His total ended up being 4 out of 6. “Crap!” he uttered and he heard JDR and Greg let out a small chuckle each. Greg offered his thoughts; commenting ,”guess you’re not man enough to take out all the bad guys”. “Your turn to set them up” both Greg and JDR said; and so that’s what Bob set out to do.

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All three of the boys were outside in the back yard while Bob set up the half dozen green plastic soldiers in various positions and behind cover. One of the soldiers: the one who was poised with a hand grenade ready to toss, was pushed into the soil at the base of a rose bush. The tricky thing that Bob did was to place part of the soldier touching the bush and he also pushed the soldier down slightly into the soil. This meant that Greg was not going to knock this plastic guy over no matter what he tried. Greg was watching this and knew what Bob was doing. He already knew that he had to get a perfect score of 6 out of 6 to match JDR; and then he would have to win a tie breaker to win this morning’s contest that wasn’t a contest – but really was a contest- Teenage boys can be subtle in their own ways. Even though usually they are the least subtle thing known to man. 

Greg had sat through JDR’s perfect 6 for 6 massacre of the Plastic Army Men, knowing that he had to match that - and that was ok. Greg was a pretty good shot. Not as consistently good as his shorter, brilliant friend; but confident in his own ability none the less. But now that butt munch Bob was making it impossible for him to win. And today had started out so cool with Greg picking up Bob and a dozen donuts and heading over to JDR’s to hang out. Now Bob has to go and sabotage Greg’s victory. Well that would not – nay – could not stand.

Greg had to teach Bob a lesson so while Bob was bent over placing the last of the green plastic soldiers under cover; Greg shouldered his air gun, from a standing position and took careful aim. His target was clear and Greg was aiming slightly right of center of mass when he pulled the trigger. And then all hell broke loose!

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First there was pain and then Bob shouted/yelped out “MY ASS!” Bob’s right butt cheek was on fire due to taking a hit from a BB travelling at roughly 700 feet per second. Bob spun around and took in the tableau before him. Both of his friends stood in front of the sliding patio door. JDR looked shocked and Greg looked guilty. The fact that Greg was the only one holding an air rifle made it clear that he had fired on Bob’s backside. JDR started to laugh; Bob couldn’t blame him really, but still, damn!!! Bob decided on an action in an instant and leaned over to pick his BB gun off the ground. Greg’s eyes widened comically, and then he turned and ducked back into the house, surely thinking that Bob wouldn’t fire on him if he was inside. Now what ever gave Greg that idea? Bob dropped to one knee; coincidentally his favorite and most accurate firing position and quickly took aim and fired.

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He didn’t even see Greg fire his air rifle. The first that JDR knew something was amiss was when Bob hopped 2 feet in the air and hollered out “MY ASS!” It was then that he saw Greg out of the corner of his eye, lowering his rifle. He took a step to the side and looked at Greg, then quickly at the Ass Stricken Bob. Then he did what most teen age boys and honestly, probably, most people would do. He laughed. JDR often told people that it was always funny till someone got hurt: then it was hilarious. He saw humor in things that some did not. It wasn’t that he was mean or heartless; maybe it was because he was too smart, or too observant. He saw Bob look at them both, and focus on Greg, probably because he had left his rifle inside while Greg was still holding the proverbial – not literal – smoking gun. Several things happened all at once then. JDR continued to laugh; loud, side splitting laughs, and Bob grabbed his rifle and dropped to his knee. JDR had noticed that Bob liked to fire from that position and it did seem to be his most accurate. Greg muttered “shit” under his breath while his eyes widened comically large. He then spun about and dashed inside the house through the open glass sliding door and turned about to see what was going to happen next.

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Greg looked out the open sliding glass door to see JDR laughing hysterically, and Bob on one knee with his air rifle pointed in his direction. He didn’t recall hearing the very slight pop that always accompanied an air rifle when it fired. All he knew was PAIN! He didn’t even realize until his friends talked about it later that he blurted out the “F” word quite loudly. High on his inner left thigh was a blazing pain that Greg had known on occasion, since he and his friends would occasionally engage in BB Gun Wars. They didn’t wear any padding other than regular clothes when they did this: and it was exactly what it sounded like. They would stalk each other and shoot each other – the most dangerous game- and to any adults astonishment; no one had shot an eye out yet. Greg had never taken a hit on bare flesh so close to his core before. He was wearing shorts and was wondering how bad the hit was. He quickly pulled his shorts down; faster than any “pantsing” episode he had ever been involved in, and looked down at his upper left thigh.

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Bob saw Greg take the hit and very loudly yell out “FUCK!” Bob had been aiming for center of mass; but it was a quick shot and Bob could see Greg quickly pull down his shorts and look at his upper left thigh. One of Bob’s first thoughts was “that’s what he gets for Ass Shooting me” but then he worried that he might have shot his friend in the Dick! And JDR was now on the ground; on his back laughing hysterically. Rolling back and forth and occasionally muttering “hit him in the Dick! Right in the Dick!”

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Much later in the day; after many fast food hamburgers and fries – they were teen age boys after all – they all shared a laugh or two, or maybe more. It turned out that even though Bob was worried and no matter what JDR muttered while he lay on the ground overcome with hysterical laughter: Greg had not been hit in the Dick! It seems that his worry had been on the right side of his underwear and thus spared the traumatic BB injury. At least no one shot an eye out!