Gun Work

And the end of three hundred excruciating seconds — which Sirius had to count off individually — Karlov said, “Now do your trigger pulls.”

Barney managed nineteen out of forty. His hand started to bleed and he blotted it with a paper towel.

“Thought so,” said Karlov. “I have confabulated a little assist for you.” He produced a pair of one-inch-wide strips of nylon that resembled dog leashes. “Thumb hole at this end,” he said. “The other end loops around your neck.” He threaded Barney into the contraption and bade him hold the pistol up again. “Now, lean forward. Push with your arm as though you are stretching. You see?”

The strap provided a stable hand-arm-eye link through very gentle tension. It was like a built-in bench rest. Karlov showed Barney how to adjust the tiny buckles he had installed for a snug fit.

“How’s your trigger wrap?” He was referring to the surplus reach afforded by using his middle finger to trigger.

“Feels like I’ve got a Vienna sausage spliced onto the end of my finger.”

The next gun he handed Barney was a Beretta .92FS Brigadier in 9-millimeter. “Try this with the strap.”

Barney’s hand wrapped the butt and his fingertip kissed the groove of the match trigger. Karlov had replaced the commander-style hammer with a skeletonized Beretta Elite. “What did you do?”

“Machined the frame myself. Fattened the grip to make up for the distance in your finger reach. Enlarged the backstrap and made a set of palm swells out of rubber with recessed screw mounts; you can feel out the different sizes and pick what feels natural for you. A four-pound pull in single action. Made the slide heavier. There was too much trigger travel so I put in a speedbump. I think it’s beefy, but the bulk should give you more control. Oh, and it will take hi-cap mags now — 22 rounds.”

“I’d lose those crappy sights,” said Sirius. “Put some Tritium night sights on it.”

“Not for close-quarter,” said Karlov. “Discrimination is more important for speed shooting.”

Sirius nodded. They had all seen men who could shoot faster than they could think. You spot a weapon in the hands of what you think is a hostile, your eyes zap to center mass, your finger pulls the trigger, and a round is flying before your brain catches up and informs you that you have just launched a bullet at a friendly instead of a gunner or at a hostage who turns out to be unarmed.

Armand rummaged in his bag for a rack of cartridges and loaded Barney’s clip. “Shoot these and tell me what you think. One hundred and twenty-three grain, full metal jacket.”

“Not hollow points?” said Barney.

“Might cause it to jam.”

Armand’s slugs rocketed from the muzzle at 445 foot-pounds and 1,280 feet per second. With the strap, Barney kept all his tags in the main torso grid of the target at twenty-five yards.

Most gun work took place close-up. Ninety percent of gunfights occur at distances of nine feet or less. Of that ninety percent, eighty percent happen within three feet. Amazingly, defensive shooters tended to score one shot in ten at those distances, because you had to factor in bad light, sleepiness, surprise, or compromised placement. A ten percent hit rate when you were shooting for your life was not acceptable.

“Coat those with Teflon,” said Armand, “and they’ll grease through a vest like butter.”

“Shotguns?” said Barney.

“Full size Benelli M4 semi-autos with a stock, a pistol grip, and a combat muzzle. Every load from buckshot to flechettes.” The M4 had originally been developed for Marine Corps and SWAT use. Pumpguns were for showoffs, or the movies.

“Smoke?” said Barney.

“Them smoke grenades are the only military ord we have,” said Sirius. “They’re not exactly what you wanted, but—”

“Do they smoke?” said Barney.

Sirius decided to put his explanation on hold. “Yeah, they smoke just fine.”

“Shipping?” said Barney.

“Already taken care of,” said Sirius.

“Jesus... anybody want a pizza?” Barney was surprised at how quickly he had run out of questions. These three men had him covered.

The reason they had thrown Barney their unconditional support was a bit dicey. They all possessed superlative gun expertise and none had cause to casually risk their lives. They all had been in life-or-death situations involving gunplay and the use of firepower. They all had known combat, urban or wartime, usually from a defense posture. What Barney had offered them was the kind of opportunity that comes rarely, and is almost never planned — a tactical assault on superior forces where each man’s knowledge and experience would determine the outcome. No safe fallbacks and no guarantees. You can talk for a lifetime of conviction to certain absolutes, but rarely do you get the chance to purposefully acid-test those maxims in a real-world context. This was a chance for these men to find out if what they knew — or what they thought they knew — was worth anything.