Author's Note:

Thank you again for all your wonderful feedback. These outside POV pieces are really fun to write. So much so, in fact, that I came up with yet another one. LOL

The idea behind this one is that there is a certain time frame every year, during which field agents have to re-prove their firearms qualifications. Let's say that for the main teams on the U.S. West Coast, this time frame is the entire month of April. You simply pick one day, and any shooting range that is convenient to you, and you prove your shooting skills on a number of target sheets.

To that goal, the IMF provides an air-conditioned shooting range in the basement of their headquarters, but the more experienced agents prefer to do their annual re-qualification shooting elsewhere – in places where outside effects like wind, sun reflections and other natural distractions provide a more real environment to test their skills.

The result is that in regular intervals, some outdoor shooting ranges in the vicinity of the IMF get a few customers that aren't exactly like the rest.

You can now meet the owner of one of these shooting ranges. He's an older guy, but don't let him hear you call him that – he's far from rusty, both in body and mind. ;)

This story starts out slow, but I promise that a certain four people are in there.

I hope you like it. Enjoy! :o)

Summary:

When you own a shooting range near the IMF headquarters, you might have some unusual customers every once in a while…

The Range

My name is Craig.

You don't have to know my last name, because as far as I can remember, people only ever called me Craig. That's also the only name on the old wooden sign above the door right behind you. Yeah, the one with the bullet holes. Can't remember how those holes got in there, though. Or maybe I do. But you'll have to ask me over a beer someday.

I know, I'll have to put in a few more nails soon to keep the damn sign from falling down, but hey, it's almost as old as I am – and that's saying something.

As you may have guessed by now, the guy that is mentioned on the sign – that's me.

Craig's Range.

Says it all, doesn't it?

I'm Craig. That piece of dust, lawn, and targets out there is the range. And I'm the owner.

And you better not damage anything besides those targets I set up out there, or I'll have to put it on your bill.

Anyways, in all my years here at the range, I have seen a lot. I've seen guys with guns so large they could barely point them at the targets. And I have seen ladies with revolvers so tiny you didn't know they could even hold a bullet, until they shot the little thing right at the centre of the rings with a perfect bulls-eye. Like I said, I've seen it all.

And I dare say I have also seen all kinds of people here in my time. My favourite ones are the capable ones of course. Like the police officers or private investigators, who use the range for training after work. Military guys are also quite easy, although with them you have to watch out sometimes because they tend to shoot the living daylights out of a target, instead of just firing at the rings or the shape sheets like everybody else.

Which brings me to the braggarts. That's a clientele I don't appreciate at my range. I usually let them know by simply showing them where the door is, in a very friendly manner. I may be an old guy, but I am still quite compact to look at – and that look is usually enough to ensure the peace. My other customers know they are in good hands here. There's no trouble at my range. Only target practice.

That may also be why I sometimes even see some dads out here, who want to teach their kids how to safely handle a gun – and that's cool with me as long as I see that they are responsible people. I always say teach 'em, but teach them right. Kids don't need guns, but they need to know what a gun is, to ensure that if a gun ever ends up in their hands they'll know what to do and what not to do. As long as I see there is no fooling around, kids are welcome at my range.

And then there is one other category of people who come to my range. And these people … well, let's just say they may or may not work for the big boys upstairs.

This is no official government range, but I'm not blind, and I sure ain't dumb – I can see the difference in people who come here for fun, for after work training, and for… something that goes just a little beyond that.

Every year around this time, I tend to get some customers in here who are not only pretty good – they are very good. It's not like they stand out to anyone on the range, but if you spend as many years in this place as I have, you are bound to figure out a thing or two if you don't shut off your eyes completely.

They are not here for practice. They are here for score.

You see, I usually let my customers keep the used target sheets if they want to. A neat bulls-eye to frame for the living room always makes for a nice souvenir. So, some customers take them with them, some don't. But these folks - they might not come here often, but when they do, they always take their target sheets home with them. Every time. Regardless of what they hit.

Oh, they do hit perfectly.

I merely doubt they hang those score sheets up framed in their living rooms.

Since those people don't wear uniforms nor do they have police ID's, that leaves a very short list of possibilities. I don't know what else there is beside the usual suspects – FBI, CIA, NSA or whatever – but if you ask me, my guess is that those target sheets probably end up in some file folder with a dark-red "top secret" stamped on it.

I know a qualification shoot if I see one.

But, I figure it's none of my business to ask.

I may have an educated idea, but until the agency behind those guys and girls comes knocking on my door with an official 'non-disclosure'-form, I'll just keep things the way they are – they use my range and I keep my questions to myself.

And I simply watch and enjoy the show.

Whenever one of them shows up, you can expect to see some shooting that you don't see every day. The military uses their weapons to kill. The police uses their guns to disarm or defend, to protect. These people, however, they don't shoot like they want to frighten some perp or liberate some piece of desert.

They shoot in a way that reminds me of a dark alley. It's dirty and fast, and if you blink you'll miss it. It's the kind of shooting that lets you survive 'anywhere', do 'anything' and come back alive with whatever goal you went after.

And still, despite the uniqueness of the type of shooting that unites these people, there are still subtle differences between each of them. They all have their little quirks. You might call it 'style'. Just keep your eyes open, and you might see some more of these people stop by here today.

I'll officially open the range in about half an hour. What I mean by officially? Well, let's just say that at this time of month I like to open the range a little early, because some of my special customers tend to…

Hang on a sec.

Yep, that's what I thought.

I just saw one of them step onto the range. You see him? There, at the outer lane. Just on the edge of the lawn.

You're wondering how he got there without coming through the front entrance? Good question. Been asking myself that same question for years. If you ever find an answer, let me know.

Honestly, I have no idea. For as long as I've been here, the guy has never used the front door. Not once. In the first couple of years, I always checked the fences right afterwards, because I thought I missed a gap somewhere, but by now I know there are no gaps. Beats me how he comes in here. But he pays like everybody else before he leaves, so he's fine by me.

My guess is he simply prefers to come in a little early, before anyone else. Whether that is because he doesn't want to scare the tourists with his good shooting, or whether he simply doesn't want others to know exactly what he can do with a gun, that's not for me to ask.

All I know is this: The man is pretty damn impressive with a gun. Quick – efficient – deadly.

In fact, I usually start filling out the necessary score forms as soon as I see him walk onto the range – I know he'll nail his target sheets. At the end I just verify the results. It makes for some easy paperwork, I can tell you that.

After the basic targets, which I assume are the ones necessary for his re-qualification, he usually fires off some more shots on a couple of extra sheets for personal score – and these are the really impressive ones. I've seen him relocate targets to distances that are far beyond anything I have ever fired at during my time in the Army. Sure, my Army time was a long time ago. But I also happen to know the current standard distances used in advanced military training. This man goes far beyond even that.

I've also seen this man shoot from angles that certainly aren't standard. When you kick your own gun away at a good length, and then dive after it a few moments later with a perfectly executed roll only to come up smoothly on one leg – and instantly shoot the target sheet right where the human heart would be – that's something that goes beyond anything 'I' consider standard.

But he does it, in what looks like 'standard' for him, with an efficiency and an air of practical experience that makes me wonder what kind of work teaches you to pull off these tricks with so much nonchalance.

But, like I said, I don't ask questions. And in turn, he let's me watch. I guess that is a sign of trust – he trusts me that I won't go peddling with what I see here. And he pays me back by letting me see something I'm sure not many people get to see in their lives.

So, with him, I just quietly watch and wonder. And at the end, always a comfortable few minutes before I officially open the range, I hand him his score form, so he can be on his way. He usually simply smiles in an appreciative manner, and then nods, slowly, the smile still in place. He knows I don't think for one second that he's just an early-bird tourist. But he also knows his secret is safe with me – that's good enough for both of us.

-o-

I had a feeling she'd be coming here next.

She's not been here as long as the other man, but ever since the first time she came here, she's been back here every year. And she uses the front door.

That's not the only thing she does right.

She also knows how to use a gun.

I may be a bit of an old-style guy – the kind that used to think women and guns don't really mix – but when I saw her shoot the first time, I kinda changed my mind about that.

She's good. Very good.

She's also never been one to keep to the shadows when it comes to her rare appearances here at my range. She merely times it right, so she just happens to step onto the range when most everybody is on their lunch break, and nobody else is close-by to bother watching her.

Except me, of course.

And I realize this is probably her lunch break, too.

But she is not in a hurry. This simply seems to be a point on her list of things to do today. She clearly knows what she is capable of, and that she won't need much time to do what she came here for.

Her shooting style is a mirror of that confidence. She's moving between targets at exactly the right speed to hit each of them spot-on without wasting an ounce of energy. Her movements speak of efficiency, and I wouldn't be surprised to find that there is no shorter route between the targets she has set for herself.

She doesn't waste her aim on anything that she doesn't want to hit.

And what she aims at – she nails. She's certainly accurate.

Deadly accurate.

Hell, with that kind of deadly, she could easily join the other guy. They might make a good team.

-o-

After the afternoon rush, the range is once again a little quieter. Just some tourists left on lane 4 and 5 and a two former Seals on lane 8.

I send the next customer over to lane 2. He's been here three times total. All of those times early last year. In fact, the first two times he came here, it was with that lady. She showed him around, and helped him practice. He seemed to be working up to a different kind of qualification, maybe some kind of graduation test or something. He seemed to have passed it, too, because when April rolled around last year, and the guy showed up for his third visit at my range, he was here for a score card, just like the rest of them.

As I see him now, shooting at those medium range targets on lane 2, I can see he's been obviously getting some practice in. Not on my range - maybe not even on any range – but wherever he got to shoot his gun, he's definitely picked up a few traits that show me he has passed the 'student' phase. It's just in the way he holds his gun. In the way he doesn't get distracted by other people anymore. There is also something different in his stance now.

He's no longer scared of his own skills. The first time I saw him hit a ring, I thought he would drop the gun, he was so surprised. Now, he hits the rings in a way that tells me he has fired his gun at other things in the meantime, as well. I know that once you have shot a real person with your gun, rings on a target range become your friend. They don't die. There are no emotional consequences with them.

This guy used to be a bit scared of the rings. Now he looks at them differently.

I don't know where or under what circumstances, but I'd bet a case of bullets that this man has had to shoot at something that wasn't lifeless like those rings. It changed him, but he's handling it. I can see that in the way he's carrying himself now – he's aware of the responsibility he's holding in his hands. And – judging by the scores he's shooting – I'd also say he has earned the right to shoulder that responsibility. He's certainly no longer firing at my shrubbery.

He's hitting his marks. Maybe not as fast as the other guy, or as accurately as the lady, but his scores are within the inner circle every time. I smile as I fill out his score card, and I watch him, as he happily picks it up at my desk. As he bids me farewell, his score card safely in his bag - is that a laptop bag? - I can see him take out a cell phone on his way out. He's probably calling some friends to tell them he did well at the range. And he sure did. His friends can be proud of him. And I bet they are.

-o-

It's getting well past 6 now. I usually start packing up by this time of day, but, like I said, this particular month is always a bit different. And, as if to prove me right, shortly before my usual closing time, there comes another man, asking for a lane and a couple of targets to shoot at.

This guy is very interesting.

I've never seen him before, but something tells me he is one of them.

But what really picks my interest is the part where he starts loading his gun. He's the only one left on the range. I have switched off most of the external lighting for the other lanes already. So it's only his lane that is lit up. He doesn't seem to mind.

In fact, I get the feeling he is glad that nobody else is left watching besides me. For a moment I wonder if that's because he thinks he's such a bad shot that he doesn't want an audience to laugh at him.

But when he fires his first shot, I am forced to discard that theory.

That didn't look like the shot of someone who's never fired a gun before.

There is something about his stance that reminds me of an experienced marksman, but something is off. It's almost like he is … rusty. Yeah, that's how I would describe it. The skill is definitely there. The secure grip on the gun, the way his eyes zero in on the target, the relaxed stance of someone who knows he'll hit the target – it's all there. The only thing that he seems a bit insecure about is the mental aspect of it all.

His first few bullets hit the score card dead-on. But then there are a few that go wide. Only as far as the edge of the card, but wide for someone like him. It's like he's fighting with himself, like he knows he can be deadly with a gun, but he's not sure if he wants to be.

That goes on for about ten, fifteen minutes.

He then looks at the sky. For just a moment. Like he's coming to a decision.

When he eventually faces the targets again, he starts out much slower than before. He deliberately raises the gun again, and this time I recognize the stance immediately – that is the stance of an experienced marksman. And I can practically see his body remember all the little details that are necessary to make a perfect shot.

He pulls the trigger.

And the bullet hole is as centred as a bulls-eye can be.

Without moving at all, he pulls the trigger again. Another bulls-eye.

He then slowly starts working his way around the target sheet in a circle. Disregarding the numbers on the target completely, he fires at the sheet, following his own set of rules. I've seen snipers do this for training. They pick a spot on a target, and start shooting patterns around it. It's a show of skills. And this guy looks like he is in the process of re-discovering those skills for himself. Maybe he lost them for a while. Maybe he simply refused to use them for a while. But they are definitely still there.

If this guy works the rust out of his shoulders a bit, I might even go as far as to say that he comes pretty close to the one guy who was here this morning. They both got completely different styles, but from a marksmanship point of view, there is also a lot that is similar between those two.

I'd give a round of beers as payment to ever see these two on my range together for a little competition shoot. And maybe that British guy and the lady, too. Yeah, that would be something.

But, as I hand this last guy his filled-out score card, and he takes it with a cautious nod, I realize that this competition idea will remain a wish of mine that will probably never come true.

Because there is one thing these people all have in common.

They don't come here for jokes. They don't do this just for fun. For them, these skills are a necessity that ensures they can do their jobs and come back alive from whatever job they do. It's their life insurance. And I respect that.

I may not know who they are, but I respect them. Like said, I don't ask any questions. I simply watch the show. And I appreciate their coming back here every year, because it shows that they trust me, too.

And I can trust you to keep their secret, too, right?

-o-

THE END