Direct Action

5

The training ground of the West Coast SEALs was the Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range, a former aircraft bombing area now set aside for ground-war use. It was a three-hour drive east from San Diego into the southern California desert, near the town of Niland. The SEALs had been using Chocolate Mountain since the Vietnam War, when the canals of the nearby inland Salton Sea stood in for the canals of the Mekong Delta during cadre and platoon pre-deployment training. It was big, anonymous, and secluded; you could make a lot of noise without disturbing the neighbors.

Unlike almost every other service, SEAL field training was traditionally run by the man in the platoon who had the most experience in the skill to be taught. Rank had nothing to do with it, and neither did rate.

Like all enlisted men in the Navy, SEALs carried a rating, like Mineman or Machinist’s Mate, which they’d picked up after boot camp. But for SEALs the ratings were meaningless, having been discarded on the Silver Strand at Coronado when they’d graduated from BUD/S. Unfortunately the Navy, in its infinite wisdom, still took them seriously. So a SEAL master free-fall parachutist and dive supervisor who also happened to carry a hull technician’s rating still had to study welding manuals twice a year for the written test required for promotion. And an aviation ordnanceman who’d gotten tired of loading sonobuoys on P-3 Orion sub hunters and gone to BUD/S was still competing for promotion, not with other SEALS, but with everyone currently loading bombs on aircraft. Stupid, yes, but as SEALs liked to say, that was the fucking Navy for you. Only SEAL hospital corpsmen utilized the same skills as their counterparts in the black-shoe Navy, though they learned to inflict more casualties than they treated.

And in addition to the complex skills required of each member of the SEAL community, individual SEALs also gravitated toward more specific areas of expertise: weapons, communications, intelligence, parachute rigging, etc. These also broke down into more detailed talents. One SEAL might be an absolute master in the use of the Stinger antiaircraft missile down to the repair of its complex electronics; another in all aspects of intelligence photography; yet another in the esoterics and employment of laser target markers.

For the 3rd platoon, the first day’s training at Chocolate Mountain was handled by Radioman 1st Class Ron Holt, the pistol expert. For there was a new weapon in the inventory that they were getting their hands on for the very first time: the Mark 23 Mod 0 Special Operations Forces Offensive Handgun System. The name was a mouthful, but it was a brand-new pistol, the product of some history that deserved re-telling.

In the early days, the weapon of choice in the Underwater Demolition Teams had been the Smith & Wesson revolver.38 Special. Just in time for Vietnam, the SEAL teams received a stainless-steel Smith & Wesson 9mm automatic pistol with a screw-on sound suppressor. This was the Mark 22 Mod 0. During Vietnam it picked up the name Hush Puppy, since it was used more often to silence barking dogs and honking ducks than human sentries. Contrary to popular legend, there never were very many, only enough to issue a couple per platoon. And these were passed on to the next platoon when they arrived in-country. The rest of the SEALs in a platoon carried the Smith & Wesson revolver or issue Colt.45 automatics. Pistols were just backup weapons, and SEALs felt that your shit was pretty weak if you got yourself into a tactical situation where you had to use one.

This continued into the 1970’s, with the model of pistol being a SEAL’s personal choice. As the Hush Puppys fell apart from overuse, they were replaced by the Heckler and Koch P9S 9mm automatic fitted with a Qualatec suppressor. Again, very few of these were procured.

In the late 1970’s hostage rescue became a growth industry and pistols gained importance as primary assault weapons. Delta Force armed itself with a modified M-1911A1 Colt.45 automatic. SEAL Team Six chose the stainless-steel Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum revolver and 9mm Beretta automatic. The FBI Hostage Rescue Team, having been trained by the British SAS, adopted the SAS-standard Browning Hi-Power 9mm automatic.

Hostage rescue shooting, which the British termed Close Quarters Battle or CQB, was of a standard totally alien to the U.S. military. It required entering a room filled with screaming people, distinguishing friend from foe, and shooting the foes in the head in a span of time measured in tenths of seconds. Mistakes and misses were not allowed.

CQB shooting demanded as many as five hundred rounds per man per day to gain proficiency, and a minimum of three hundred to four hundred rounds per week to maintain that proficiency.

SEAL Team Six soon discovered that the strain of that many rounds caused the slides of their Berettas, otherwise fine weapons, to weaken. When one blew up during firing and took out a SEAL’s front teeth, Team Six moved to the SIG-Sauer P-226 9mm automatic, as had the British SAS.

Meanwhile, the Beretta had gone into U.S. general issue as the M-9, including a Special Operations version with a slide lock and barrel extension for a Knight’s Armament Company snap-on sound suppressor. This was in service with all SEAL teams at the end of 1987. But by then all the teams were doing CQB shooting. They ran into the same trouble with the Beretta and gradually moved over to the P-226.

Things came to a head when the Special Operations forces of all the services were placed under U.S. Special Operations Command, which had its own budget authority. Someone at USSOCOM happened to check the numbers and freaked out at the multitude of different pistol models everyone was carrying, each requiring its own unique and very expensive spare-parts package and armorer training.

So USSOCOM put out a design competition for a new handgun. In case Congress might wonder at the need for yet another pistol, it was called the Offensive Handgun to distinguish it from the self-defense weapons carried by truck drivers and gate guards in the conventional military. The weapon had to be.45-caliber, with a magazine capacity greater than the seven rounds of the old Colt.45, with a sound suppressor and a laser aiming module. And it had to be able to shoot at least thirty thousand rounds without any parts failure.

The winner of the competition was Germany’s Heckler & Koch, with a weapon based on their USP Universal Self-Loading Pistol. It was double action, with a twelve-round magazine, a decocking lever to silently lower a fully cocked hammer, and ambidextrous safety and magazine release catches. The screw-on sound suppressor was by Knight’s Armament Company, whose products SEALs knew and trusted. The laser sights that snapped under the barrel hadn’t arrived from the factory yet.

Ron Holt began the late morning training session by giving an introductory class on the weapon. It didn’t take long. Whereas other members of the U.S. military would only have summoned up some interest if the weapon dispensed iced beer, SEALs couldn’t wait to play with a new toy. And since their lives would probably depend on the thing, they damn well were going to get it down cold.

When the class was over, the platoon spent an hour taking the pistol apart and putting it back together, until they were comfortable with it. Blake Murdock had some initial reservations about the weapon, which from the comments around him his platoon seemed to share. The pistol was a big son of a bitch, over two and a half pounds unloaded and just over four pounds with a full magazine. That was a lot of weight to pack on your hip during the course of a mission. And it looked like they were going to have to visit the sewing machines in the parachute loft to modify their holsters. The pistol was over nine and a half inches long and the suppressor seven and a half inches, sixteen and a half inches screwed together. Unless their holsters rode higher up on their hips, the suppressor would be cracking on their kneecaps every time they moved.

But the proof was in the pudding, so after lunch they headed out to the range to give the weapons a workout.

Each SEAL Team was budgeted for 300,000 rounds of pistol ammunition per platoon, per year. So it took a little time to unload the ammo cans from the back of the platoon Hummvee and break it down.

And with five twelve-round magazines per weapon, the shooting benches were soon littered with piles of the empty cardboard boxes that had held the.45 hardball, full-metal-jacketed ammo.

“Israeli Military Industries?” Scotty Frazier wondered aloud, reading off one of the boxes. “What the fuck are we doing buying.45 ammo off the Israelis? They don’t even use anything in.45.”

“It’s one of those foreign military sales deals,” explained Miguel Fernandez, who had pulled some military training group time overseas. “They buy F-15 fighters with the aid money we dole out, and we buy.45 ammo and shit like that from them to even out the bookkeeping, make it look like we’re getting something back, not spending so much.”

Eric Nicholson tried to work that out, but it didn’t happen for him. “What the fuck?”

“Look,” said Razor Roselli. “The U.S. picks up everyone’s check, the manufacturers get paid for the weapons, and the taxpayer gets fucked. That’s all you gotta know.”

The platoon snickered. “International Relations 101 by Chief Roselli,” said Ed DeWitt.

“Well, am I wrong, sir?” the Razor demanded.

“No, you aren’t,” DeWitt admitted. “But we give Israel the aid because of the Camp David agreements, and the fact that they’re under the gun.”

“Yes, sir,” said Roselli. “But the Russians aren’t supplying the other side anymore, so who’s going to take the Israelis on? No one. But we’re still dishing out over three billion a year.”

Any regular Navy officer walking by would have been astounded to overhear the learned discussion of Middle Eastern politics this provoked among the enlisted swine, but SEALs liked to keep up on where their services might be required.

It only ended when an exasperated Ron Holt asked if anyone would like to shoot some fucking rounds.

They started off on a classic pistol range with paper bull’s-eye targets. Murdock soon had to admit that the weapon was fantastically accurate. The pistol had a special O-ring that locked the slide to the barrel when it came into battery. It made it more accurate than most SEALs could shoot, though Holt won all the beer that was bet that day with a cloverleaf group — all rounds in a single jagged silver-dollar-sized hole.

The platoon was used to the lighter-recoiling 9mm, so it took them a little while to get accustomed to the kick of the.45. Once everyone was shooting to his satisfaction, Holt let them add the suppressor to see what kind of difference it would make in the placement of their groups. The suppressor could be loosened and indexed to ten different positions, with the rounds grouping in a different spot at each position.

“When Holt thought they were good to go, he announced, “Okay, let’s go to the CQB range.”

That was to everyone’s liking, but first they had to replace the targets and police up all the trash, ammo cans, and expended shell casings.

“No, no, no,” Razor Roselli said kindly, holding up his palm to stop them. “I don’t want you studs straining yourselves in this hot sun. Jaybird and Doc already volunteered for the detail. The rest of you head over to the shade and get some water.”

The rest of the platoon snidely voiced their thanks to Sterling and Ellsworth, who were already bent down picking brass out of the sand and grumbling through only the beginning of Razor Roselli’s platoon punishment. When they were finished, the platoon went over to what had been the first CQB range at Chocolate Mountain. Old auto tires were stacked on top of each other and filled with sand to absorb bullets and prevent ricochets. The tires were laid out in the shape of rooms and hallways. It had been rendered obsolete by the new killing house with bullet-trap walls, but it suited Murdock’s purposes. With all the SEAL platoons running around Chocolate Mountain, it was a lot easier to reserve.

The British SAS had been the first in the CQB business, and taught everyone the ropes. The initial shooting technique was theirs, developed from the Grant-Taylor method of instinctive firing perfected by the gentleman of the same name while he was the number-two man on the police force of pre-World War II Shanghai. He saw plenty of action, and later taught his technique to British and American intelligence operatives and commandos during World War II.

Instinctive firing was done with the shooter facing the target with both legs spread, both arms extended in front and locked, and the pistol held in both hands. The shooter didn’t use the sights, but instead looked out over the top of the weapon, picked out a distinctive spot on the target, and fired. Once they had become more established, Delta and SEAL Team Six moved to the modified Weaver stance, where the shooter presents his body sideways so as to be less of a target. A two-handed grip is used, with the shooting arm straight and the support arm bent and locking the shooting arm across the chest.

The Americans also developed “rapid aim fire,” where the weapon was brought up with the barrel slightly elevated. The shooter picked up the target on the front sight, centered it on the rear sight, and fired in a split second. Much more accurate than instinctive firing, and just as fast.

This was how the SEALs of 3rd Platoon shot. They set up good-guy and bad-guy targets throughout the CQB range and moved through in fire teams. They fired while moving, from the prone, rolling, and squatting.

Murdock had just finished a first run with his team when his pager went off. He looked around. “Anyone else?” All the SEALs checked theirs and shook their heads. “Fuck!” Murdock exclaimed. If it had just been some petty bullshit, the Chocolate Mountain duty would have radioed him from the headquarters building. It was obviously too confidential to put out over the radio, so now he’d have to drive up there. And he’d been looking forward to more shooting. “Fuck me,” he repeated.

“We’ll save you some rounds, Skipper,” said Professor Higgins.

“We’ll try not to have too much fun,” added Ed DeWitt, enjoying one of the rare times it paid to be the j.g.

When Murdock stomped into the headquarters building, the warrant officer on duty forestalled any tirade by telling him, “You gotta get back to Coronado ASAP. There’s an HH-60 turning on the pad right now.”

When Murdock began to sputter, the warrant added, “It’s come-as-you-are. You don’t need any gear, and I’ll get your Hummvee back along with word to your platoon. Have a nice trip, and no, I don’t know any of the details.”

Later, Murdock was embarrassed that his first thought had been, “Shit, what did the boys do this time?”