Free Bad Luck Cadet by Suzie Ivy Page B

saving my panic
for the following day at the range.
    Wednesday morning we headed to the range and
were issued our weapons and ammunition. Our guns and two extra
magazines were loaded. Range rules were drilled into us. If we
deviated from a single rule we would be asked to leave permanently.
The old, “You will be sent home” mantra was back in
force.
    There were four range instructors for thirteen
of us. The instructor assigned to me was becoming frustrated. And
so was I but couldn’t help it. I was not a very good shot. And I
was worried that shooting would be the death of my academy
experience and my police career.
    Lieutenant Hurd was head instructor in charge
of firearms training. He stayed mostly on the opposite end of the
range. At the end of the day Lt. Hurd pulled me aside and asked how
I did.
    “With all due respect sir," I said, "I
sucked.”
    “You don’t suck and believe me I would rather
have a new shooter than someone that is unwilling to learn the
proper way of handling a gun. I can mold you into someone that is
confident and smart with their firearm.”
    I was having difficulty with his assurance.
“Honestly I think my biggest problem is being afraid of guns. I
don’t like them.”
    Lieutenant Hurd laughed and said, “We have a
lot in common. I still have a very healthy respect for guns and I’m
not a gun fanatic like many officers. I wasn’t raised with guns. In
the long run you and I have less chance of having an accidental
discharge of our weapons. We always respect them. A little fear is
a good thing. Always keep in mind that guns are made to kill. They
really have no other use.”
    “But if I suck so badly and can’t hit the
target, I don’t know what good it will do being armed out on the
street. I may be able to hit a vehicle or the broad side of a barn
door but that’s about it.”
    He laughed again and told me he would help my
group come Friday. He said he would fix my problems and not to
worry about it. I felt better but continued having concerns. My
fear didn’t seem to affect Lt. Hurd at all. I would try keeping his
lack of worry in the back of my mind and think positive thoughts.
Yeah right.
    On Friday we began with a practice shoot and
then were told we would start learning our qualify drills. The
instructor from Tuesday stayed clear of me. He was a stereotypical
healthy, in excellent shape, clean cut, bigoted cop; the stereotype
that had clearly defined ideals of cop material. And I didn't fit
it. My very presence seemed to annoy him and his "type"
endlessly.
    Lt. Hurd finally came over as promised. He
stood beside me and said I needed to relax as I was shooting. He
told me I was jerking off. Was he kidding? Before I could decide to
be offended, he explained I was anticipating my shots and jerking
my gun. He smiled and said he did not allow jerking off on his
range. I smiled and relaxed some.
    He asked for my pistol and then asked me to
turn around. I did as instructed. After a moment he handed my gun
back and told me to face my target again. He instructed me to fire
one bullet. I fired. My shot went wide. He told me to fire again. I
did. This time the only thing that happened was my hand and gun
jerked up but no bullet exited the barrel. I was jerking my hand in
anticipation of the gun firing. This was my problem. He had put
blanks in my gun to show me. I fired again but didn’t jerk. I hit
the target and then hit the target again. The next shot was a
blank. My gun did not jerk.
    Now that I knew what I was doing wrong and
why, I began to improve. Whenever I would forget his lesson and my
hand jerked, I would hear him shout, “Ivy, you’re jerking off on my
range again.” It would put me back on target and keep me
smiling.
    Rocco (nickname, The Rock) was a good shooter
and we both began enjoying our time on the range. Again, I learned
why we did so many pushups. We shot over six hundred rounds every
time we went to the shooting field.
    The weeks flew by and we were finally at