shots fired

Like many, I was off for Memorial Day. My wife was out of town, so I was looking for a productive and somewhat reverent way to spend the day. I did a couple searches online for ceremonies or anything I might be able to attend. Nothing. A couple anti-war initiatives, but that's not really my flavor. A Buddy of mine had asked if I'd want to come along to help sight in a rifle on a range up in the foothills outside the city. He's an Army reservist, so I figured he could use some help (just jokin'). Seriously though, what better way to honor those fallen than to polish your skills as a defender in their stead.

The range was a happening place. The air was boiling with sporadic gunfire and an acidic aroma of spent powder filled the air. As my ears filtered thru the chatter of countless weapons, they perked at the unmistakable cackle of an AK.

Like a switch is flipped, electricity spiders through my veins, I feel it brim in my finger tips as my fists clench. A split second late, my mind attempts to override the adrenaline shot. A voice in my head talks my tightened chest and clenched jaw into relaxing. Reluctantly, I close my eyes and let loose the air locked in my lungs. A wave of chills rolls over me. I think that haunting little Soviet jingle will forever awaken something in me. Silently I have to laugh at myself.

The sun was out and with a jacket the temps were great for shooting. We actually saw several veterans; clad in different attire that cued the trained eye into their service. Maybe getting some trigger time is a more common Memorial Day ritual than I knew. I must admit, there is something cathartic about getting back to the basics behind a trusted piece of hardware.

Trent and I got his 306 dialed in for an upcoming pig hunt and messed around with a little odd ball .25 cal. pistol he had. Leaned in the rifle racks behind the firing line I saw several AR-15's (the M16's civilian equivalent). I don't mean to sound corny, but their pistol grip seemed to call to me, like an overdue hand shake from an old friend. I refrained, but reflected on the comfort that the weight of my A-4 offered outside the wire and how its synthetic grips had felt in my sweaty palms. Gritty images began to flow past my minds eye.

Memorial Day '08, I saw no color guard and was spared the haunting melody of a lone bugle, but memories of the fallen and gratitude for past generations prevailed. Those whose final breaths were drawn amidst the burn of smoke and whose ears silenced to the sound of guns. May their souls finally rest in peace.