Chapter 16: The Armed Strategy.

Jason led me outside, I assumed, for him to teach me how to shoot the revolver.

I had never held a gun before, knowing they only brought trouble, but had to admit that wearing the thing strapped around my waist made me feel different. More confident.

I was ready to start blasting away at targets.

Jason had a different idea. He made me draw the gun from the holster over and over and over again without shooting.

"Fast draw is both a science and an art form," he told me. "There are distinct moves to be mastered, each one requiring tedious practice until perfected, until you no longer have to think about what you are doing. From start to finish, it should all be like an automatic response. No thinking, no delay, Just reacting. The term we use for this is call 'muscle

memory'."

During the next hour, he demonstrated proper

technique on how to stand in relation to the target, how to hold my hands, and the mechanics of thumbing the hammer, and finally squeezing the trigger.

"Don't worry about aiming yet," he said. "Just point the gun down range and keep practicing."

Jason left me alone for hours practicing those silly

moves while he was off doing other chores. It had

gotten hot and heat ran down my back and into my eyes, stinging me, making it hard for me to focus down range. My thumb was getting sore from working the revolvers hammer non-stop.

Eventually I had enough of the silly moves and marched into the house looking for him. I found my teacher sitting in the air-conditioned TV room watching wrestling match.

"Are you done already?" he asked.

I crossed my arms across my chest. At that moment, I sort of felt like a gangster with the holster hanging from my hip.

"It's easy for you to say sitting here below 18degrees." I said feeling a bit pissed within.

"Tell me, Runso, when you are out there on the streets hot and perspiring or maybe freezing and wet, hungry, thirsty, or feverish, do you think your adversary will give a damn about your discomfort?"

"We're just talking about target shooting." I said.

"Is that what you really think this is about?"

His question bounced around inside my head, "You

mean it isn't about target shooting?"

Jason ignored my question and turned his attention back to the wrestling game.

I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge. Drank it down. My thumb throbbed, so I held it under the kitchen sink faucet and let cold water run over it. A blister had formed. I went to my room and bounced onto the bed.

The day's activities had taken my mind off of Kaduna, Nigeria. the ROYGBIV X Academy, the TheNesws, my brother, all those things that were real to me. This distraction was just adults playing with guns. I didn't come with my cell phone, but

a phone extension was set by my dresser.

Would Mr. Jason mind if I use it?

A stupid thought. He wasn't keeping me prisoner here anyway. I have my freedom as much as I know.

I picked up the receiver, doubting if the desk phone was functional. I dialed the Nigeria international tel code then Justice Bianca's private cell phone number +23480_ _ _ _ _ _ 88. She probably wouldn't pick a strange number.

"Hello!."

That was swift. I didn't expect anyone to pick up on the first ring and the surprise threw me off balance. For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

"Hello?"

The voice at the other end of the phone said again, this time more insistently.

"Justice Ma. Hello. This is Phood"

"Oh Runso, You've been gone for only a day. Not homesick already, are you?" Her voice came across as cold. She wasn't joking.

"Uh, no, T'm fine Ma."

"I trust that Jason is treating you well?"

"Yes Ma, he is." I said.

"Why are you calling?" she asked. Definitely in an

unfriendly tone.

"I'm sorry to bother you Ma. I just want to know if you've heard anything about my brother. How's he doing?"

A pause.

Then she said, "I thought we agreed that you would give Ayo some space. That you would trust me to look out for him."

I hadn't agreed to this. She had given me no choice in the matter. I was concerned about my brother.

Didn't she understand that?

"I trust you very much Ma, but I'm just still

worried."

"No need to worry" she spoke as if I were a stranger standing before her in court. "Ayo is in good hands. He's receiving the best possible care courtesy of me"

I didn't know what else to say. Her attitude both

frightened me and made me angry.

"You called me at the right place but not at the right Time, Phood. I'm very busy with my Laptop right now."

"Oh!,sorry Ma."

"No need to apologize, just don't call me often. Only

if it's an emergency. I'll check in with you from

time-to-time."

"Okay Ma," I said.

"I have to go. Since you called, would you like to speak with Ebube?"

" Sure."

The next voice I heard was his "Hello."

"What have you been up to Ebube my guy?"

"Nothing Phood. Do you Remember those numbers I was studying?"

It came back to me how fixated he had been on those numbers and how in his words some of them deviated more so than others. A mental exercise. Was he really still obsessed with that game of numbers?

"Yeah, I remember." I said.

"I showed the anomalies to Dr. Dogonyaro. He told me how impressed he was with me."

Dogonyaro was a man who definitely was not impressed easily.

"That's cool to know Ebube"

"I knew you would say that," he said.

I waited for him to say more, but I should've known better. Brainy Ebube would easily give his arm than have a lengthy conversation with you.

"Talk to you later," he said and hung up.

It hurt me a little that he hadn't bothered to ask about how my life was going in a strange country, especially me being his closest friend. Then again, I had to consider that this was Ebube. Given his

weirdness, he'd probably never develop any kind of social skills.

A short time later I dozed off.

Jason woke me with a knock at my door. "Dinner is ready."

He had fried Irish potatoes and eggs-souce, big glass jug of fresh watermelon juice and same camel meat.

I sweared in my heart that I won't mistakenly eat that meat again no matter how tasty he prepared it this time around.

During our meal, he noticed that I handled my fork with some difficulty given the blister on my thumb.

"In time, you'll develop a hardened skin."

"T'm going to have trouble if you want me to practice tomorrow."

"Quite, lazy youth" he uttered.

Since he seemed talkative, I decided to ask the question on my mind. "When I master handling a gun, how can I make a living from it?"

Jason set down his wine glass. "I thought you knew."

When he said nothing more, I joked, "so how would becoming a hit man would be one way to earn some cash."

Jason said nothing.

The room suddenly grew too warm for me. "If that's what this training is all about, you can forget it. I'm not going to kill anyone."

An amused expression crossed his face. "Many young men your age join the armed forces. They go to war. They kill people. It's a job, like any other job."

"That's different Sir. Those men are defending our country."

Jason leaned forward in his chair. "Not everyone

who defends this country is a uniformed soldier.

There are others."

I finally was starting to understand. "You mean like TheNews?"

He nodded.

I didn't know if I wanted any part of it. "What you're telling me makes sense, but I don't think I can even shoot a tiny bird for conscience sake."

You can't take it personal shooting an enemy. Don't think of the human being in your gun sights, just consider your enemy as a paper target, a dragon ready to devour you." He said.

What was he trying to Tell me? "Paper targets or dragons don't have a soul, but humans have."

Jason held his index finger straight up and smiled.

"If you practice with the mindset that the dragon can and will shoot back or devour you, then a paper target is all you will see during an actual combat situation. And it will give you an edge over your opponent."

I scoffed. "That's making sense

"Yeah." Jason said. "Adrenaline is the fuel for

our body's fight or flight mechanism. Causes massive volumes of oxygenated blood to flow into our muscles but wreaks havoc on fine motor controls. Most people, even the most expert shooters, when confronted by an armed criminal or enemy are diminished. They simply can't get their fingers to work like they are used to while

practicing. To become a true survivor as an operative, you need to let go of all your emotions, fear, anxiety, love, hate, and maintain ice cold self-control. Use your muscle memory."

He paused.

"Let me state it this way, Phood." He went on. "When you're shooting at a paper target, you need to consider it as a man shooting back. When you're engaged in a firefight for your life, then you need to consider your opponent as a paper target."

"Except I'm not here to learn how to become a

gunfighter"

Jason looked me dead in the eye, and nodded.

"Make no mistake. For your final exam, I'm going to call you out. We're going to face each other and you'll have to shoot me down. It's the only way you're leaving this Ranch."

I fretted about Jason's so called final exam while trying to fall asleep that night. What he had said scared me senseless until I thought it through. Most likely he had made that statement just to get me to take things seriously. Either that or the man was insane.

The next morning, we continued with my training.

He marched me into the gun room. He pulled a laminated poster out from behind his workbench.

In block letters a title, "Rules of Engagement," and five numbered items beneath the title.

"To survive you'll need to not only memorize these

rules, but also internalize them. Make them a part of your very fiber," Jason said. "Living these rules is

just as important, if not more so, than a fast draw."

He sounded so serious.

"Whatever you say Sir, I'm your student."

"Rule number one and probably the most important of them all," he read. "In a gunfight, there are no rules, except to win by any means necessary."

"Obviously," I said. " It's a matter of life and death."

"Not so obvious," Jason corrected. "Living in a

civilized society we've been taught to play fair. It's

ingrained in our culture and habituated by all. Always bear in mind that your adversary will kill you. You must take every advantage. If you don't, your adversary surely will."

Jason Woods continued, "Rule number two. Always be hyper aware of your surroundings."

"Another way of saying to practice situational

awareness," I mumbled.

"Yeah. Moreover, a fast draw is meaningless if someone bushwhacks you and shoots you in the back. From this point forward, wherever you go for the rest of your life, always assess your environment for potential threats. That attitude doesn't come easily. It takes mental focus, but one day, it may save your life."

I thought about how naïve I had been at the airport getting into Jason's car without knowing for

sure who he really was.

"Rule number three" Jason continued. " Detach from all of your emotions."

"Yeah, I get it. A human threat is just a paper target,"I said.

"Exactly. You must not think of your adversary as a

fellow human being. The taking of another person's life is a terrible burden. I won't deny that. But actions are best contemplated after the fact. Leave your conscience at home. Assume your adversary has no conscience too. Feeling guilt, pity, or compassion will just raise doubts within you, and those doubts will get you killed before you say jack. So will fear, anger, rage, and hatred. It's not so easy, but you must master your emotions."

I looked at the list and read rule number four. "Speed without accuracy is meaningless."

"Do I need to elaborate on that point?" Jason asked.

"No. I think it's self explanatory."

"Yet it's important enough to remember, so it becomes one of the rules."

"Rule number five," I read, "Know that you are going to prevail." I looked at Jason "What's that mean?"

"It refers to your state of mind. You must entertain no thoughts of defeat. For example, take two men facing each other down. Both are equally skilled. Before their encounter, one of them prepares a will and gets his affairs in order just in case. The other struts to the showdown having just made plans for a nice dinner with his girlfriend. Which man will most likely prevail?"

"Okay, I get it." I Had to admit within me that Jason had a way of making things clear.

He held up his hands and uncurled his fingers, palms facing toward me. "Five fingers in each hand and five rules of engagement. When hanging from a precipice, if you have the use of all five fingers you stand a much better chance of not falling. So it goes with the five rules of engagement. Remember them all, learn them, and live them, and they will serve you well. Forget just one of the rules and your chances of surviving diminish."

Five Rules of Engagement

1. In a gunfight, there are no rules, except to win by any means necessary.

2. Always be hyper aware of your surroundings.

3. Detach from all of your emotions.

4. Speed without accuracy is meaningless.

5. Know that you are going to prevail.

"Got it Sir. So when do I get to shoot live ammo?"

He waved an arm in a dismissive gesture. "You're not ready yet."

"My reflexes are sharp. Dr. Dogonyaro probably told you about it."

"Yes, Phood, you are indeed fast, but your mechanics are far from smooth."

I knew that I wasn't perfect with my draw, but I didn't want to spend another whole boring day just yanking the gun from my holster. I couldn't see any reason why I couldn't practice drawing and then shooting. What would be the harm?

"Did you actually see me practice at the end of the day, yesterday? You really don't believe that I'm not ready to shoot a few rounds?"

Jason didn't have a lot of patience, and I worried

that I might have pushed him too far with my whining request. He didn't seem to take offense and said,

"If you can prove to me that you're ready, I'll let you practice with live ammunition."

"How?"

He pointed at the wall, at the pegs where the gun belts hung. "Strap on your shooting apparatus."

I did as he asked and fastened the tie down to my leg.

"Hand me your SW500."

I eased the gun out of the holster and passed it handing him the butt first. He checked the cartridge cylinder. "Just verifying that you still have the snap caps loaded."

After he was satified that the gun was safe, he handed it back to me. Jason stepped back a pace and squared his shoulders. "Whenever you're ready. I want you to draw your weapon and fire."

His request made me queasy even though I knew there were no live rounds in the gun. "You sure about this Sir?"

He nodded.

"Aim for center mass, the middle of my chest."

I got into my stance and took a moment to remember all of the steps. Pull the butt of the gun while thumbing the hammer. The hammer should be cocked by the time it's out the holster. Tilt the barrel in a smooth movement and pull the trigger when the barrel reaches horizontal.

I took a breath, wiggled my fingers to loosen them, and drew the S&W. Jason's hand flashed. He slapped my gun hand, redirecting the end of the barrel toward the floor. The hammer clicked against the snap cap.

"When you can successfully pull the trigger while the gun is still pointed at my chest," he said, "then you will be ready for the next step"

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