Our first day of training began very quickly after Willa arrived.
We headed out to the back portion of the farm, along with several different types of weapons: a revolver, an automatic pistol (I chose the Colt 1911 .45 because it’s heavy and I wanted to push her as much as possible), my scoped Remington, and an AR-15.
It was still misty when we got to the area where targets had been set up. Some were about forty meters out and others set at three hundred meters. The closer ones were for pistol familiarization. One target was set at one thousand meters. That one would be to test her ability with the Remington, using the scope.
I had also set up some man-sized targets among the trees where she would be tested at rapid response. Some of these targets were pictures of men with guns, some with women and babies, and some with other innocuous characters to see how quickly she could discern a threat or avoid shooting an innocent bystander.
With the early morning dew still clinging to the grass, I knew it would be uncomfortable for her to be in the prone position while firing, but she never complained. Not once.
As we spent time on the range and she continued to fire one weapon after another, I became more and more impressed by her abilities. When firing the AR-15, she realized that she needed to counteract the tendency of the rifle to move around under rapid fire. And, as she became accustomed to the Remington, she seemed to naturally adjust the scope to account for the variation of shots as I called them off to her. Her initial rounds were hitting high and to the left of the bullseye. I’d give her the distance, she’d make an adjustment, and each shot moved closer and closer to dead center. Impressive!
She proved to be just as capable with the pistols. The .45 presented no problems at all, and her reloading was quick and effortless.
We were on the range all morning and skipped lunch to head to the wooded area where she would be tested against the hidden human-form targets.
I gave her the .45 again, along with three loaded magazines. She would have to expend the rounds from one and demonstrate rapid reloading with a new magazine.
I followed close behind her to observe her movements and perceptions.
By the time we had reached the end of the course, she had expended three magazines but had a full one left and loaded in the pistol. It was a display of great competence. I had expected that she would use all the rounds available before encountering the final one or two “bad guys.”
“Wil, I have to say I’m impressed. You have performed well above my expectations today. I must say that, for someone who hasn’t had any weapons training, you have done remarkably well.”
With the .45 in her hand, she pushed the magazine release button dropping the magazine into her other hand and pulled the slide back ejecting the round from the chamber before handing the pistol over to me, butt first.
“Well, I guess I should ‘fess up, Michael. While employed at the agency, I took advantage of an opportunity to get weapons training at the FBI academy. Spent six months there, firing on the range and going through their urban combat course which is not too different from what you set up in the woods there. Of course, their targets were the pop-up type, so it’s a little harder to predict where one will be.
“I have to admit, though, that firing the Remington was a bit new for me. I never got sniper training there, even though we got to fire the M‑16 at distance. And, of course, the M‑16 is just the military version of your AR-15.”
I hoped that my mouth hadn’t dropped open. I was admittedly flabbergasted. And perhaps a bit disgusted that we had spent the better part of the day with me teaching her things she already knew!
“Okay, Wil. You got me. I can take a little egg on my face, but if we start something in the next few days that you’ve already accomplished, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know ahead of time so we won’t waste the time. I’m going to assume there’s still a lot you need to learn, so let’s not go over plowed ground.”
“Yes, sir,” was her jovial response, accompanied by a haughty salute. “And just in case part of this training is to include unarmed combat, I have also completed four years of the Marine Corps Line System.”
“I shall certainly remember that,” I responded. I sure wouldn’t want to be a too-amorous suitor trying to impose myself on her, I thought, remembering that this system of close-quarter combat was designed to be lethal and was eventually dropped from training in the Corps. In this regard, she was certainly more proficient than I, which is why I have always tried to avoid up-close contact and confrontation.
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I think we were beginning to get comfortable with one another. But I made her carry all the weapons back to the house just the same and before she left for the evening, her additional chore was to clean and oil each of them.
With her abilities already demonstrated and proclaimed, I was starting to wonder just how much I was being expected to provide in the way of training. And the events of the day seemed to suggest that we would be able to get into the mission very quickly.
Before she left, we shared a glass of wine and discussed the day’s training. I gave her the dossier to examine overnight.
She stuffed it inside her jacket, zipped it up and mounted the “golden chariot” — as I had come to think of it — and headed back to town.
I had to work out the next day’s training and be ready to greet her at 0600.
