I Just Thought I Sucked
While out in Maryland, my sniper buddy Benny and I tested equipment with Rangers from 2/75 and 3/75. I thought this was an incredible experience: slinging rounds with real deal guys. What was even more remarkable was that some of these snipers were former students of mine.
It was a beautiful day in the Fall. The skies were clear, and my M110 had a muzzle velocity of 2,609 fps. Benny had an M2010 with a muzzle velocity of 3,030 fps. It was a great day for shooting. This was a new range for all of us, and Benny and I were to shoot first. I consider myself to be a pretty decent spotter. I evaluate the area as I have done hundreds of times before. Then, I peak at Benny out of the corner of my eye. “Left .4.” Benny fires. Miss. I follow up with a “left .8.” Miss. The following two groups of Rangers impact their first rounds.
Yes, I did the trial and error for them, but that is beside the point. After day one of shooting, I felt pretty miserable. I thought I sucked because, at that time, I was an instructor at the United States Army Sniper Course. I should be killing it at this range. Benny and I had about a 20-minute drive back to the hotel. He broke it down to me and made me think about range day from another angle. We should be proud that former students have taken what we have shown them and progressed their skills. As an instructor or mentor, we want our students to learn, grow, and eventually become better than us. Unfortunately, pride and ego will keep our specialized craft from progressing. Initially, I should have been excited that former students performed so well. Instead, I looked inward and thought about myself. I eventually realized that these former students of mine had substantially increased their skills in such a short time. I was super impressed with the group of shooters I was with for that event.
I was just as excited to get on the range and shoot the next day. The weapon of the day was the M107 .50 caliber LRSR. This time, Benny and I were not shooting first. Everyone is crushing with the M107: first-round impacts, one after another. We eventually make our way to almost 2,000 meters. The first team is up and double miss. The second team is up. “Left 1 mil.” Miss. “Left 2.6 mils.” Miss. Benny and I take our spot. He tells me he’s ready. I evaluate the distance between us and the target. I tell him, “I know this sounds crazy, but right 2 mils.” Benny doesn’t question it and squeezes the trigger. Impact. We ended that day of shooting on a high note. It turns out I didn’t suck.
