From:   Rusty�Bullethole, [EMAIL PROTECTED]

The Times Magazine - 9.9.00

"Lesson one - go for their eyes"

America's gun law debate is one that divides the nation -
and while it's possible for a civilian to enrol in a school
for snipers, and learn execution tactics from an expert,
there seems little chance of a ceasefire

report by david wallis

Tom Fitzpatrick, a burly, tattooed ex-Marine, had long
regretted not qualifying for the corps' elite sniper unit.
The programme, which trains soldiers to fire a bullet into
an enemy's brain from more than a mile away, excludes
smokers such as Fitzpatrick. Instead, the military taught
him to install telephones. But several years later,
Fitzpatrick, now a 30-year-old telephone repairman in
Omaha, Nebraska, found a way to unlock his inner killer.
He enrolled in "Basic Counter Sniper", a five-day course
on deadly force offered by the Storm Mountain Training
Centre.

Getting into this Oxford for assassins in West Virginia's
Allegheny Mountains was no problem. Fitzpatrick paid
tuition of $495 (not including tax or ammunition) and
furnished Storm Mountain with a background check and a
reference letter from his minister (who happens to be
his wife's best friend). Then he and a buddy piled their
gear into a rented Dodge Durango and drove 1,100 miles
to Storm Mountain's 208-acre compound.

Detective Brian Vice of the Moss Point, Mississippi
Police Department faced greater obstacles. The mayor
of Moss Point judged the five-day course an extravagance.
But Vice, 31, who looks like a young Clark Gable, stuck
to his guns, appealing to the town's aldermen. He
successfully argued that Moss Point, facing increased
violent crime, needed a trained sharpshooter and that
the tuition money was anyway already in a police
education fund.

On a rainy Monday morning Fitzpatrick, Vice and five
other warrior wannabes gather in Storm Mountain's classroom
for orientation. A copy of the sniper creed hangs on a
panelled wall. One stanza reads: "This is our rifle...
This rifle is our best friend. It is our life:"

While many Americans may profess a fondness for firearms,
treating their guns like family dogs, snipers tend to
humanise, even romanticise their rifles. They buy presents
for their gun - a new scope, a new stock. They clean them
nightly, and gently and regularly polish the parts. Beneath
the just-following-orders demeanour, when they discuss
their deadly discipline they betray palpable passion.

"Being able to send a projectile down range and knowing that
I can hit what I'm aiming at consistently is an art... a way
to express myself;" says Danny Basso, a Storm Mountain
graduate who volunteers as an assistant instructor when not
running his landscaping business. Lounging in the back of
the classroom, wearing camouflage pants and a huntergreen
T-shirt that reads, "Silent Souls Inflict 308 Holes"; Basso
says: "A lot of the guys into sniping are exmilitary who
miss the camaraderie and being around people who have the
same pride as themselves."

At exactly 0900, each student introduces himself and reveals
his motivation for taking the course. Matt Domyancic, a
former air force cadet, dreams of joining the FBI; Quinn
Sieber, a stocky firearms instructor from the Wisconsin
State Patrol, plans to pass on sharpshooting skills to
his cadets; Fitzpatrick's pal, Paul Circo, a mild-mannered
fellow with scant firearms experience wants to "prove
something" to himself. A shaggy-haired software designer
mumbles something about honing his shooting skills. And
an emergency medical technician (EMT) from Florida says he
just wants an out-of-the-ordinary vacation.

After the 12-Steps-like introductions, Storm Mountain
headmaster Rod Ryan marches to a lectern with a "No
Whining" sign. A decorated former army sniper and member
of Washington DC's SWAT team, Ryan opened the school in
1995 with classes such as Security Profiling Terrorism
Awareness II and Advanced Submachine Gun. His mission:
"To help keep police and military guys alive." Most of
his clients, however, are civilians.

Ryan, who brags that he could teach "a monkey" to shoot,
offers no excuses for teaching civilians how to kill: "I'm
a firm believer that if you are not a criminal, you have
the rights described in our Constitution." Self-described
"pro-gunners" defend firearms ownership by citing the
Constitution. The Second Amendment grants the right to
bear arms, but whether America's founding fathers, who
lived through a brutal war fought on their soil, intended
for telephone repairman to wield highpowered rifles
legally is another question. But not in this classroom.
Ryan launches his lesson by reviewing sniper history,
which in the US dates back to the Civil War (the British
Army had established a sharpshooting "Rifle Brigade";
the 95th Regiment of Foot, by 1800).

Although snipers rarely operate alone these days, working
in tandem with the "spotter'; who calculates the distance
to the target and the wind velocity (a breeze can alter a
bullet's trajectory), they've developed a lone-wolf image,
a sneaky predator that picks off sheep in the middle of
the night. Storm Mountain frets so much about the sniper's
embattled reputation that it added the prefix "counter" to
the course's title. "The press labels every nut with a gun
a sniper;' says Kent Gooch, a former army firearms
instructor who teaches with Ryan. "Most of us take great
offence at that connotation. This is an honourable
profession," he argues, as photos of James Earl Ray
(Martin Luther King's murderer) and Lee Harvey Oswald
(President John F. Kennedy's assassin) flash behind him
on a projection screen.

The instructors devote much of the four-hour lesson to
sniper strategies. "If you guys ever come across a woman
who is a hostage taker, do not cut her any slack," says
Ryan. "A woman will make a decision and by God she is
going to stick to it." And... "Make your first shot
count. Go for the ear - the Mafia has been doing it for
years, no mess. Personally, I like the eyes. It's a soft
entry point." To execute the enemy efficiently, Ryan
hails the "head shot': He recommends aiming for the
medulla oblongata, a chestnutsized part of the brain
located at the top of the spinal cord. "With a head
shot, they [the target] won't even fart," says Ryan.
"The body's electrical system shuts right down."

Ryan sometimes sounds as if he's preparing troops for
battle rather than enabling adults to play army with
longrange rifles and live ammo. "I don't want to hear
in the news that you didn't take the head shot. If you
can't take the head shot, get out of this business," he
says. Later he says: "You must look at this as a job. It
is a dirty job. People don't want to clean toilets
either. But they do - not that human beings are toilets."

Over lunch, cold MREs (meals ready to eat) that look and
smell like dog food, Fitzpatrick explains the allure of
the sniper lifestyle. In the Marines, he says, "I wanted
to be the Rambo, the lone soldier. I'm better in a small
team than a large one. That's why I like sniping; it's
just you and the spotter. I don't like to rely on people:'

Conversation turns to a chilling training video. In
slow-motion, sharpshooters are seen blowing the head
off a bank robber who had nudged the muzzle of his pistol
into the Adam's apple of a terrified hostage. Some
students wonder whether they have the stomach to take
the head shot, but not Fitzpatrick:"I have lots of
confirmed kills on animals -elk, deer, prairie dogs.
When I first started hunting, I had remorse. I don't any
more. I think I could look at a human target like a deer
with a gun in its hands."

Vice nearly gags on a wad of chewing tobacco. Unlike the
others, he knows what it feels like to shoot another
human being. A few years ago he was working undercover
when a drug dealer put a gun to his head. "I looked him
right in the eyes;' he says "you can tell everything
from the eyes. He broke [eye contact] and I fired first.
The only reason I'm here right now is because of a gun,
so I guess my kinship with firearms is a little stronger
than most."

Turning this platoon of plebes into sharpshooters vexes
Ryan; during the next three days most students fumble in
the field. On the firing range, the instructors rattle
several snipers by screaming in their ears while they try
to blast out the brains of a paper thug: "Sniper, are you
on that target? What's the range? Green light! Take the
head shot. You are taking too long. There's a snake on
your back. Is that your grandfather's rifle you're
shooting? What the hell was that? Was that a head shot?
Why the f"""''' did you shoot?"

"Stalking'; the art of sneaking up on a target, also
confounds the cadets, who must belly-crawl through the
rattlesnakeinfested woods, evade detection and fire two
blanks at instructors at least 100 yards away. To blend
in with the bush, the students wear gillie suits. These
hooded camouflage cassocks are covered in shredded,
stringy mesh and adorned with leaves, shrubbery and wild
flowers. The men also smear camouflage make-up on their
faces. Few accomplish their objective without being
spotted.

"This is not a long-range rifle class. This is a f''''""
sniper course;' Ryan fumes. "Look, two friends of mine
were killed in Somalia. I cannot lower my standards." Vice
often earns the wrath of instructors for insubordination.
Disobeying orders, he helps less capable students survive
a stalk, an exercise meant to test each man's mettle (no
woman has ever taken the class).

"I was a Boy Scout, but I was no boy scout. Always in
trouble," he says with a chuckle. "The one thing I gain
from this is the knowledge and self-confidence to take
a person that's not that familiar with a rifle, focus
in on him and help him to achieve what needs to be done."

As the temperature climbs above 80F, even Vice feels
fatigued. He greedily sucks on his canteen, heeding
Ryan's repeated warning to drink plenty of water:"Some
of you will fall to heat casualty. You will get an
intravenous drip, maybe two." The policy stems from an
incident a few years ago when a student had heat stroke.
"He remains in a coma;' says Ryan.

When Fitzpatrick complains of a headache after a gruelling
two-hour hike, Ryan prescribes a mandatory saline solution
drip. "This is tougher than boot camp;" Fitzpatrick gripes
as the EMT from Florida jabs a needle into his forearm.

On the final exam, Fitzpatrick falls during the graded
stalk, damaging the "Super Sniper" scope on his Savage
.308 calibre rifle. He hits only 20 per cent of the
man-shaped metal targets during the crucial live-fire
test. Only he and his pal Circo fail the course, earning
none-too consoling "Certificates of Attendance".

"I used to want to be a sniper, but after what I've been
through, I don't know if I could survive three days on a
stalk;' says a crestfallen Fitzpatrick. Despite his
disappointment, he says the course improved his outlook
on life. "It made me mentally stronger;" he says later
from his home in Omaha, where he is training to compete
in a bare-knuckled, no-holds-barred ultimate fighting
exhibition. "When people hooked up wires wrong at work,
I used to get irate. But I made mistakes at sniper
school that really affected me. Now, if I showed someone
something once and they didn't get it, I'd show them
again and again. I think patience comes from the stalk,
when you work and work to get in position for that one
shot:'

In hindsight, Vice also considers the course beneficial:
"I knew how to use a weapon, but I didn't know the
tactics for deploying it." Still, Vice questions the
wisdom of allowing civilians to take a course "with one
purpose and one purpose only: killing a human being".
"There were only two cops in class," he says. "We
learnt something and took that back to the law-enforcement
community. And the odds of five others taking that
information and doing something illegal are astronomically
low. But in a perfect world, civilians shouldn't be there."

Fitzpatrick may not be a civilian much longer. Vice invited
him to apply for a position with the Moss Point Police
Department. "I'd love to do police work," says Fitzpatrick.
"Then there'll be two snipers in Moss Point. I just have
to go back to school and get my certificate." 

Cybershooters website: http://www.cybershooters.org

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