OPERATION: SCIMITAR MAY 2009

CLICK HERE FOR MORE MAY 2009 PHOTOS

    Someone commented to one of our newer members about how unsafe it must be for a teenage girl in Winnie The Pooh sweats to be out at the range with "all those old, creepy militia guys."

Megs with her shotgun, IPOD, and very fashionable range bag.

    He replied that this particular teenage girl was at the range with her heavily armed stepdad, with about sixteen of his best heavily-armed buddies, and she was at the range learning to shoot her OWN new shotgun. Therefore, she was probably one of the SAFEST  kids in the country at the moment. It is hard to imagine any sort of problem or issue with a kid coming out to shoot with these "creepy, old militia guys."

   Field Report 02 May 2009
By: Madd-Maxx
Weather: low 56 high 70 partly cloudy with periodic gusty winds.
Attendance: 17+1 (Meagan)

   After several months of curiosity about the SMVM, I finally decided to give training a shot.  The Quote from Weapon M, “We’re the Militia, and we do stuff”, was still kind of vague, but it had managed to raise even more curiosity.  It was just before the “Tax Day Tea Parties”, which I gleefully attended, that I e-mailed Weapon M explaining my curiosity, my reason for wanting to get involved, and my fear of persecution, prosecution, and execution for being involved.  He laid my fears to rest in one short paragraph that read, “You have to ask yourself what is the greater risk, being involved, or NOT being involved? That is what I asked myself, and I concluded, for myself, that NOT being involved produced a greater risk, both to me, my family, and even my country.”  To me, his words made perfect sense.  I felt the need to test my knowledge, my equipment, and my physical ability so that in the event of a terrorist attack, natural or man made disaster, or civil unrest situation, I could adequately protect and defend my family, my homestead, and perhaps a few of my closest friends.

   In the months leading up to my attendance I had been sifting through my old Military bins finding things that I could, or would need in the field.  I sold off things that were no longer necessary, and kept only items of usefulness or of sentimental value.  I traded, and acquired items that I would need to attain that “Level 2” status if I were to attend training.  I assembled, disassembled, & load tested my items to insure that I would be prepared for anything.  I checked, and rechecked the SMVM website frequently to make sure that I would have the right stuff.  Finally I bit the bullet, and made plans to attend the May 2009 training at Camp Stasa.

The day started out like any other.  I awoke to a squawking alarm clock at 0530 Saturday morning after a nervous, restless sleep, had some coffee, did the 3 S’s, (shit, showered, & shaved).  I loaded my pre-packed gear into my truck, printed out a map, and hit the road.  The 2-hour journey gave me time to clear my head of any presumptions, or expectations that I had.  I was still nervous, but I traveled with an optimistic feeling that today was going to be a good day.  I turned onto Cork Rd. as nervous as ever, and accidentally passed the entrance to the Camp.  I spun a u-turn at the next intersection, and arrived at Camp Stasa about a half hour early.  I pulled up and parked along side other vehicles that were there.  The men that were there had already donned their uniforms, and personal equipment.  The men were gathering together, talking, laughing.  They appeared to be good friends.  They were all in the process of securing their vehicles and preparing for the half-mile trek to the range.  I exited my truck, and confidently asked a group of men, “Gear up?”  I was answered by a simultaneous silent nod from a group of three smiling patriots.  I was feeling pretty damn good.  I donned my gear, loaded my magazines and secured my weapons.  Mad Hatter and Weapon M arrived and parked next to the “Stasa Dome”.  (WM will have to tell you the story about the dome some time)  They proceeded to load gear, and squad meals onto Mad Hatter’s four-wheeler, but it wouldn’t all fit, so I eagerly volunteered to haul the rest of it in my pick up.  This moment gave me the opportunity to introduce myself to WM, Mad Hatter, and WM’s daughter.  I then proceeded to haul the gear back to the Camp.  The road was narrow, muddy, but fun to drive on.  I had to flip my truck in four-wheel drive to pass a couple of the deep spots, but I can honestly say that I was already having way too much fun. 

I pulled up to the range, and parked my truck, but was quickly notified that I had parked beyond the 100-yard mark on the firing line.  My truck was potentially in the line of fire.  Oops.  I quickly moved it away from the line to prevent any unwanted bullet holes.  We assembled near the chow line and were asked for our call sign, which level we were there to attain, and if we had the necessary gear to attempt said level.  Individually we broke down out gear, and once we were checked off as a “Go” we wandered off to put our gear back together.  After everyone had completed their inventory we started the road march.  Level 1 people had to go two laps, and level 2 candidates went three.  A lap was a half-mile trek from the range to the parking lot, and then another half-mile trek back to the range.  Remember that road I was talking about?  The fun to drive muddy one?  Well, now we had to walk it.  Some men trekked right through the mud, others stayed on the slippery edges.  I chose the edges, only because my boots were not made for deep mud, and because I had not brought extras to change into after the fact.  As we marched the range started to come to life.  Shots rang out sporadically throughout the entire trek.  Small bore claps, and occasional big bore thunder echoed across the farm.  I couldn’t wait to complete the march so that I could get some much needed trigger time.  I did the two reps with plenty of time to spare, and continued on to do the third.  A quarter of the way into the third I found an unsecured knife lying in the mud, and quickly put out a broadcast on the FRS to find it’s owner.  It turned out that it belonged to Crazy Eyes, and he just happened to be right in front of me about a hundred yards or so.  The lonely knife was quickly returned to its rightful owner.  All participants successfully completed the road march with plenty of time to spare.  I did the 2-mile in 29 minutes, and the 3-mile in 44.  LFB, Crazy Eyes father, who has at least 15 years on me, (no offense LFB), beat my time by 2 minutes, and not because of the knife thing.  Way to go LFB!

Shooters were already on the 50-yard line zeroing, and fine-tuning their weapons.  I anxiously took my place on the ground beside them, and started firing.  I launched 3 rounds just to check my grouping, and it was good.  3 round in a space about the size of a half dollar.  They were a bit high, so I dropped my EOTech 552 HWS down 8 clicks.  Which is 4 inches at 100 yards to be precise.  We then fell back to the 100-yard line and started firing for level 1 qualification.  We cleared the line, and went downrange to check the results.  For some reason my grouping was really low.  I figured out that 4 inches of adjustment at 50 yards equates to 8 inches at 100.  Oops again.  Turns out that my sight was already perfect before I adjusted it, so I adjusted my HWS back to its original configuration, and then tried again.  This time I was on point.  Level 1 qualified.  We then disassembled (field stripped) our prospective weapons for Level 1 inspection.  This was no problem for me; I had done it a thousand times before.  Then some of us attempted shooting for Level 2 qualification.  I was still grouping low for some reason, so I waited for the line to clear, and we moved back up to the 50 for more zeroing.  This is about the time a couple of prospects started having problems with their weapons.  Lucky for them I had my trusty Leatherman tool, and lucky for Cowboy, I brought my field box.  The first gun I fixed was an M-1 carbine that kept falling apart during firing.  It wouldn’t go back together right after field inspection.  It took the Leatherman, and some serious muscle to get things back in place.  WM suggested some electrical tape for good measure, so the shooter slapped that on too.  Cowboy’s problem was with a fairly new scope that seemed to walk right off the front of his picatinny rail.  It had lost one set pin, and the second one had worked its way out.  We took it over to my box, reset the remaining pin, and remounted the optic.  He had to re-zero it, but we were able to get him back on track, and he successfully qualified.

We then decided to break for chow.  WM had been cooking it up while we were on the firing line. Chow consisted of a squad meal that Thumper had prepared.  One kit can adequately feed 15 troops.  Our meal consisted of diced potatoes, toast, and sausage gravy.  He also had a can of beef stew on the stove that looked like it was ready to explode.  The can lids were swelling up, and it had started to teeter on the crowned bottom.  I pulled out my Leatherman tool and punched a hole in the lid to relieve the pressure.  It shot a line of gravy about 10 feet into the air that covered my hands, and nearly coated another member.  Oops again, (this is starting to become a bad habit).  But I think that I may have averted a disaster, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.  To make matters worse, no one ate any.  WM said, “Well, we know what for dinner tonight, beef stew!”  I offer my apologies to your family WM.

We then decided to have a little fun with our pistols, so we set up the benches, and the bowling pins, and about 10 of us lined up at the 30-yard line.  We started firing, and didn’t stop until all the pins were cleared.  We did this one more time, then called the range cold.  Several people had already left by now, and others were preparing to go.  I was still hell bent to complete level 2, and secured the remainder of my gear.  I had a large Ranger pack, stuffed to the gills with survival gear.  In actuality I was equipped, and prepared to spend several days in the field, although I knew that it would not be necessary.  I went to training to prove to myself, and to my new peers that I was serious about being involved, and I figured that I would bring everything, including the kitchen sink, to prove my personal commitment.  The remaining members gathered around me, and WM called out the remaining tasks.  First, construct a field-expedient shelter, using only Level 1-2 gear.  I pulled out my newly acquired 3-pound camouflage 2-man tent.  I had not yet assembled it, so all the ropes had to be tied to the tent.  Unfortunately they were all to short.  I quickly dug out my 550 cord, and used that instead.  After the initial confusion over the rope length I finally completed my shelter.  Now remember, you must be willing to stay overnight in this shelter, which being that it was an actual tent, I was more than willing to do so.  Next, I had to apply a bandage to an extremity, and treat for shock.  The problem with this was that no one had an open field dressing.  Several members were willing to sacrifice theirs for the cause, but we all agreed that it would be an unnecessary waste.  I explained the procedures in great detail, and WM agreed that I knew the correct procedures, and cleared me on the task.  Next was camouflaging self and equipment.  I threw on my facemask, and gloves, and because the rest of my equipment was already camo, I easily cleared the task. 

The final exercise was to execute a series of three to five second rushes using cover and concealment over not less than a total of 50 yards. You must wear/carry at least your level one and two gear.  This task proved to be the shortest, yet most demanding of the day.  I walked downrange about 75 yards.  I had to take a moment to mentally prepare myself for the rush.  I checked the terrain, I looked for good cover and concealment, and I mentally planned out my movement.  With a wave of my hand in the air I yelled, “I’m ready!"  WM said, “GO!”  I ran to my first spot behind the old boat, hit the ground and paused.  I proceeded to do this again, and again throughout the course.  At one point I had to drop and execute a combat roll because there was no terrain to use as cover.  I was in the center of the course, wide open, and in plain view.  I hit the ground, spun a combat roll using my momentum, and was back on my feet heading to the next spot of cover.  Finally I was on my last rush.  My legs were on fire, and I could barely control them.  I was almost at complete muscle failure.  I approached my final position and literally fell forward in complete exhaustion.  There was a round of applause from the remaining members as I struggled to my feet.  I had done it!  I completed level 2.  Once on my feet I noticed that I had accidentally plugged the end of my weapons barrel with a clump of sod.  My final oops of the day.  That would have rendered it useless had it been a real engagement.  The members critiqued me on my rush, paying special attention to my tan boots, and the fact that I would unknowingly kick them up into the air every time that I would hit the dirt.  This is a bad habit that I must work to resolve, and the boot color issue will be handled immediately.  Black will be back.  The boot issue was funny only because every time I hit the ground I could hear them say, “Boots!”  I didn’t understand why until the After Action Review (AAR).

All in all, I had an awesome day.  Qualification not only met my expectations, it exceeded them.  I was a little sore and lazy on Sunday, but it was well worth it.  I came home with no fear, and more confidence in my abilities.  I made some new buddies, and had an experience that I can tell my friends and family about.  I am definitely looking forward to next months training at Camp Stasa, only this time I’m bringing some friends. 

I’ll be there, will you?

Madd-Maxx