The Network - Jason Elliot [42]
‘I’m amazed how simple it really is,’ I say.
‘That’s the secret of its success. Makes it less accurate than other rifles, but the clearances give it a lot of tolerance. When it really starts to fill up with rubbish, the mechanism won’t return fast enough and you get a second round coming up and jamming. That’s why you keep your weapon clean. Best way is to dump the whole thing in a pan of avgas.’
‘Aviation fuel?’
He nods. ‘But petrol will do. It cleans the dirt out and leaves the surfaces dry. Issue cleaning fluid usually comes in a fiddly little bottle, but a switched-on soldier will usually have something like this.’ He reaches over to the bundle, pulls out a green plastic insecticide bottle, and mimics spraying the rifle’s insides. Then he takes the head of an inch-wide paintbrush and waves it across the metal. A pull-through, stored in the butt, is used to clean the barrel. He drops it into the breech and gives a tug on the oiled strip of cloth from the other end, then closes an eye and peers into the muzzle. ‘If you put your thumb in the breech, it’ll catch enough light for you to see what’s going on. Want to have a go?’
He reassembles the parts, then reminds me of the golden rule. ‘Before you hand a weapon to anyone, clear it.’ He takes off the magazine and pulls back the bolt to make sure the chamber is clear.
I strip the weapon in the manner he’s shown, lining up the different parts, then fit them back in reverse order.
‘Right,’ says H, ‘now have another go.’
I repeat the process.
‘Again,’ he says.
And again, as my hands grow in confidence.
‘Now do it in the dark,’ he says, and instructs me to close my eyes. After several repeats, he says we’ve come far enough for the moment, and I put the weapon aside, resting it against the table.
‘That’s another thing,’ says H, reaching out for it. ‘Don’t ever prop the weapon anywhere where it can fall over. Always lie it down within reach of you, breech side up, so you don’t get dirt in it.’
Suddenly I remember a question I’ve been wanting to ask him.
‘You know those documentaries where you see American servicemen tapping the magazines of their weapons on their helmets before locking them onto their M16s? Why do they always do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never worn a helmet.’
We move on. He unwraps the remaining bundle on the table to reveal a 9-millimetre Makarov pistol with five-pointed Soviet star on the grip panels. He releases the magazine, which slips into his palm.
‘You’ve seen one of these. It’s like the AK. A bit primitive, but effective and reliable. They say it’s based on the Walther PPK. Double action, so you can cock it either with the hammer or by pulling back the slide. The trigger pull’s a bit heavy in double-action mode. Good stopping power though.’
We go over the details of the mechanism, how to check the chamber and make safe. The pistol can be stripped by pulling down on the trigger guard, allowing the slide to be eased off from the rear. The barrel is fixed. I practise loading and unloading, thinking all the while about the expression ‘stopping power’. It’s a term as removed from the reality it describes as collateral damage or intelligence interrogation – death and torture respectively. Herein, I reflect, lies the terrible contradiction between two of the most momentous experiences in the life of a man: the near-irresistible thrill of conflict and the horror it produces.
Our session has a final stage. H leaves the room again and returns with what looks like a book and yet another weapon. On the dark blue cover of the book defense intelligence agency is printed in silver letters. Several yellow Post-its protrude from between the pages. The weapon in his hand is an FN HP, better known as the Browning High Power. It