The Network - Jason Elliot [44]
By degrees my training is moving from the abstract to the very concrete. H is a gentle but thorough taskmaster, who never hurries or raises his voice, nor pushes me too fast with anything I feel unsure about. He shares his knowledge freely and without any trace of pretension. I much prefer his manner and method to the arrogant mystification of Seethrough, who seems to delight in making me feel ignorant.
We walk again the following day, pushing the pace a little harder. It’s overcast but mercifully dry, saving us the discomfort of getting soaked by sweat under our waterproofs. We take the same route to Pen-y-Fan, then leave the summit on the steep eastern side in the direction of the pyramidal face of Cribyn, crossing the valley by the reservoir and climbing onto the broad plateau above. After a further two hours’ walking, a long downward traverse puts us on the road a mile and a half from the car. I run this stretch in considerable pain while H mutters encouragement at my side.
In the afternoon we begin drafting notes for the tasks and routines we need to cover. Then, breaking for tea, H wanders outside and feels the grass on his lawn. It’s dry enough and he has an idea. It’s one thing to be on the right side of a weapon, he says, but finding oneself unexpectedly at the business end is another matter. It’s time to practise disarming techniques.
At the heart of the theory of disarming – jap-slapping, as it’s unofficially called by Regiment men – lies the notion that, if a weapon is pointed close enough to one’s body, it’s possible to knock it aside before the attacker can pull the trigger. It’s difficult to believe at first, so the point of disarming routines is to demonstrate the truth of it. Unless the belief is there, says H, you’re liable to hesitate.
We start with the pistol, using the Browning in the manner of a hold-up. I push the muzzle into the small of H’s back. His hands go up; he shuffles forward and begins to babble as if terrified, then looks at me over his left shoulder. I’ve agreed to pull the trigger at the first moment I sense alarm. I feel his body turn and am about to respond, but within the space of a second I find myself on the ground, looking up at him. His left hand is clenched around the shirt on my chest, which he’s pulled up at the last moment to prevent my head from hitting the ground too hard. His right hand is poised above me, ready to strike. The pistol lies on the grass. I’m shaken, and very impressed.
‘Easy,’ he says, pulling me gently to my feet. ‘Let’s break it down into stages.’
Everything depends on confidence in the key idea that the weapon can be deflected before it can be fired. The rest is more or less common sense, says H. It’s an expression he’s fond of, I notice. There’s an element of stealth – glimpsing but not fixing on the threatening weapon – and distraction – dropping one’s keys or wallet onto the ground at the moment before counter-attacking. The counter-attack comes in the form of a swift turn and, at the same moment, a downward blow to deflect the weapon and open the attacker’s body to further disabling strikes.
‘Better not to launch into it at the first instant,’ says H. ‘That’s when a gunman’s most tense because he’s expecting you to try it on. Choose your moment. Get him talking and his mind off the weapon. Then check the hand it’s in by glancing over your shoulder. Pushing against the weapon is useful too, because when you start to turn it’ll slide off-target. The downward strike is hard and fast. Follow up with an open hand to the chin and a knee in the groin.’
There are more precise methods for seizing a pistol without harming an attacker, he tells me, but they take too long to learn.
‘Forget about Jackie Chan. The aim here is to disarm and disable, not circus tricks. Besides,’ he adds with a solemn look, ‘anyone who puts a weapon on you deserves whatever they get.’
This is the first glimpse I have of the steel beneath the velvet.