MATT HELM: The War Years Read Online Free PDF Page A

thereof, than by chronology.
     
    "Where's your gun?"  When I nodded toward the beat-up dresser against the wall, he walked over and picked it up and tossed it to me.  I think that scared me more than the shots he'd fired.  I'd been taught never to throw a loaded gun - they have a nasty habit of going off when dropped, something you never see in the movies where they're forever pitching pistols around with no loud bangs.
     
    I caught the .45 with both hands open, cushioning it.  You don't grab at it; you might grab the trigger.  I quickly checked the pistol since it had been out of my possession for a while.  I saw a note of respect in Vance's eyes.  It seemed to be my day for compliments, spoken and unspoken.
     
    "I see you don't go in for loaded guns flying through the air.  Neither do I.  Just so you don't get the wrong idea, it's not loaded - well not really.  Those are blanks."  I removed the magazine and looked at it.  The bullets looked real to me, not the flat wads that are usually stuffed into the shell in blank cartridges.  "Oh, those are real bullets, there's just no powder in the cartridges," he explained as he saw my puzzled expression.  "We can't afford to lose any instructors to overanxious or scared recruits."
     
    He walked over and handed me a new magazine.  "Here are some real ones for later. Leave the one with blanks on the dresser so you can put it back in tonight.  Get dressed and let's go to breakfast."
     
    Apparently, the canteen never closed.  This time, the counter was filled with scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon and that uniquely military concoction, politely called "SOS" -shit on a shingle for you more vulgar types.  Actually, I kind of liked it, although - like every other G.I. - I'd never admit it out loud.  Vance preferred the eggs, at least this morning.
     
    This time, we were the only ones in the place.  I decided that the cook must sneak in and out when nobody's around, being the shy sort.  Vance seemed to be uncomfortable just eating and continued to talk as we ate.  "Rule one, always keep your gun handy, even in bed.  Don't put it under the pillow; that's the first place someone will look.  Put it down under the covers, alongside your thigh.  After a couple nights you get used to it and stop rolling over on top of it or knocking it on the floor."
     
    "Who do you expect to come looking for it - besides you, I mean?"
     
    He laughed.  "Just anyone in general.  You'll be going into combat eventually, of a sort.  Just pay attention.  Okay if I call you Matt?"
     
    "Sure, why not?"
     
    "Okay, Matt.  This morning was important and it will continue for a while.  The idea is to teach you to wake up ready.  The next time you're rudely woken up - awakened? - I want to see you come up with the gun in your hand.  We'll continue practicing until it's second nature to you.  Until then, keep the blanks in the gun at night.  We don't want to lose me, okay?"
     
    "Gotcha.  Grab gun full of blanks."
     
    "Or a knife.  Or any other weapon you can get your hands on.  Most people waking up someone from a sound sleep expect him to be groggy and disoriented.  If you wake up ready, with a gun in your hand, you may buy those extra seconds that is the difference between you dead and the other guy dead."
     
    I nodded, more serious this time.  I was beginning to get the idea - and liking it.
     
    After breakfast, we went back to my bungalow and Vance had me practice field stripping the .45 until it got light outside.  We then got into the jeep he'd brought with him earlier that morning, and drove out to the practice range - one of them.  There seemed to be several.   Well, it's a pretty desolate country out there in the southwest and there are lots of wide open spaces. The pistol range had the usual man-sized silhouette targets and Vance had me fire off several dozen practice rounds - with each hand - to get the feel of the .45.  I discovered later that practicing