Raindogblue

Reduction Drills

At In-Service, we started range with a cold qual.

Our mags refilled, we honed our skills, shooting at four inch shapes at seven yards, two handed at first, then one handed; strong hand first, off hand next.

With one hand, firing bladed is best, but it exposes the arm hole of the vest leaving the heart and lungs vulnerable.

We shoot square, knees bent, leaning in, arm slightly canted.

Then, began the malfunction reduction drills, a familiar refresher with two hands, but difficult with one: How to strip a mag, Empty reload, How to defeat a double feed.

Racking a slide on a leather holster with ramped sights is no easy feat.

The First Rule of Policing applies to our day at the range: Overcome your problem, return to the fight, go home.

The training reflects our job, it’s not about what’s likely to happen, but the potential of what can occur.

Don't Worry, It's Only Empty Lead

Today was a training day.

At a gun club, built in a rock quarry, I spent the afternoon killing paper targets. I didn’t mind the mud balls blasting back from the berm behind the silhouettes. I didn’t mind the hot brass ejected from the barrel bouncing off my hat, but the sound of ricochets from the next shooting bay to my left caused concern.

As the range instructor dressed the line for our next round of shooting, I saw a knee high barrage of bursting mud to my left, ten feet away.

I raised my hand and stepped back from the line.

I explained my concern to the range instructor.

He replied, “Don’t worry, it’s only empty lead.”

Time Better Spent

Tuesday, the dark, cold clouds receded, allowing a little warmth to a damp city. Dazzled into a stupor by the slender shards of sun, the neighborhoods were content to enjoy the day. The radio was silent. The box was clear.

The streets were populated with bicyclists, joggers, and couples walking dogs.

After making the rounds, I stopped at the Park of the Woods, exited my car, and watched the local Little League team play ball. I mingled with the crowd, passed out stickers to younger siblings, and enjoyed the game.

Off first base, past the bleachers, and by the trees. A boy played soccer with his mom. Garbed in goalie gear, he defended a make shift goal created by cones. He struggled with stopping the ball. His heels were heavy, his balance wrong. He tried his best.

I approached.

Do you want a few tips?

He grinned. His mother stepped back without demur and observed.

In uniform, vest, belt, and boots, I crouched down, showed him how to place his weight, how to drop his knee, how to keep his chest square, bring the ball to his bread basket, and spring to the sides. Then, I started to shoot the ball, slow and low, building speed and spin, width and curve. He listened, adapted, and blocked all balls, but two.

After twenty minutes, I stopped. The boy was breathing hard and sweating heavily, and I needed to check the box and return to my responsibilities.

And though I made no arrests, issued no citations, and cleared no calls, I can't think of time better spent on a quiet day.

Pulling the Pin

When an officer decides he wants to retire, he picks a date and pulls the pin.

Comparisons

Baltimore is a city of 630,000 people. They have 3100 sworn officers and sergeants with 550,000 police calls for service per year.

Seattle is a city of 580,000 people. They have 1200 sworn officers and sergeants with 300,000 police calls for service a year.

The city I work for has a population of 560,000. We have 875 sworn officers and sergeants with 400,000 police calls for service a year.

The Repeating Rule

If a mope answers a question with a question, he's lying.

Example:

What's your last name?

"What's my .. last .. name?"

On the Hook

Tonight, I towed a truck for DWS. On the MDT, the driver had three pages of recent DMV activity.

When I handed him his citation, I asked, What's it gonna to take to get your license back?

"$26,000," he said.

You owe $26,000 on your license?

"Yes," he replied.

He'll never be able to pay off his fines, and he won't stop driving.

10-79

10-79 is logging off, putting your car in the barn, unpacking your gear, turning in your paper, removing your vest and belt, taking off your uniform, ending your shift, and going home.

The Shift Rule

To maintain health, to maintain sanity, to stave off depression and bad eating habits, keep a schedule when working shifts.

Working alternative hours to those around you, it is easy to come undone, lose boundaries and focus, follow the whims of exhaustion and hunger.

Eat at the same time. Sleep at the same time. Wake at the same time. Work out at the same time.

Provide balance where the is none.

Avoid the Egg McMuffins.

Egg McMuffin

It was beyond late. The darkness dimmed into pre-dawn gloom. The birds stirred. My bones ached. My bad leg began to talk to me; it wasn't happy. I'd spent six hours working a crime scene. When I finished a task, I'd report back to the command center, and another task would be given to me. I'd spent the last two hours guarding evidence until an LT. told me to go find my car, and secure part of the inner perimeter of the crime scene.

Sitting was a relief. A warm car was a comfort. The AM/FM radio passed the time until my buddy, Cappy, began sending MDT messages to me.

I was too tired to type.

I called him.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

I had some crackers, a couple hours a ago.

"There're some tasty Egg McMuffins and Whoppers at the command center," he said.

I'm stuck on the perimeter. Bring some to me.

"I'm on the perimeter, too, next to the command center, next to the food," he teased.

Bring some to me.

"I'll try."

Five minutes passed. Cappy called.

"Sorry. I can't find anybody to bring anything out to you."

Thanks for trying.

"But, I want you to know they are tasty," he said.

Over the next forty minutes, by MDT or phone, he'd let me know the Egg McMuffins were "tasty." I'd type him back, asking him how those Egg McMuffins were to eat, wondering if they were "tasty."

Before dawn he called again. The night sergeant was standing next to him. He wanted to know if I could work a little longer.

Too tired to filter my thoughts, I blurted out:

As long as I get one of those Egg McMuffins.

Cappy repeated the bargain, word for word, to the sergeant,

Don't tell him that! I was joking!

Fifteen minutes later, the sergeant stopped by my post, thanked me, and handed over a bag containing two, hot Egg McMuffins. Overtired and very hungry, I ate the sandwiches as fast as I could breathe. Despite the heartburn and grease, they were tastier than I could have imagined.