Hardcover
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781449062071 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 12/28/2009 |
| Pages: | 208 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.63(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Point of Aim
Point of ImpactBy Jay Taylor
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Jay TaylorAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-6206-4
Chapter One
In the Beginning
As a family we were not frequent church goers. Mom and Dad had both come from the South-Dad was a native of Arkansas and Mom was from Alabama-where they had been raised in religious families. My parents did a good job of teaching me right from wrong and instilling a good set of moral values, including teaching me the importance of the Ten Commandments. Little did I know how much the fifth commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," would come to haunt me later in life.
I grew up in the rural South Valley area of Albuquerque, New Mexico. My family lived on a two- acre mini farm which was located next door to Mr. Porter's twelve-acre apple orchard. Down the dirt road from us was a dairy farm, and across the road was Alhgrim's chicken farm. At the west end of the road was a twenty-acre field with a couple cottonwood trees and some sagebrush. There was a large prairie dog town in the field which made it a favorite hunting spot of mine. Mr. Bass owned a sixteen-acre field on the corner by the paved highway east of our place where he raised a few head of beef and grew alfalfa. Next to the field facing the paved highway was a country store and gas station that Mr. Bass also owned and operated. The school bus stop was located next to Mr. Bass'sstore.
When I was in grade school, I always made sure I got to the bus stop early so I could visit with Mr. Bass in his store. He had a small, clear plastic case on the counter with donuts in it. They cost a nickel each. Most of the time I had a nickel to buy a donut, but the times I didn't, all I had to do was stare at that case long enough and Mr. Bass would eventually say, "Go ahead, you can have one." What a grand old man he was.
Often after school, when the bus arrived back at Mr. Bass's store, my dog Missy would be waiting for me at the bus stop. Missy was a small, about thirty-five-pound, German shepherd-looking dog that Mom had brought home as a puppy when I was eight years old. Missy would stand there by the store, anxiously waiting for me to arrive. As soon as I got off the bus and headed for home, she would run circles around me, wagging her tail and barking. This could mean only one thing. She had a squirrel treed in Porter's apple orchard and it was now my job to shake or shoot it out for her.
Throughout my childhood I enjoyed hunting and fishing. Dad was not an avid hunter, but he did manage to take my brother and me deer and elk hunting a few times. I killed my first deer when I was thirteen years old. I always had a BB gun, and later a pellet gun which I used to hunt birds and squirrels in Porter's apple orchard and along the irrigation ditches. I would keep the sparrows I had shot and feed them to the old sow pig Mr. and Mrs. Porter had behind their house. I would pitch the sparrows into the old sow's pen, and she would catch them in midair and swallow them whole. At times I would forget and leave one of the sparrows in my pants pocket, and when Mom found the remains in her washing machine she would be very displeased with me to say the least.
My mom and I have always had a very close relationship. Being the younger of two boys, I spent more time with my mother while my older brother received the larger share of our dad's time. A great deal of Dad's work was for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and it kept him away from home during the week. The majority of his jobs were on the Indian reservations in New Mexico and Arizona. When Jerry, my brother, was old enough, he often went with Dad while I stayed at home and helped Mom with the livestock and chores around the house.
Mom and Dad worked long hours in the family construction business, and by the time I was a teenager they had become moderately successful. Dad claimed his first thoroughbred racehorse in 1960, and from that time on we kept one or two broodmares at the farm. We raised their foals and raced them at the local tracks.
In the summertime I worked at the chicken farm across the road, and in the fall I picked apples for Mr. Porter. When September rolled around, I would sell popcorn and cokes at the state fair and during the horse racing meet. By the time I was 14 I had saved up enough money to buy a Remington 22 pump rifle and an old horse named Clyde. Clyde was a thoroughbred, and he was probably old enough to vote when I got him. You could count every rib in body, and sitting on his back when he was trotting was like trying to ride a jack hammer, but he was mine. With Missy tagging along behind us, we could now ride up to the mesa to hunt the jackrabbits and cottontails that roamed the sagebrush flats.
In high school I participated in sports. I played football and wrestled. I graduated from High School in 1967 when I was seventeen years old. I had an opportunity to go to Adams State Collage on a wrestling scholarship, but at the time I felt I was entirely too intelligent for college.
Before joining the Marine Corps I knew I would probably wind up in Vietnam, and with only a high school education, I knew there was a strong possibility I would see combat. Like many others at the time, I thought something might happen, like the war ending or getting stationed in Germany, which would help me avoid combat duty or even going to Vietnam altogether. Like most young men I was a little concerned about how I would react in combat situations. Would I have the courage necessary to function and survive? Could I really take another person's life if I was placed in that situation? I was very naïve, and the thought of going to war was very frightening and yet fascinating at the same time.
I joined the Marine Corps in September 1967 just after my eighteenth birthday, which by the way did not make my mother the slightest bit happy. I actually went down to the courthouse the day after my birthday to join the army. I knew I would get drafted soon and jobs were hard to come by if you were classified 1-A like I was, so I thought I would just get it over with. I believed that this great country of ours guaranteed us our freedom and the right to pursue our happiness, and all that was asked from us in return was that we pay our taxes and fulfill our six-year military obligation. I only wanted to join for two years of active duty-I knew I did not want to make a career out of the military. The army told me they had no two-year program except the draft, and I was informed that if I volunteered for the draft I would have to wait at least six months before I would be called up. I didn't want to wait without a job for six more months. The army recruiter then said, "Boy, if you are in that big of a hurry to join and you only want to join for two years then walk across the hall. I think the Marine Corps has a two-year plan." My stint in the Marine Corps thus started.
I made the short trip across the hall and promptly joined the Marine Corps. The recruiting officer could have been the poster marine. He was a powerfully built and over six feet tall. His uniform did not have a wrinkle in it, and he had rows of ribbons on his chest. He tried to talk me into joining for four years, but I was set on just two years. I knew if I only joined for two years I would only do one tour in Vietnam.
I breezed right through the physical and other tests only to find out I was colorblind. The sergeant giving the test stamped Failed in big letters on my colorblind test, so I asked him if it meant they were not going to take me.
He replied, "Son, that means you are colorblind. We're damn sure gonna take ya, now move on down the line." I wondered why everyone called me "boy" and "son." I was going to be a Marine soon. Two weeks after walking across that hall I was shipped out to the San Diego, California, MCRD (Marine Corps recruit depot) for ten weeks of boot camp.
One of my first instructors in boot camp said something I never forgot. He said, "You pukes had better pay close attention because what we are about to teach you may someday save your life." He convinced me, and I did the best I could to stay alert and pay close attention in all of our classes.
During boot camp we were taught the basics about the Marine Corps and its history. We were taught how to march and how to shoot the M-14 rifle. We learned the simple basics of using a bayonet, knife fighting, and hand-to-hand combat. Upon the completion of our twelve-hour hand-to-hand training, our instructor informed us that we knew just enough to go to the nearest bar and get our asses kicked. I thought about his statement for a moment and decided he was right. Just because we were "badass marines" didn't mean we could let our mouths overload our abilities. Above all else we were in great physical condition. We were always running or marching or doing exercises. By the time I graduated from boot camp, my body weight had gone from a soft 170 pounds to 185 pounds in eight weeks, and it was all muscle.
We spent the last two weeks of boot camp at the rifle range. On the last day we shot for our marksmanship qualification scores. We shot from the standing, kneeling, and prone positions at ranges of 100 yards, 200 yards, 300 yards, and 500 yards. I never was any good from the kneeling position. In order to qualify as an expert marksman, we had to score a 220 or above out of a possible 250. I shot a 221, and the high score of our platoon was 227. I graduated from boot camp with a 0311 MOS (military occupational specialty), which was basic infantry rifleman. I would be a grunt-so much for getting assigned somewhere other than Vietnam.
After graduating from boot camp in early January 1968, we were sent to Camp Pendleton for four weeks of ITR (infantry training regiment). During ITR, one of our instructors was talking about ways to avoid booby traps when he made the statement, "If it didn't grow there, don't f-k with it." This would become my golden rule during my time in Nam.
Later on during one of our other classroom training sessions, a marine staff sergeant came into the class and talked to us about a new program the Marine Corps had started called the Scout Sniper Program. He explained that we would go thru four more weeks of schooling at Camp Pendleton, and upon completion of the course, we would have to qualify as experts on the range to get our 8541 Scout Sniper MOS. To be eligible for the course we needed to have shot expert at the rifle range during boot camp, and we would have to pass a physiological examination. When he had completed his presentation he asked for volunteers.
Well, being that I was in no hurry to get to Vietnam and I had qualified expert in boot camp, I raised my hand for the first time since I had joined the corps. The sergeant took me and fifteen other volunteers outside and asked us a few questions as a group. Did any of us smoke? They did not want smokers in the snipers. Did we think we could kill someone who was not pointing a gun at us? Did we all have 20/20 vision? We all quickly replied yes. He then informed us we had all passed the physiological exam. It was obvious the physiological part of that brief exam had not yet been entirely developed.
Chapter Two
Sniper School
After ITR I was placed on guard duty for three weeks while I waited until the next Scout Sniper School started. Guard duty consisted of walking post at a few different locations around the base. My post was two new two-story barracks which were under construction. I patrolled on foot thru each of the barracks for eight hours, and then I had eight hours off. After a week of walking post, I got twenty-four hours off. I carried an M-14 rifle and three rounds of ammunition while on duty. It was an uneventful time, and it seemed like those three weeks dragged on forever.
Sniper school consisted of a combination of classroom work and many hours at the range. We were issued Remington 700s with 3x9 Redfield scopes. This was the same model rifle I would use in Vietnam. The scope had a built-in rangefinder that most of us never used while we were in Vietnam. The range finder was only good for 400 yards, though in some of the later scopes it was good up to 700 yards. The rifle came with an adjustable trigger which we normally set at eight to twelve ounces of pull and a bull barrel that was imbedded in fiberglass at the chamber. Bedding the chamber allowed the barrel to free float. You could wrap a dollar bill around the barrel and slide it all the way up to the chamber without it touching the stock. This was done for two reasons, first, so the barrel would vibrate the same each time a bullet traveled through it, and second, so if the wood stock warped a little, it would not create a pressure point on the barrel. As a barrel heats up, it may also warp a little. If anything was touching the barrel while the bullet was traveling through it, the barrel vibration would change, thus causing the flight path of the bullet to change.
We shot 308 caliber match ammunition. At the time the ammo was mainly made in one location-Lake City Army Ammunition Plant. The Lake City plant was located in Independence, Missouri. It was located on a 4,000-acre government plot and was operated by Remington Arms. Match ammunition was made in lots, so the boxes would be marked "L.C." followed by the lot number. The manufacturer would run a limited amount of ammo through the production line, and then they would shut down the assembly line to recalibrate all of the equipment. After ensuring the accuracy, they would make another lot. Each time they did this they changed the lot number on the boxes. Each time the lot number changed we would re sight in or "re dope," as we called it, our rifles. Other than that, we never changed the dope on our rifle. We just held under or over the target depending on the range. During Sniper School my weapon was sighted in for 500 yards point of aim point of impact. In Nam I normally kept my rifle sighted in for 600 yards point of aim point of impact.
We were trained to use an infrared scope for nighttime shooting. An infrared scope consisted of two pieces of equipment. One was the scope which allowed us to see infrared light, and the other was the light that was mounted on top of the scope. The light projected a beam of infrared light like a flashlight, and it was undetectable with the human eye. When attached to a rifle it was a big and top-heavy unit. Training was the only time I ever used the infrared scope. In Nam we used the Starlight scope instead. The Starlight scope magnified the light from the moon and stars, thus allowing the user to see in the night.
The classroom work was extensive. We learned about our rifles and how the barrels were made. Similar to the ammo, the first rifles off the production line were the most accurate. We had classes about ballistics where we learned what made the bullet fly and how to gauge its flight path or trajectory. The twists in the lands and grooves (the grooves were cut inside the barrel in a spiral pattern, and the high, flat points between the grooves were called the lands) in the barrel caused the bullet to spin, and the spinning was what stabilized the bullet in flight. The further a bullet flew, the less it spun and the more unstable it became, until finally, it began to tumble. This was one of the reasons why at long ranges it was more difficult to keep tight bullet groups. Wind and other weather conditions could affect the flight path of a bullet as well. We were taught how to judge the wind speed and how to adjust for it. We were also taught how to estimate distances by the size of the target in the scope and by using maps.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Point of Aim by Jay Taylor Copyright © 2010 by Jay Taylor. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Introduction: The Socialist Republic of Vietnam....................ix1. In the Beginning....................1
2. Sniper School....................6
3. Arriving in Country....................10
4. Hill 55....................14
5. My Tenure as an S-1 Office Pogue....................22
6. Cpl Gang....................25
7. Scout Sniper Platoon....................28
8. First Kill....................33
9. Bagging the Bush....................36
10. The Gang....................39
11. William L. Mott....................42
12. Phantom Firefight....................58
13. Friendly Fire....................62
14. Kids and Kool-Aid....................65
15. Heroes and Cowards....................67
16. Hanna and the Worm....................71
17. Bravo Company....................75
18. My Gear....................83
19. Tricks of the Trade....................85
20. The New Lieutenant....................97
21. What Are Friends For?....................101
22. Our My Lai....................104
23. Lt Heagerty and the Swamp....................108
24. The Congressional Medal of Stupidity....................112
25. Read the Signs....................115
26. Partners....................126
27. Olympic Shooter....................131
28. Longest Confirmed Kill....................133
29. Confirmed Kills....................136
30. My First and Only Chopper Ride....................140
31. Command Decisions....................145
32. Politics....................151
33. Bronze Star....................153
34. SniperMyths....................156
35. The Old Woman and the House....................160
36. The Perfect Bush....................164
37. Leaving Country....................171
38. Forty Years Later....................185
39. Epilogue....................193
References....................194