Eight-hundred meters of range lay quiet as the soldiers set up their firing positions. The sun had just risen, as the day was awakened by the song of birds in the cool humidity of a Mississippi morning. With the sand bags set into position to anchor the front bi-pod legs of the machine guns, each soldier loaded his ammo into the feed tray, locked the upper receiver into place, then laid flat on the ground, cheek buried into the stock of the weapon. All that was left was the command from the senior range NCO to commence firing.

The weapon is categorized not by name, but by number... the M240B. It shoots a 7.62mm round, which are connected in series by way of a metal disintegrating link. With a range of over 800 meters, this is a weapon that finds a home in the hearts of every infantry man. A symbol of the dichotomies that exist in this world, as beauty melds with the forces of destruction. Machined parts that bridge art and craft that when assembled possess the force to destroy whole platoons and light armored columns. It is salvation in the moments of need.

The weapons are heavy, and with extra barrels, ammo, and at times tripod mounts, it is manned not by one, but by a team of two. These teams build the bonds of the deepest of friendships, working as a single unit, like a pair of trained dancers on the stage. As the gunner shoots, his assistant stays ahead of him, providing feedback and guidance on accuracy, targeting, and fire control, while sitting ready to change a barrel, load more ammo, or even assume the gunners position if the situation demands. Together they share the mission of providing essential fire support for their platoon.

As the command to commence firing was broadcast over the load speakers mounted on the outer edge of the range tower, gunners engaged their targets. The early morning quiet vanished, replaced by the rhythms generated by the multiple cycles of fire; an orchestra that began with one and escalated with the cadence of the many guns on the range. It's a form of music to a soldiers ears, as soothing as the works of great composers. A sound that runs with the pulse of the blood, as it echos across the rolling knolls of Camp Shelby. It is a place that an infantry man can claim as his own, being both composer and musician. A place that for those observing from the outside is often difficult to understand. It is not just about the weapon, nor its potential to destroy, but a relationship between soldier and machine, need and adrenaline, rhythm and skill. A tool that feeds the primal instinct to survive and win.

A. SECFOR held the range that morning. All it's members qualified.

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Copyright, Scott Kesterson- 2006

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