SPECIALIST ISUZU

By Harry Kyriakodis

"You know, when I was stationed in Korea, it was so cold that your hair froze and
broke right off..."
"Yeah right, Wills. You were never in Korea. You just got here from Fort Dix."
"I was in Korea before that," Specialist Wills replied, "on the 48th parallel."
"That's the 38th parallel, stupid."
"Er, yeah. That's what I meant."
"Quiet in my formation," barked Platoon Sergeant DeLong.
First Platoon of Charlie Company marched towards the firing range with their M16
rifles shoulder-slung. Platoon Leader Lieutenant Sheller had already gone ahead to
prepare the range for his unit to zero their weapons that morning.
The soldiers are required to zero and qualify on their individual weapons annually.
To zero their M16s, the riflemen fire three shots at printed target sheets 25 meters
downrange, then adjust their weapon's aiming sights to compensate for inaccuracies
with the rifle and their own aiming ability. They repeat this tedious process until all three
rounds pierce the center of the target sheet. The platoon would qualify on real knock-
down targets that afternoon.
"Platoon halt!" ordered Sergeant DeLong when the unit reached the firing range. "At
ease." He then went to the range tower to report in to Lieutenant Sheller.
"When I was in Iraq, I ran out of ammunition and sacked three guys with the butt of
my '16."
"Aw come on, Wills," scoffed Corporal Palmer. "You were never in Iraq."
"Sure I was, in '90. I was with the advance force. We went in before the main
body."
"You musta been on a real advance force if you went in a whole year before the
actual war!"
The rest of the platoon laughed at the joke and at Specialist Wills in general. They
were just getting used to this newcomer's endless lies about himself. They called him
the 'Joe Isuzu' of the Army.
"At ease," directed Sergeant DeLong, returning to the troops. "Listen up.
Lieutenant Sheller wants to run this range as quick as possible. Squads one and two
will zero first. You will pick up four magazines of ammo by the range tower and then go
stand behind an empty firing position. Squads three and four will fall in behind and
coach squads one and two. Then you'll switch. You NCOs tasked to safety the firing
line can pick up your range paddles by the tower. I'll be walking up and down the line
helping you. Does everybody understand what they're supposed to do?"
"Yes, Sergeant!" the soldiers answered.
"Good. Platoon... attention! Squad leaders, take your men down to the firing line."
"Oh God," cried Corporal Palmer when he had no choice but to be coach for
Specialist Wills. "I've got Wills! Watch where you point your rifle, Wills. Try not to kill
too many people today." Corporal Palmer said this not in jest.
"Don't worry," Specialist Wills declared confidently. "When I was in Germany, I got
my unit's top marksmanship award. And I had my arm in a cast, too!"
 "Yeah right. Dream on, Joe Isuzu. You were never in Germany. I hear that most of
your military career was at Fort Dix pealing potatoes--and not very well either."
The troops in earshot again laughed at Wills, who ignored this comment, as usual.
Soon, the firing line was ready for the first rounds downrange.
"Firers," boomed Lieutenant Sheller's voice over the range PA system, "assume the
prone position." With this, the troops got down flat on their stomachs and rested their
M16s on the sandbags at each firing position. "This will be three rounds slow fire to
determine the zero of your individual weapon. Remember: relax, control your breathing
and don't jerk the trigger. You have plenty of time to fire at your own rate. Now lock
and load one three-round magazine of ammunition... All ready on the left?" He turned
to the left to see if all the range safety NCOs were holding up the white side of their red
and white range paddles. "All ready on the right?" He looked to the right of the firing
line. "The firing line is ready. Firers, you may fire at will!"
The range now came alive with sporadic rifle shots.
In a few moments, Lieutenant Sheller continued reading from his script: "Cease fire,
cease fire. Clear all weapons and place them on safe... All clear on the left?" The
safety NCOs on the left indicated clear with their paddles. "All clear on the right?"
Those NCOs did the same. "The firing line is clear. Coaches and firers, move
downrange, determine your corrections and adjust your sights."
The soldiers did as told. "Hey Wills," said Corporal Palmer as they reached the
Specialist's target, "you didn't even hit the target sheet! Wait, there're two holes way up
here," and he pointed to the very top of the cardboard target stand. The soldiers from
the other firing lanes came near to listen in on Wills' wild excuse for this shortcoming.
"Well, it's this weapon. It must really be out of adjustment. But I can still get a
correction from these shots."
"Yeah..." replied Corporal Palmer, "but maybe you're not aiming right."
"I know how to aim. It's just that these sights are really screwed up. When I used to
go hunting in the back woods of Kentucky, I could hit a..."
"You told me you grew up in Pittsburgh."
"Uh, yes, but we used to vacation a lot in Kentucky. Yeah, that's it. Anyway, I could
hit a squirrel from..."
"Save it for another day, Wills. Just make your adjustments."
Soon, the firers and coaches returned to their firing positions. Again, Lieutenant
Sheller's voice began: "Firers, assume the prone position. Some of you should zero
with this volley or the next. Lock and load one three-round magazine of ammunition...
All ready on the left?" He glanced to the left and right of the firing line. "All ready on
the..."
Before he could finish, a shot rang out from the range.
"Cease fire, cease fire! Who fired that!? Who was that!?"
"Oh boy," muttered the men. "Bet you it was that idiot, Joe Isuzu."
Their suspicions were confirmed as Wills slowly raised his hand. "Wills, sir,"
reported Sergeant DeLong with a sigh of utter contempt.
"I thought as much. Specialist, did you hear me say that the line was ready, or that
you could fire?"
 "Er, no sir. I'm sorry, but when you said 'All ready on the left', it sounded to me like
'You may fire when ready'. And there was a fly buzzing around me so I couldn't hear so
good and..."
Both Sergeant DeLong and Lieutenant Sheller were very accustomed to Specialist
Wills' way of explaining things. "Fine, fine. Don't let this happen again. Listen to my
commands more closely."
"Yes sir," Wills quietly replied.
"Another screw up like that, Wills," Sergeant DeLong added, "and you'll be off this
range faster than you can spit! Now pay attention to the tower!"
"Yes Sergeant."
The Lieutenant continued. "All right, where was I... All ready on the left? All ready
on the right?" He looked up and down the firing line and saw all white paddles. Then
he eyed Specialist Wills in particular. "Okay now. The firing line is ready. Firers, you
may fire at will!"
The range once again came to life with shots from the M16s.
"Cease fire, cease fire. Clear all weapons and place them on safe. All clear on the
left? ... All clear on the right? ..." The Lieutenant observed Wills to make especially sure
he was done. "The firing line is clear. Coaches and firers, move downrange, determine
your corrections and adjust your sights."
The soldiers made their way to the targets. "Well, you didn't do much better this
time," said Palmer, marking the shots barely on the target sheet. "We might be here all
day. You've just gotta aim more carefully."
Again, nearby soldiers came close to hear Specialist Will's reason for being such a
poor shot. "Well, it was the sun--it was in my eyes. I couldn't concentrate because of
the sun."
"The sun is to our right!" Palmer shouted while pointing to the sun. "Whadda you
mean the sun was in your eyes?"
"Er, I didn't mean it was directly in my eyes. It was reflecting off my weapon. Yeah,
that's what happened."
"Whatever you say, Wills, whatever you say," said Corporal Palmer, irritation rising
in his voice.
"I bet your dog always ate your homework, eh Wills?" another man chided.
"Well, as a matter of fact, you're right. I had this big Doberman that used to..."
"Why don't you just quit it with your stories," Palmer said. "You're getting on my
nerves. Everyone else's too." Along with the other soldiers, the Corporal began
walking back to the firing positions, shaking his head in disgust, as they were. Wills
followed very slowly.
"Move it, Wills!" bellowed Sergeant DeLong from the firing line. "We don't have all
day for you to finish your stroll! Look alive!"
"Sorry Sarge, but my foot's asleep."
"Wills, your brain's asleep. Now get your butt up here!" Sergeant DeLong and
Lieutenant Sheller looked at each other and frowned. Specialist Wills had cost the unit
a lot of time and trouble in the short time since his arrival.
Eventually, Wills found his way to his firing position and joined his fellow riflemen,
who were glaring at him for causing the delay, and on such a hot day. "Platoon, let's
give Specialist Wills a hand," ordered Lieutenant Sheller over the PA system. Mock
applause and jeers issued from the firing line.
"Hey, don't you guys believe me? My foot's asleep... because, uh, my boots are too
tight."
"Yeah, yeah," smirked Corporal Palmer. Then, mimicking the Specialist: "'My boots
are too tight; the sun was in my eyes; it was reflecting off my weapon...' oh brother."
"But it was... and the wind was moving the target board a little."
"Ain't no wind today, Specialist Isuzu," said one safety NCO coolly.
"Aw, there's always some wind around," replied Wills knowingly.
"The only wind around is the hot air coming from your mouth!" yelled Sergeant
DeLong, his patience very tried.
"I ain't lying, Sarge!" declared Wills emphatically.
Palmer cut in: "Wills, we haven't heard anything from you but lying since you got to
this unit!"
Nobody laughed at any of this because they knew it was so true--and they were
tired of it, tired of Specialist Wills and his incessant stream of lies and excuses.
"Platoon, at ease!" The Lieutenant's amplified voice sounded harsh. "Knock it off
down there and listen. We have to finish off what we came out here to do. Now firers,
assume the prone position... Lock and load one three-round magazine of ammunition...
All ready on the left? All ready on the right?" He turned his head up and down the firing
line and saw all the range NCOs showing white paddles. They were also smiling at him.
Sergeant DeLong grinned towards the tower too. Lieutenant Sheller grinned back, and
then leered at Specialist Wills one last time. Licking his lips and with a sinister twang in
his voice, he went on: "The firing line is ready... Firers, you may fire at Wills!"
All at once, the gunmen stood up and shot at Wills, who was still in the prone
position, aiming ahead. In less than two seconds, it was all over for Specialist Isuzu
and his constant lying.
Sergeant DeLong, who had instantly dropped to the ground since he carried no
weapon, picked himself up and brushed off the dirt. "Well, that's that... Lieutenant
Sheller, do you want us to clean up this mess now?"
"No," the Lieutenant replied, "we'll finish zeroing first, Sarge. Shouldn't take that
long now... Why don't you handle it later."
"Sure thing, sir."