On Surviving a Gunfight

Even among my father’s generation, the generation that fought the Second World War, most men never saw combat. Of those who saw combat, even fewer got into what I call a gunfight. By that I mean a deadly encounter on a one-on-one or a-few-on-a-few basis where you meet the person trying to kill you and where you understand that particular person is going to die if you are going to survive. That’s a very different experience from being in large group of men exchanging fire with another large group of men at a distance—what I would call a firefight rather than a gunfight. Neither is a pleasant experience. I know. I’ve done both.

I write from that perspective, a perspective that fewer and fewer Americans share—especially those among our political elites.

I wish that those who have not had the experience of surviving a gunfight would kindly shut up and refrain from telling me what I legitimately need to defend myself. In two of the three gunfights I have survived, the first round that I fired took out the other guy. In the other I was not so lucky. Although I scored hits with all 14 rounds I fired (13 in the magazine plus one in the chamber to start) from the handgun I was carrying, the other guy didn’t go down. (@#*%ing full metal jacket ammo!) Fortunately for me, a buddy with a rifle shot my opponent while I was reloading.

<rant>Don’t tell me that I need fewer rounds in my weapon. Don’t tell me that I need to use less effective ammunition. Don’t tell me that I should wait for minutes when seconds count. And don’t tell me that I can’t be as well armed as your bodyguards.</rant>

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