do i feel lucky?

I arrived at the shooting range just south of Phnom Penh at about 10am on Monday morning. Yar, my moto driver, had brought me the fifteen or so kilometres across the dusty roads and out of the city on the back of his Honda 125.

I felt nervous, like I was about to take an exam.

Nobody was about except for two young Cambodians lying in hammocks in the shade. As our moped drew to a stop, the closer of the two got up and started to walk over to me. We exchanged greetings. He then asked me if I would 'like see the menu?' I nodded. He gave me a laminated piece of paper detailing all the weapons and their prices, adding matter of factly, 'I recommend Kalashnikov if your first time.'

I gave him $30 dollars and he handed me an AK-47 machine gun, a magazine containing thirty or so bullets, an army jacket, and some ear protectors. 'Have ever used machine gun before?' he inquired. I resisted answering sarcastically, saying just, 'no, never.'

We went to the target area, a very long thin shed with no windows, rubber tyres stacked at one end with a paper man target just in front. A dim light came through a few cracks in the wall giving a little illumination, but it was pretty dark, and utterly silent. There was no movement from anything.

I was then asked if I wanted to fire automatic, and unload the magazine in a few seconds, or whether I wanted to shoot each of the bullets individually. I said I wanted to shoot the first fifteen or so individually, and then blast out the remainder on automatic. 'No problem.'

Once my jacket was buttoned, and my ear protectors were on, I gripped the gun and touched the trigger gently. I aimed for the paper man at the end of my line of vision. For a few seconds I was too scared to squeeze and fire, but then eventually I pulled my trigger finger back. The blast from the gun was enormous and had immense power. It blasted back at my shoulder. The feeling was deadly. I fired again. And then again. Sparks blew and the burning smell of the discharging bullets filled the air around me. 'Jesus Christ,' I thought. I aimed as best I could but couldn't see if I was hitting the target. After about ten shots I stopped and asked for the gun to be set on automatic, and then let the rest of the bullets fly out in a couple of seconds flat.

When the gun finally stopped I felt a sense of relief, happy to note that I had not blown myself to pieces.

The target was retrieved. I had hit it twice out of thirty, and one of the shots was through the heart. I was given the target paper as a souvenir, and had my photo taken with the machine gun, just outside in the car park.

Then we left the compound. It was about 10.30am. Then I relaxed.