They were, in the meanest terms, formidably armed and they put on a show as they escorted their principal down the stairs into a waiting double cab. They were clad in blue uniforms and khaki cargo pants, badge shining on their left breasts with dark glasses to hide their stiletto eyes. You wouldn't see the likes of those except, perhaps, inside a cinema. But, they were real.
They were very alert, disciplined and they were well attuned to the slightest movement as their heads followed jerkily every motion found in their peripheral vision. They were young and clean shaven and they adhered strictly to proper gun safety as I found their index finger extended safely away from the trigger. I will give that last point of observation to them my earnest admiration. And they were tense --- very tense! You could see clearly how they gripped the handgrips hard, some fingerprints adhering to cold steel by their sweaty hands.
It just so happened that I was in Toledo City, on the west coast of Cebu Island attending a criminal court hearing when one of them caught my critical eye, one hand gripping the handgrip of a Galil while the other hand flailing loose and free. The next two imitated the first one while the last one clutched the Galil's forearm stock in a reverse and awkward manner. They were in a textbook diamond formation and I couldn't wait to exult on my own discovery of several weak spots, or should I say, their inexperience.
They were just small details that a trained eye would take notice of and utilize these to his favor and slightly decrease the “enemy” advantage of superior strength and firepower to well within his own control and comfort. For one thing, I already have the element of surprise on my side.
For a hundred grand, I could ping off the four guards with a .22 wheelgun and successfully deliver my client's message to the witness in a matter of seconds if I have my way! But I am not. I am just a sadistic perfectionist. I would love to poke into somebody's chink in their armor and get away with it in my imagined bloody street wars of my mind.
A weapon like a Galil needs respect from its owner. You wouldn't handle a Galil, even if it is slung safely around your neck or shoulder, with just one hand unless another hand is clutching the forearm stock nearest to the magazine. The tendency of a long firearm with a sling is that it would swivel and swing if it is held at the handgrip in the event of a sudden reaction to face an armed aggressor and would only be stabilized when the support hand grabs the forearm stock and, by that time, it would be too late, considering that you'll have to switch from safety to semi-auto after that.
A weak hand clutching the middle of an assault weapon stabilizes its fulcrum point as it would bring the weapon closer to the body of the holder and makes the transition to fire very easy and swift and it is much comfortable as it relieves the strong hand of its tenseness from holding the handgrip for so long. It would also remove the aggressive stance by which the latter hand position would project to people.
It would take a few gunfights or of some considerable amount of time engaging in “immediate action drill” (IAD) exercises to arrive at a conclusion whereby one could see beyond what others could not. I am speaking from a view of someone who was there before and, by good fortune and having a wise teacher, I was able to keep my hide that long.
Looking back many years ago, I could not forget how my Israeli instructor lambasted me for taking for granted my handling of an assault rifle. I was like those kids I saw a while ago with those deadly Galils. It was for that reason he turned his ire on the ground where I stood and emptied one magazine of his baby Armalite, intentionally missing me by inches, as showers of dirt and dust fell on me. It was for a reason why he did that – to show a sense of value for my weapon! A little sign of respect. A small gesture that would ultimately save a life...mine...and others as well.