He wrinkles his nose as if automatic fire is only for films and books.
‘Two clicks for single shot. The only problem with the safety on an AK is it’s bloody noisy, so don’t do it unless you mean business. There’s no bolt-stop device, so the bolt moves back into the chamber after the last round’s been fired. You have to re-cock when you change mags.’
Then he tucks the wooden butt under his armpit as if to fire. ‘If someone has the weapon on you, try to get sight of the selector. There may be dust or dirt around it. A lot of blokes carry AKs for the prestige and they’re not really ready to use them. Check the position of the lever. If it’s all the way up, it might give you a bit more time. Right, let’s have a look inside.’
He takes the smaller bundle from the table and unfolds a triangular piece of cloth over the carpet. Then he removes the magazine, cocks the weapon to clear the breech, and pulls the trigger.
‘If you have a piece of cloth with you, you can spread the pieces over it in order, then gather them up in reverse. A shemagh is perfect.’
‘The Afghans use something called a pattu,’ I say, and describe a few of the near-universal applications of the Afghan woollen shawl, without which life in Afghanistan would be unmanageable.
‘We’ll pretend it’s a pattu then. This is the top cover.’ He taps the uppermost metal surface of the weapon, then pushes in the serrated catch at its rear and slides it off, exposing the innards. A long and snake-like recoil spring emerges. Then comes the bolt, sliding back into the receiver track with a clattering sound like a miniature train crossing a junction. At its far end is a long silver rod. ‘That’s the piston. It’s attached to the bolt carrier.’ He points out the curved surface, called the camway, on which the bolt rotates, and then the firing pin and the extractor attached to the bolt itself. Then he detaches the forward section of the wooden handguard to reveal the gas chamber. There’s also an easily removable rod beneath the barrel for clearing jammed rounds. But that’s it. Mr Kalashnikov’s brainchild, laid bare.
‘I’m amazed how simple it really is,’ I say.
‘That’s the secret of its success. Makes it less accurate than other rifles, but the clearances give it a lot of tolerance. When it really starts to fill up with rubbish, the mechanism won’t return fast enough and you get a second round coming up and jamming. That’s why you keep your weapon clean. Best way is to dump the whole thing in a pan of avgas.’
‘Aviation fuel?’
He nods. ‘But petrol will do. It cleans the dirt out and leaves the surfaces dry. Issue cleaning fluid usually comes in a fiddly little bottle, but a switched-on soldier will usually have something like this.’ He reaches over to the bundle, pulls out a green plastic insecticide bottle, and mimics spraying the rifle’s insides. Then he takes the head of an inch-wide paintbrush and waves it across the metal. A pull-through, stored in the butt, is used to clean the barrel. He drops it into the breech and gives a tug on the oiled strip of cloth from the other end, then closes an eye and peers into the muzzle. ‘If you put your thumb in the breech, it’ll catch enough light for you to see what’s going on. Want to have a go?’
He reassembles the parts, then reminds me of the golden rule. ‘Before you hand a weapon to anyone, clear it.’ He takes off the magazine and pulls back the bolt to make sure the chamber is clear.
I strip the weapon in the manner he’s shown, lining up the different parts, then fit them back in reverse order.
‘Right,’ says H, ‘now have another go.’
I repeat the process.
‘Again,’ he says.
And again, as my hands grow in confidence.
‘Now do it in the dark,’ he says, and instructs me to close my eyes. After several repeats, he says we’ve come far enough for the moment, and I put the weapon aside, resting it against the table.
‘That’s another thing,’ says H, reaching out for it. ‘Don’t ever prop the weapon anywhere where it can fall over. Always lie it down within reach of you, breech side up, so you don’t get dirt in it.’
Suddenly I remember a question I’ve been wanting to ask him.
‘You know those documentaries where you see American servicemen tapping the magazines of their weapons on their helmets before locking them onto their M16s? Why do they always do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never worn a helmet.’
We move on. He unwraps the remaining bundle on the table to reveal a 9-millimetre Makarov pistol with five-pointed Soviet star on the grip panels. He releases the magazine, which slips into his palm.
‘You’ve seen one of these. It’s like the AK. A bit primitive, but effective and reliable. They say it’s based on the Walther PPK. Double action, so you can cock it either with the hammer or by pulling back the slide. The trigger pull’s a bit heavy in double-action mode. Good stopping power though.’
We go over the details of the mechanism, how to check the chamber and make safe. The pistol can be stripped by pulling down on the trigger guard, allowing the slide to be eased off from the rear. The barrel is fixed. I practise loading and unloading, thinking all the while about the expression ‘stopping power’. It’s a term as removed from the reality it describes as collateral damage or intelligence interrogation – death and torture respectively. Herein, I reflect, lies the terrible contradiction between two of the most momentous experiences in the life of a man: the near-irresistible thrill of conflict and the horror it produces.
Our session has a final stage. H leaves the room again and returns with what looks like a book and yet another weapon. On the dark blue cover of the book defense intelligence agency is printed in silver letters. Several yellow Post-its protrude from between the pages. The weapon in his hand is an FN HP, better known as the Browning High Power. It was originally manufactured in Belgium by the famous Fabrique Nationale, but has been copied all over the world. I’d learned how to use it in the army, where it was also known as the L9A1. I’d also killed a man with the same weapon.
‘Personal favourite,’ says H, as he clears it, then clicks the magazine gently back into place. The Browning has been the army’s sidearm of choice for decades, and compared to the latest automatics using plastic and ceramic parts, it’s starting to look old-fashioned. The Swiss-made SIG is the most recent sidearm of choice for the Regiment, he says, but the Browning’s reliability and high-capacity magazine make it popular with armed forces in so many countries, it’s going to be around for a while longer.
‘It’d be nice to have a couple to take with us,’ says H with a grin as he weighs the pistol in his hand. This one’s a recent DA model, he says, a double-action version of the original that incorporates a few modifications. The magazine can hold fourteen rounds, making fifteen with one in the chamber; the shape of the trigger guard has been changed to improve the grip when firing with two hands; and instead of a manual safety catch, there’s now an ambidextrous de-cocking lever mounted on the frame. There’s an internal firing pin safety mechanism and another safety to prevent firing if the slide isn’t all the way back.
As he points out the weapon’s features, his fingers move lightly over its surfaces with the swift dexterity of a conjuror, and the dark metal seems suddenly alive to his touch, ready to spring into action. He draws back the slide, presses the de-cocking lever, takes the magazine out and replaces it, and flips the pistol between his hands.
‘I used to sit for hours playing with one of these,’ he says as he slides it behind his back in a single fluid motion and presents to me his open palms. Then with the same effortless gesture the pistol reappears in his hand, supported by the other in a firing grip.