The AYOOB FILES

American Handgunner, July, 2000 by Massad Ayoob

ARMED CITIZEN RESCUE SHOT: THE ROY AULTMAN INCIDENT

Situation: A crazed armed-robber holds up a market, threatening to kill the young clerks.

Lesson: The rescue shot can be the Good Samaritan's only chance to save innocent lives.

It is a Saturday night, April 10, 1999, in. Forest, Miss. Roy Aultman, Jr., 39, rarely closes the SuperValu himself on weekends. Usually his mom supervises as the staff closes this family-owned, 19,700 sq. ft. supermarket. However, Mom is tired tonight and he suggests she go home early and let him take care of things.

Roy is very solicitous of his mother's health. In 1992, she was alone in her house when home invaders broke in. They shot her five times and left her for dead. She still bears the scars, physical and emotional. Not long thereafter, Roy's dad was killed in a single-vehicle crash. The family believes he had been deliberately run off the road.

The years since had been difficult. With those perpetrators still at large, Roy had learned to live in something close to the psychological state Jeff Cooper had defined as Condition Orange. He was almost never without a gun. He had taught his wife to shoot, and his 13-year-old son had taken to recreational shooting enthusiastically.

Roy, a ruddy-faced blond man of 6'3" and 220 pounds, found that he could easily conceal a full size 1911 under his shirt. He has taken the pistol off and left it in his desk in the managers' cubicle that is not readily accessible to the public. The years of living on "alert status" have made him aware of its absence, and something tells him to put it on.

He does not know at this moment that the impulse to put his gun on is, very soon now, going to preserve innocent human life.

It is 8:10 p.m. Roy takes his favorite .45, a stainless AMT Hardballer with 5" barrel and Pachmayr Signature grips, and slips it in his waistband "Mexican style" behind his right hip, tucking his dress shirt into the belt. On his big frame, the cocked and locked .45 disappears under the shirt.

Then comes the shouted cry that makes his heart leap: "Give me the money!"

It comes from his right, only a few steps away on the other side of the free-standing wall that divides the managers' cubicles from the public area of the food store. Aultman turns, instinctively ducking down, consciously taking an instant to compose himself. It's obvious that this isn't someone playing a joke.

"Give me all the money!"

One young girl is frozen, like a rabbit in the presence of a snake. The enraged gunman smashes his heavy pistol across her face, then takes her by the throat, and lifts her bodily with one powerful arm. He throws her.

She flies through the air, completely clearing the five-foot dividing wall and landing in Aultman's office. She crashes to the floor near Aultman. Sobbing hysterically, she scrambles to her feet and runs out of sight.

As Aultman cautiously assesses the scene, he can see only one perpetrator. It's obviously a man, stockily built. Roy can't see his face, or even his color. The perpetrator is wearing a sweatshirt with hood pulled up, a mask and gloves.

Instead, Aultman's attention tunnels toward the weapon in the man's right hand. It's a silver-colored 1911 identical to his own. The man is standing to Roy's right and pointing the pistol at the two remaining female clerks on Roy's left. The left side of the pistol is presented to him, and the storeowner can see clearly that the hammer is cocked, the safety is off and the finger is on the trigger.

Consciously trying to break out of the tunnel vision, Aultman scans left and right. He can see no other perpetrators, only the husky madman with his finger on the trigger.

Even with the facial features hidden by the mask, Roy can see the man is hyper, strung out, almost vibrating with violent tension. He has thrown the 100-something pound girl over a five-foot wall with one hand, pausing only to pistol-whip her.

The pistol is swinging back and forth in a jerky, choppy motion between the other two young clerks. One of them is frozen, and the other is scooping money out of her cash drawer.

Saving the money isn't part of the equation. Aultman likes these young people who work for him, knows he's responsible for their safety and he is certain that in an instant this violent man with his finger on the trigger of a cocked pistol is going to shoot one or both of them.

Carefully, coolly, he takes the gun in both hands, his arms locked out in an isosceles stance, and braces the heel of his support hand on the top of the five-foot separation wall, bending at the waist to do so. He knows something about human anatomy. He knows where he'll have to put the bullet to keep "death throes" from jerking the trigger of that other .45.

Aiming over the top of the gun, he aligns the muzzle and the front sight with the ear of the perpetrator. At a moment when the suspect's gun is between the two victims and not actually pointed at either, Roy Aultman presses the trigger of his AMT straight back, with a smooth certainty born of years of practice.