I squinted into the sunlight as the theme from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly played menacingly in the background. The plates downrange wavered in the 102 degree heat, whitely reflecting the blinding noonday light into my sweat soaked gaze. This was the moment of truth. This was where I needed to stop thinking and just be, feeling the trigger as I gazed in rapture at my front sight hovering over the dull steel. I flexed my knees with anticipation and inhaled crackling dry air deep into my lungs. The timer rudely spat its single word vocabulary. My partners on team L.E.A.A.P. fired their ARs and we sprinted downrange, past the bleached skulls of the Phoenix Rising team.

Team LEAAP, representing the Law Enforcement Association of Asian Pacifics, was made up of (l-r) Allen Cheng, Ryan Matsui, Ed Asawesna and Laurel Yoshimoto. They placed sixth in the team event. Photo courtesy Laurel Yoshimoto

The Texas Star was all that existed. The universe was contained in the kinetic vibration of my bullets whizzing onto the plates. They danced. They flew. They fell. This was my stage. My soul sang with delight to the rhythm of my slide. I had one purpose. One focus. One glory. Then we were running, feet pounding dust into the air as we skidded to a stop behind our barricade of car doors. My partner tossed me the AR mag, just three bullets. Just three targets. It was a gift to be simple. I sighted down the long barrel. The shot was mine as my soul pressed into the trigger. Nothing. What? Nothing! My zen moment broke and I looked down in keen frustration at the AR. I had left the safety on. With seconds wasting, I flipped it off and threw the .223 rounds downrange with a string of ill will. The bullets struck on target, but the magic was gone. I was once more just myself, overheated and smudged with grime. It was alright. Lucinda Matlock smiled at me, I had taken life to love life. My turn shooting done, I watched as the Escondido Police Department Team tactically slid downrange to their theme song of, "Let's Get It On." I modestly glanced away. I was a married woman who didn't need to see such things. I don't know what they did to those plates down there, but it didn't take them very long at all. And it won them first place. My team came in a respectable sixth. This was the day that many of us cops lived for. Despite heat, the fires in San Diego, the night before when many of us competitors did not sleep, but patrolled our areas, this was our joy. The "All State Steel Challenge," held in Pomona, (not to be confused with the long lost Steel Challenge that in days of yore was located in Piru, California), was a fast and dusty team effort for local law enforcement. Most heartwarming of all, this was a match that was free for us to shoot.

The Orange Co. Sheriff Department's team (l-r) Josh Yoshimoto, wife (and the competition) Laurel, Davida Watt, Justin Barba and Patrick Israel finished ninth. Photo courtesy Laurel Yoshimoto

The sponsors wanted to encourage us to be the best shooters we could be, so in a demonstration of love (which is often rare in our line of work), they set up targets, gave us food, photographed us, and let us feel good about the hard work we had put in to be effective protectors with our tools of triggers and front sights. Remington made me proud that I had bought their 870 police model, and Safariland made me puff out my chest as I drew from their holster. Yes, they benefitted from our protection and patronage, but their products still held a level of quality that made me trust them for those life-saving moments. The team shooting was done. I was the lone deputy on a team of LAPD officers, but we were law enforcement. We were family. Blue or Green uniforms, shields or stars for a badge, it didn't matter. These were my brothers who would back me up if a wide scale disaster ever occurred. We were different agencies with the same goal - as law enforcement officers our fundamental duty was to serve mankind. It was that simple.

The red tape signifies each shoot-off Seiichi Ishikawa of the LA County Sheriff's Department won to take the individual title. Photo by and courtesy of Christine Camp

All of us gathered at the center range for the individual competition. Who could shoot down the steel the fastest? The men who had just been my team became obstacles on my way to being top shooter. Unfortunately, I wasn't much of an obstacle for them, and I stopped advancing after the first heat. Once I was out of the competition, I cheered with uncouth loudness for my local shooting buddy, Seiichi Ishikawa of the LA County Sheriff's Department. If I couldn't win, then the man who kicked my butt on a weekly basis had better hand it to them! He did. Escondido was the best team, but Seiichi was the best individual shooter. Our teams drifted apart and we mingled into ever changing patterns of local shooting clubs, agencies, and new friends. The team from my department (two of which were in the same academy class as me, and a third one who happened to be my husband) gave me hugs and teased me about how my team's polo shirt was very large on my small frame. I hugged back with love and gave them a hard time about getting ninth place. I didn't give them too hard a time though; I had carpooled there with them and was still hoping to get a ride back home. The top three teams got awards. First place got handguns. All of us cheered and blearily headed to our cars. What a great day. What a great match. What a great time to start plotting our first place win that we were sure to get next year. In the sheer bliss of the air-conditioned car we happily traveled home, to shower, change, and head back to work. There were good people out there we were proud to protect and serve. This match was a perfect reminder of that. - Laurel Yoshimoto Laurel is an average shooter who fell in love with shooting sports eight years ago. She resides happily with her loving husband and young son in Southern California and is proud to serve in Law Enforcement.