I’m not interested in the political side of this debate, I’m just here to - well, kind of - defend the “AK 47” as being a Big Bad in the story.
Here’s a Youtube video that illustrates the relative power of an AK 47 as compared to regular hunting weapons. I’d rather be shot with an AK 47 than any hunting rifle I’ve ever fired or seen fired.
The lack of safety precautions in the case we’re discussing is, of course, inexcusable.
Now, a personal anecdote. I was nearly shot in that manner, myself, by my uncle. We were hunting large fowl around the lake Femunden, in Norway, an autumn four or five years ago. We were cresting a ridge and we hadn’t seen any fowl for hours, mostly due to us rather preferring the walk to the hunt and chatting loudly. But as we crested a ridge of the mountain, my uncle suddenly heard wings flap just in front of him. I was straight behind him, around two or three metres, and my father was around five metres to my side.
My uncle had his shotgun - a beautiful Mossberg 12-gauge pump-action that I later inherited - on his shoulder, by the strap, muzzle pointing up into the air and safety on. He reached with his right arm under his shoulder, grabbed it by the shoulder-pad, swung it up and under so he’d get the pad to his shoulder and left hand under the barrel, right up to aim. It’s a pretty beautiful manoeuvre, as it saves a lot of time, but my uncle had accidentally thumbed the safety and the gun discharged around half a foot in front of my feet.
Now, remember, that gun was, for half a scary-ass second, swinging directly my way; from head to toes. If the gun had gone off half a second earlier, I’d be lucky if I could be bragging about my scarred upper body.
The dirt splattered my feet and I walked straight up to him and smacked him over the head, twice. Motherfucker, but that was close.
And my uncle is a police man, a hunter of nearly forty years and spent five years in the army. He was the one who first brought me to a firing range and he literally beat gun safety into my head. Every time I fucked up, he cuffed me over the ear or the back of the head.
So, I guess what my point is; familiarity does breed contempt. And the bone tiredness associated with hunting trips also breed carelessness.