Corey Levitan examines his target sheet after a remedial lesson at the CRI Counter-Terrorism Training School. Photo by Gary Thompson. Levitan, while firing a Glock 17 semiautomatic handgun, caused several of his classmates to fear for their lives. CRI founder Doron Benbenisty, left, instructs Levitan how to maneuver around a vehicle to take a target. CRI instructors David Chandler, left, and Ron Mannino drill their students before they hit the mats to shoot while rolling. Levitan, center, gets trapped by his seat belt during a mock carjacking executed by CRI's Chandler, left, and Benbenisty.

I'm driving along, minding my own business, when the peace shatters like counterterrorism agent Jack Bauer's windshield on Fox's "24."

"Bang-bang!" I hear, followed by a drizzle of thuds on the driver's side.

OK, so it's just a guy yelling "Bang-bang" while drumming on the truck he lent me. But there's nothing fake about the loaded Glock 17 semiautomatic I'm about to fire.

How to thwart a carjacking is part of a three-day Israeli tactical shooting course taught by Crisis Response International's Counter-Terrorism Training School on a dry lake bed north of Las Vegas.

"At a range, you have to shoot from one spot," says instructor Ron Mannino, 56. "You're very limited."

For the past two days, my five classmates -- most of whom work in local private security -- have had extensive firearms training. I only have time to squeeze in the final morning.

"What we're doing now is very sophisticated stuff," says school founder (and "Bang-bang" sounds-effects guy) Doron Benbenisty, who speaks slowly in an Israeli accent.

"You!" he says, pointing at me, "I hope you can adapt!"

Benbenisty, 37, trained in the Israeli Air Force's Special Forces division.

Me, I'm self-trained, toy rifle division. My weapon never fired anything -- although our neighbor, Irwin, once pretended it shot a BB into his leg. He threatened to tell my parents unless I stopped brandishing it in the driveway. (Such was my introduction to gun control.)

Despite my impressive background, I'm judged shaky in certain firearms areas: assembling, loading, holstering, holding, firing and disassembling. (Remember Lou Costello in "Buck Privates"?)

"Oh my God, he's pointing it at us!" shouts the ducking student to my left.

A bee buzzed, so I swatted it away. It just happened to be with the hand holding my gun. (I'm allergic, though I'm usually the only one in danger of dying if stung.) Welcome to the not-so-OK Corral.

Instructor David Chandler, 40, is assigned a remedial student.

I'm not a loud bangs type of guy. If a balloon's about to pop, even on TV, my fingers seek my ear holes.

Yet it's not the BLAM! of my first shot that gets me the most -- or the brass casing that pings me in the leg (although it would have been nice to know that a hot metal shard flying off a deadly weapon is a normal thing).

It's the three unavoidable inches that my clasped hands are forced upward, as though kicked by Bruce Lee.

"That's the recoil," Chandler says.

Jack Bauer's Glock never does that. (Then again, "24" resolves all global terrorist threats by a shootout between Bauer and three bad guys in a Century City, Calif., parking garage.)

"I'm gonna put fresh target paper up," Chandler says. There's no need. Bullet holes line only the bottom edge of mine, like loose-leaf paper tilted 90 degrees to the left. Some shots didn't even pierce. I casually scan my surroundings for dead Crisis Response International students.

If my target were indeed the burglar drawn on my sheet, he would be alive, well and laughing at me. Not only that, he would turn around, re-enter my apartment and make sure he didn't miss any good CDs.

I'm not the only student having problems. The day before, Richard Amanuele, 38, vomited during rolling exercises. This morning, Justin Bisconti, 28, dropped his gun. And a 30-something student named Ryan watched as the magazine fell out of his. (Ryan won't provide his last name. "After I did that, no," he says.)

My problem is anticipating the recoil, Chandler says. Subconsciously, I'm lowering my gun 3 inches just before it fires and I make my balloons-about-to-pop face.

Once Chandler helps correct for my correction, most of my shots qualify as burglar-maiming and I qualify to rejoin my classmates as we learn how to thwart fake carjackers.

"Head down!" Benbenisty screams as he shakes me from behind to stir the adrenaline of a real situation. (I'm lucky. He poured water on the last guy.)

I'm caught. Not by the bad guy but by my seat belt.

"Get out!" Benbenisty screams as I slowly free myself. (This would not make a good DMV safety video.)

Crouching outside the driver's window, I aim across the truck's interior. My target is a green plastic torso that bounces backward when shot.

"Please don't shoot my truck," Benbenisty murmurs under his breath, breaking character.

The bullet hits. I slink around the back of the vehicle, where another green plastic evildoer lurks.

BLAM! He bounces backward on the first shot, too.

My classmates find this as hard to believe as I do. Dick Cheney, move over.

"Your shooting is excellent!" Benbenisty proclaims.

Attention all green plastic torsos who bounce backward when shot: Your reign of terror is over.

But if I'm so excellent, then why, when we learn how to fire from moving vehicles, does every single student and instructor step considerably backward as I pull around?

And why does someone yell, "Look out!"?

For more information on Crisis Response International, visit www.critraining.com. Fear and Loafing runs in the Living section every Monday. Levitan's previous adventures can be found at www.fearandloafing.com.