From an earlier post at TFL:
This is pretty common, it happened to me when I was downrange replacing a target when a person loads up and chambers a round to resume shooting. I'm not gonna describe the person or their problem that day, because it could have been anybody who just had a case of cerebral flatulence. The range officer managed to stop him before he fired off the round, and he was extremely embarrased when he realized what he had almost done. As this was unfolding, myself and one other shooter were walking back from our targets at the 200 meter berm, when he mentioned something about the range officer running to one of the end rifle positions. I looked, and sure as hell, there was our fella in shooting position ready to fire. We both immediately dove for the backside of the 150 meter berm, making ourselves as short as we could enroute!
Again, this is one I'll bet a LOT of folks have seen. The buzzer sounds for the ceasefire, the RO starts to walk the line to check the unloaded, cleared, grounded, and safe status of each weapon, and BEFORE he's done, some shooter or shooters on the far end of the line automatically start walking downrange to their targets. Usually we just yell "HEY!", and they figure out what they forgot to wait for. Meanwhile, that muzzleloader guy on the other end already had a cap on and a charge with ball loaded when the buzzer sounded, and they usually get extra time to discharge that round before the all clear is sounded.
The now-defunct Branden's in Sacramento attracted it's share of folks whose sole purpose in life was to see how many safety rules they could break. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it, the range officer, as well as retail store patrons, were protected from the range by a thick polycarbonate window. Those of us who showed up to shoot at the same time as the less safety-conscious often took our lives in our own hands. The bullet holes in the shooting stall dividers should've been our first clue. I distinctly remember one "gentleman", who had a new Bennelli M3 black shotgun, and was using slugs on a silhouette target. He was so proud of the effects, he physically walked down the firing line to his buddy, with the muzzle raking each shooter in each stall as he made his way to the stall of his pal. Then he proceeded to dump a few slugs into his buddy's target from the still-loaded shotgun. Think the range officer out there on the counter saw that? Nope, and we even asked her. Needless to say, we packed up at that very instant and left.
One Sunday, when I was range officer at our local 100 yard range, a person arrived with his new MAK-90 and several boxes of Wolf 7.62x39. After getting him safely set up with a bench and target at 50 yards, I proceeded to call the range hot. I was leery and had no desire to walk away from his position, but I had to walk up and down the entire firing line, keeping folks safe.
My first clue was on my return trip down the line towards his position, he had set up his shooting chair at the very rear of his bench, with the sandbags at the back edge, resting the barrel on them and firing. This meant that his muzzle was way behind the heads of his fellow shooters on adjacent benches. A firm but polite discussion with him corrected this problem, his muzzle was now properly forward of the muzzle line, and his fellow shooters resumed their firing. All was good, or so I thought.
Not more than about fifteen minutes later, as I was walking the line again, I heard a triple-tap, followed by a faster burst of fire. I turned and ran down the line, to see folks either running back towards their cars or making themselves real small. Our hero was firing his MAK-90 from the hip as he was walking backwards from the firing line towards the benches at the back of the covered range house, kicking up dirt clods and sending rounds over the 100 yard berm, big grin on his face. My first thought was whether I could get my Kahr K9 out of my hip-side Mexican carry fast enough to be of use against a grinning AK lead-hoser. My second thought came automatically as I screamed "CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE, DAMNIT!" at the top of my lungs.
God must've smiled at me then, because he actually heard me and did cease fire, nobody got ventilated that day.
He did catch the subtle clue, and shortly packed up his smoking AK and remaining ammo, enroute to his car and whatever part of Cape Canaveral, Cocoa, Cocoa Beach, Titusville, Melbourne, Satellite Beach, or Rockledge he came from.
Kicked a guy off the Lincoln, CA range one morning for shooting at a wild turkey at the 100 yard line, immediately after I called a cease fire, with his .45 Long Colt SAA clone. I told him if he had killed it, he would've had to stay there as long as it took for him to eat the entire thing, or for him to meet the fish & game officer I would've called, whichever came first.
Another cease fire happened when a white Ford Ranger pickup traversed right-to-left in front of the 300 meter berm at Lincoln. People were shooting at targets as their scope's field of view filled up with pickup truck and people. There's a gravel quarry to the left of, and behind, the berm that's in operation during business hours on weekdays. Evenings and weekends, that dirt access road it gated closed to prevent people traversing the range.
Some non-English speaking migrant farm workers got word that there was good fishing in the gravel quarry, so they broke the lock on the gate, and drove across the live range enroute to the fishin' hole.