Category Archives: Guns

Might get a room at the camp for this.

h/t The Patriot Post

h/t The Patriot Post

Again; not about GUNS it’s all about CONTROL. Any of you who think differently are either naive or willfully ignorant. I guess I should clarify: You may personally think that it’s about guns, but I’ll guarantee you that the regime does not. This out of control, Marxist, murderous, law-breaking administration actually doesn’t give a rat’s a** about guns or your children , just using this “crisis” as a means to either provoke, continue chaos or both, while getting in some more control regulations.

(this’ll probably put me down for a room in the camp ūüėČ )


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Filed under Guns, Politics, Shooting, Zombie Rats

Old Bombers @ Kingman AZ

H/T: Old NFO blog post.
“Historic pics from Kingman in 1947-48 as all the bombers were destroyed…As you watch, take a look at the numbers of bombing missions these birds survived, and how many were patched in various ways and places!”
It is a sad, but noble journey. The aircraft weren’t needed any longer, so they were stripped, crushed and recycled to make consumer goods. People were tired of the war and having to do without, so these proud and stalwart defenders of freedom gave up their materials-again- for the ones for whom they fought.
I know, I know. I’m imbuing feelings on an inanimate machine– still—.
Also notice the nose art; those young men knew what they were fighting for;) winking


Filed under Guns, Memories, WWII

Tet 1968 Part 1

So there I was laying in my bunk after having a good run at acey- duecy. My helmet was stuffed with military script and I had just slipped off to sleep. KA-BAM!!! Well Hell, that got my attention; I’d heard that sound before. “INCOMING!”¬† someone yelled. I thought: “well no s**t Sherlock”- time to leave this fire trap of a hooch. Grabbed my fatigues, threw the script out of¬† my helmet into my locker, snatched my boots and beat feet to the bunker. Just as I entered the dogleg of¬† the bunker more 122mm rockets landed across the road, that motivated me to more rapidly ingress the bunker, except there was some idiot blocking my chosen path; he got tossed inside by the expedient of wrapping my arms around his scrawny body and flinging him forward.

Hooch after 122mm rocket hit 31 Jan, 1968

(Photo by Jim Benjamin via The Tan Son Nhut Association)

Having (finally) arrived in our beloved bunker,  the rats who usually occupied the bunker vacated the premises. You could see them scurrying out the door even as more troops piled in. Guess they were more worried about us than being blown up by a random explosion.

I bummed a Camel from a fellow denizen of the bunker and we  entertained thoughts about how long this would last. The consensus was probably  about  a 1/2 hour.  I had just returned from a 179 day TDY in  Bien Hoa where these mortar or rocket attacks happened with boring frequency, mostly lasting long enough to get everybody up and armed . The VC would usually leave the area before the Quick Reaction Force could get to them. Little did we know that this rodeo would last several days.

Though I hadn’t experienced any attacks in Saigon. Here I wasn’t armed. I felt nekkid.

A little later we started hearing small arms fire, that distinctive sound of an AK-47, some answering fire from a M-16. Huh! About that time an E-6 stuck his head in the bunker and asked for volunteers to augment the 377th Air Police Squadron to help defend against the VC who had penetrated the fence.¬† “Hey Sarge, will we be issued weapons?” “You bet!”¬† He sold me, I¬† stood and followed him out the door with about 5 other troops. I wasn’t staying there in a bunker unarmed; my Momma didn’t raise any idiot children. [To any friends who might see this post and want to refute that statement. Remember I moderate the comments and I don’t have to allow you any rebuttal ;-)]

We wound our way to the HQ of the Air cops and joined another 40 or so troops waiting to get our weapons issue, vests, and ammo, lots of ammo. Well,  I  remember getting 4 mags full. Hey, way better than I had  earlier.

An old tough looking E-7 gave us our safety briefing. Number one on his list: DO NOT CHARGE YOUR WEAPON WHILE IN THIS FORMATION! So this “Delta Sigma”¬† next to me says “oops” real quietly. I glance over at the dumb s**t and he’s trying to figure out how to “un-charge” his weapon, with his finger on the trigger! Before I can react other than lean away (luckily the muzzle is pointed towards the clouds) the weapon discharges. BANG!! That got everybody’s attention. When the Ol’ Sarge got in that poor fool’s face, I was concerned I would get splattered with whatever was left of the boy. That boy got to meet new and interesting people,¬† he also was un-volunteered. I did see him later, filling sand bags, so he did contribute to the effort.

To be continued (maybe; the story gets harder to tell the more I write. We’ll see)

Badge for 377th Air Police Sq.

To the 377th: Thanks y’all!


Filed under Guns, Memories

Zombie Rats

No this is not about politics-but that would be a good title for a piece on the rat bas***ds in Washington D.C. and other locales- this is about a chillaxing day doing recoil therapy.

Heavy emphasis on the “chill” part of the word? chillaxing.¬† When I arrived at the range someone told me it was 37 degrees, I believed it. Of course the wind was from the North.¬† It had rained recently (that’s a good thing we need the rain) so the clay and gravel¬† soil in the tactical bay was primed to attach to our boots/shoes. Felt like I gained 5 lbs just walking around.

There were some newbies in the group so they were instructed in the finer points of gun safety, then the basics: grip, stance, sight picture, etc. One of the newbies is a foreign exchange student from Southern Europe, so of course she had never shot a weapon. Started her out on .22s, she was a natural shot. She was moved up to a Browning Hi Power 9mm, then a XDM .45. She was nailing the targets like she’d been shooting for a year!¬† You couldn’t have slapped the smile off her face; of course with her shooting lights out, you wouldn’t want to try.¬† Videos and still pictures were taken to (I think) e-mail to her folks back in the Old Country. See, send your daughter off to Texas and right away she gets into the fun stuff!

One retired Marine summed it up pretty well when he said: “I love the smell of burnt cordite in the morning”. Yeah, Bubba!

We did save the surrounding town from an infestation of Zombie Rats:

Enjoy your Holiday with family and friends.

Merry Christmas.

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Filed under Guns, Shooting, Zombie Rats