Public toilets?
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The c7a2 build was built on the betsy Ross lower. Pretty cool
Reminds me of Syria story.
In Heseke we got mortered by an Assad regime position.
I don't like having my breakfast interrupted by incoming. It makes me cranky. So I convinced my "general" to let me go on the retaliatory raid.
We had a squad from a local Arab militia attached to us. Hearts and minds kinda thing.
Anyways we took the base from Assad's troops. Among the captured weaponry was a Vintorez with 6 full mags and a half full mag. I quickly claimed that as mine. That night one of the Arab bastsrds stole all the ammo of the mags in my truck. Left the mags and the gun but stole the ammo.
I kept the rifle and the half a mag till i got to Shengal where it all was used the first night. Wish I had more. Fighting was done almost exclusively at night from an average range of 15 m. Most of the time we were shooting at muzzle flashes.
Good times...
I have some palmetto special uppers: Spacrider, reaper, ASALT 15, alien51 uppers that I might be convinced to let go of one of them but not sure of that either
I would pay $110 for the PSA HEROS lower. I missed it and I really really want it.
DGP has the Filled Pineapple Lowers advertised as in stock.
SPIKE'S STRIPPED LOWER (PINEAPPLE)
dahlonegaarmory.com
I've been writing a book about Syria.....here's an excerpt.....
The makeshift bed was comfortable. I had spent the last 3 hours listening to intermittent radio chatter in Arabic. Nothing unusual, just guard posts reporting in.
Its monotonous, and I nearly went nuts with boredom. I was starting to believe that this is some kind of wild goose chase.
Struggling to keep my self awake, I focused on the voices coming from the motorola.
A voice broke across the net. I sat upright and motioned for a pencil and paper.
"Kareem are you there?" Perfect English with a hint of a British accent.
A second voice answered, his accent unmistakable.
"Yes Habbi, whats up?"
I was listening to American ISIS fighter. His strong Boston accent sent chills down my spine.
As I sat there, copying down the conversation, I knew why I had been pulled out to this remote post. My Kurdish was sufficient enough to relay the contents of the traffic.
It was less than a minute but it felt like an eternity. Lots of good intel was revealed, including the location of the Dais barracks.
As I passed the information to the woman in charge, she grew more and more excited. Vian was generally a very calm person. The first few times I saw her, I thought she was stoned. Looking back it was kinda funny to see her so animated.
She grabbed my Dragunov and threw my vest at me, nearly dragging me to her truck.
6 of us crammed into the hilux and took off into the night. We drove for a couple miles while Vian made several hushed phonecalls.
We pulled up to a friendly post and I was ushered inside. I wasn't sure what was going on. Dushka trucks started pulling up. Fighters started coming in slowly, I didn't recognize any faces, but I could tell these men and women were salty. They were real war dogs. Tried and tested by an untold number of battles. They way they silently sipped their chai, and double checked their gear, I knew something was going down.
The makeshift bed was comfortable. I had spent the last 3 hours listening to intermittent radio chatter in Arabic. Nothing unusual, just guard posts reporting in.
Its monotonous, and I nearly went nuts with boredom. I was starting to believe that this is some kind of wild goose chase.
Struggling to keep my self awake, I focused on the voices coming from the motorola.
A voice broke across the net. I sat upright and motioned for a pencil and paper.
"Kareem are you there?" Perfect English with a hint of a British accent.
A second voice answered, his accent unmistakable.
"Yes Habbi, whats up?"
I was listening to American ISIS fighter. His strong Boston accent sent chills down my spine.
As I sat there, copying down the conversation, I knew why I had been pulled out to this remote post. My Kurdish was sufficient enough to relay the contents of the traffic.
It was less than a minute but it felt like an eternity. Lots of good intel was revealed, including the location of the Dais barracks.
As I passed the information to the woman in charge, she grew more and more excited. Vian was generally a very calm person. The first few times I saw her, I thought she was stoned. Looking back it was kinda funny to see her so animated.
She grabbed my Dragunov and threw my vest at me, nearly dragging me to her truck.
6 of us crammed into the hilux and took off into the night. We drove for a couple miles while Vian made several hushed phonecalls.
We pulled up to a friendly post and I was ushered inside. I wasn't sure what was going on. Dushka trucks started pulling up. Fighters started coming in slowly, I didn't recognize any faces, but I could tell these men and women were salty. They were real war dogs. Tried and tested by an untold number of battles. They way they silently sipped their chai, and double checked their gear, I knew something was going down.
I have some stories too but mine were south and during the Reagan years.
Don't talk very much about it.
Spent A long time in Rehab after a Spine shot.
I've killed and eaten a few Woodchucks/Whistle Pigs/Ground Hogs in my back yard. They taste like a mix between pork and grass-fed beef.
This is a story I told as part of my battle with PTSD and how I overcame it.
For 3 days we had been pounding a small village held by ISIS. Dumping numerous 12.7, 14.5, and 23mm rounds into their positions. We finally got the order to advance. Plans were made and we broke into our teams. My 5 man group was tasked with taking a 2 story building on the outer western edge of my the town. I was to secure a firing position on the second story and provide fire support with my dragunov. The rest of the team was to hold the building and establish an evac point for the wounded.
Op started with a faux assault on the eastern side of the village. When the first shots were fired we began our March to the objective. Under the cover of darkness on the moonless night we crossed 1200m of open ground. Praying Daiş did not have NVGs and were sufficiently occupied with the assault, we successfully arrived in position.
Dragunov slung across my back I nervously double checked the chamber on my cheap Turkish shotgun. Condition one. I had 4 rounds 00 buck, 3 slugs.
Earlier in the evening we drew straws to determine point man. I lost.
As we stacked on the door the butterflies began. No matter how many firefights I had been in it never failed. Those damn butterflies. I took one last breath and clicked off the safety. And in the micro second it took to go hot, I changed. Gone were the butterflies and nervousness. I had gone into auto pilot, that mode where training and experience kicks in, your senses heighten, a calm came over me. It was go time.
As I stepped through the door my eyes were drawn to a soft glow at my 10 o'clock. Weapon at the ready I pivoted, swinging my shotgun to bear down on the only light source in the pitch black room. A young face was illuminated, no longer a boy, but not yet a man. Maybe 13 or 14 years old. I didn't see the RPG until it was almost too late. As he reached for the trigger I fired. Double tap to the chest...range of 6 feet. I could smell his blood in the air. The coppery sweet odor permeated my brain. I could almost taste it. The boy slumped to the floor. The wall behind him splattered with blood, illuminated by the cellphone, which had fallen from his grasp. As he lay there struggling to breathe, shock hit me. I had just killed a child. I stood there frozen as he took his last breaths. I am not sure how long it was, could have been a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Finally he shuddered and laid still. I was brought back to reality by a hand tugging on my arm and pointing at the stairs. He was right. We had a mission to finish.
7 hours later we had secured the village. Wearily I shouldered my rifle and climbed down the stairs, dreading seeing the aftermath in the harsh daylight. The first floor was littered with injured Kurds receiving treatment. The corpse had been removed thankfully.
For 3 days we had been pounding a small village held by ISIS. Dumping numerous 12.7, 14.5, and 23mm rounds into their positions. We finally got the order to advance. Plans were made and we broke into our teams. My 5 man group was tasked with taking a 2 story building on the outer western edge of my the town. I was to secure a firing position on the second story and provide fire support with my dragunov. The rest of the team was to hold the building and establish an evac point for the wounded.
Op started with a faux assault on the eastern side of the village. When the first shots were fired we began our March to the objective. Under the cover of darkness on the moonless night we crossed 1200m of open ground. Praying Daiş did not have NVGs and were sufficiently occupied with the assault, we successfully arrived in position.
Dragunov slung across my back I nervously double checked the chamber on my cheap Turkish shotgun. Condition one. I had 4 rounds 00 buck, 3 slugs.
Earlier in the evening we drew straws to determine point man. I lost.
As we stacked on the door the butterflies began. No matter how many firefights I had been in it never failed. Those damn butterflies. I took one last breath and clicked off the safety. And in the micro second it took to go hot, I changed. Gone were the butterflies and nervousness. I had gone into auto pilot, that mode where training and experience kicks in, your senses heighten, a calm came over me. It was go time.
As I stepped through the door my eyes were drawn to a soft glow at my 10 o'clock. Weapon at the ready I pivoted, swinging my shotgun to bear down on the only light source in the pitch black room. A young face was illuminated, no longer a boy, but not yet a man. Maybe 13 or 14 years old. I didn't see the RPG until it was almost too late. As he reached for the trigger I fired. Double tap to the chest...range of 6 feet. I could smell his blood in the air. The coppery sweet odor permeated my brain. I could almost taste it. The boy slumped to the floor. The wall behind him splattered with blood, illuminated by the cellphone, which had fallen from his grasp. As he lay there struggling to breathe, shock hit me. I had just killed a child. I stood there frozen as he took his last breaths. I am not sure how long it was, could have been a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Finally he shuddered and laid still. I was brought back to reality by a hand tugging on my arm and pointing at the stairs. He was right. We had a mission to finish.
7 hours later we had secured the village. Wearily I shouldered my rifle and climbed down the stairs, dreading seeing the aftermath in the harsh daylight. The first floor was littered with injured Kurds receiving treatment. The corpse had been removed thankfully.
Have a good friend that took a round in the shoulder during that campaign.
That Jack lower you posted earlier Fur Sail?
I still see everything and it never gets better I just live with it.
Nope My son clamed it but I will ask in the morning when he gets home
This story fucked me up.... you know what finally got me to get over it? I told the story to my buddy I mentioned earlier. I started talking and the words and tears spewed out of me. He just sat there in silence listening and when I was done he handed me a papertowel and called me a bitch.
Since then the nightmares disappeared. Yeah it still chokes me up when I tell the stories but at least i can tell them now.
Why am I still awake after 5 ambien
Cause you are trying to snatch 40K from us that are doing all the work you sneaky little cunt.
I have buddies that I do talk to but thay all chewed that same ground as me.
Other Vets I talk to in person as well I will open up to.
My son sat in total dismay and silence one day as I talked to another vet at a Meet and Greet me and him both were tearing up at the end of our 1 hour conversation.
My son has never asked me about that day until I asked him a few days later did he have any questions about what he heard.
He told me no and said he wish he had known sooner at the depth of my hurt.
Everybody else wants to know what I went trough but I just can not bring myself to talk to them.