Thank you for following along if you have thus far.
This edition is what I call the tacti-cool edition. So it may be a bit of a departure from previous entries.
Jack and Tony dove for cover as rapid gunfire ripped into the trees and earth around them, spraying them with tree bark and dirt.
The sound was nearly deafening.
Luckily, Jack and Tony were wearing their Surefire EP3 Sonic Defender Ear Plugs.
They were out hunting for game, Jack with his Steyr Elite scout rifle, chambered in .308WIN, ten round extended magazine, topped with IOR-Valdada 2-6.75X36 Long Relief, First Focal Plane, Illuminated CQB-PK2 Mil super scout scope, and Ching Sling. Tony with his heavy bull barrel Ruger 10/22T, Magpul Hunter X-22 stock, Timney trigger, Volquartsen Stabilization air stripper, Bushnell Rimfire Optics Rifle Scope 3.5-10x 36mm Ballistic and 1/4 MOA Turret Dropzone 22 Reticle Matte scope and Lapua match grade ammo.
Jack picked up a fist sized smooth rock from the ground, and a stick. He broke the stick to size. More rounds impacted all around them, spraying them with more dirt.
“I am going to throw this,” Jack shouted over the gun fire. “When I tell you to run, you run down there,” Jack pointed, “As fast as you can, and get behind cover. You will have about five seconds, understand? If you can take a shot, take it! If not, run for the church!”
Tony nodded as dirt continued to rain down on him.
Jack tossed the rock and stick in classic military style.
They flew through the air and landed just behind the attackers, 50 yards distant.
Someone yelled, “Grenade!”
Tony ran the way Jack told him, while Jack ran the opposite direction.
While Tony was short, he held the high school 100 yard dash track record. He guessed he beat that record by a second as he jumped the last few feet behind a fallen log.
Jack ran in the opposite direction. Jack may have been tall and in very good shape, he had the disadvantage of running uphill. After what he figured to be about five seconds, he dove for cover, and immediately low crawled as fast as he could to a berm. He then low crawled further away from the ambush, getting more trees between him and his assailants. Jack found a good position behind some trees and waited.
After another long pause, the assailants figured out the ruse, they began firing again at a rapid rate at Jack and Tony’s last position. But Jack and Tony’s last position was a good forty yards from where Jack was now, just over a hundred yards for Tony. Bullets continued to impact harmlessly in the dirt, brush and trees.
Jack was able to take a stable sitting position, bringing his rifle up he could see between two trees, six assailants down in a depression. He rotated the power ring on the scope to the maximum of 6.75 power. He aimed at the assailant closest to Jack, the assailants left shoulder, neck, and helmet in clear view. He took two deep breaths, then a third, but held his breath at the end, and his trigger finger took up the slack of the trigger as he controlled the squeeze, when something happened at the other end of the assailants position that made him stop just before the hammer fell.
Tony was only armed with a .22LR rifle.
But Tony was a good shot with any rifle. And his 10/22 was a very good rifle.
The assailants resumed to tear up dirt, trees and brush, no where near where Tony was in rapid fire.
Over the fallen tree, Tony looked through his scope. He could see the right side of the closest assailant, his shoulder, rifle, his helmet. The assailant was wearing some kind of coyote tan chest rig, multi-cam uniform but a plain grey helmet.
Tony was debating taking the shot, when he noticed the closest three assailants, their helmets were nearly in line as they shot over the top of the depression. He backed the scope zoom power out so he could easily see all three of their helmets. He could not help but smile.
Using match grade, sub-sonic ammunition, the air stripper, and heavy nature of the match bull barrel, recoil was nearly non-existent. In quick succession, he took three well placed shots.
Without waiting around, he got up and ran for the church.
Through his scope, Jack saw his target suddenly turn and drop down.
It was muffled, but he could hear shouting.
Someone was hit . . . more than one . . . they took hits to their helmets. More shouting and confusion.
The assailant sat up enough Jack had a clear shot at his helmet. Jack took another deep breath, held it, squeezed the trigger and sent the bullet to its destination. In nearly one smooth motion, Jack cycled the bolt and loaded another round.
Jack knew if those were military issue Kevlar helmets, his shot would likely not penetrate.
However, glancing blow from a 170 grain bullet traveling at nearly 2700 feet per second at just over a hundred yards, would most certainly rattle the head inside the helmet, physically and mentally Jack hoped.
The assailant dropped lower into the depression after the bullet bounced off his helmet. Jack waited for about ten seconds, the silence was nearly deafening after all the gunfire.
The gun fire stopped, Jack could hear the church bell ringing rapidly. Somewhere not far away he heard the sound of emergency alert whistle blaring out three long calls with a brief pause between each blast. He heard another even further in the distance as each member of the community responded, passing the alert along. In a few minutes the whole community would be on alert if they were not already with all the gunfire. Those nearest who could respond would arrive at the church, with arms. Others who could not afford to join up with the militia at the church, would remain in their homes, assume a defensive posture, on watch and armed.
Those with radios passed the word along to others in the outlaying areas.
A few more moments passed, more whistles faded into the distance, when Jack had his answer; He did rattle the assailant mentally.
Suddenly three assailants stood nearly upright and fired rapidly, wildly in all directions, one shouting,
The other two just yelled and fired wildly.
Jack noted the one who yelled “covering fire,” was the one he shot in the helmet, the bullet gouge easily seen in the helmet.
The other three got up and ran in the opposite direction of the covering fire.
Through the scope, Jack noted they all had magazine chest carrier rigs of various colors, some with desert tan uniforms, others with a urban multi-cam, and one with woodland camouflage. Some had elbow and knee pads. All wore some kind of military style boots, and wearing some kind of pack of equally different camouflage, by all appearances nearly full. Two of the retreating team ran thirty or so yards, took cover behind trees and took up positions ready to fire.
The third only got about ten feet, tripped and fell face first. He tried to get up, but stopped and rolled over, favoring his left arm.
Their magazines empty, the covering team dropped down behind cover. There was a long pause. Then someone shouted,
“What are you waiting for,” he shouted, “Fire!”
The two retreating team began to fire, the first team began their retreat but nearly ran into the covering fire.
Jack could see what he was now calling the leader of the group, the one he shot in the helmet, now screamed for cease fire three times. When the shots stopped, they resumed their retreat, the leader stopping to pick up their fallen comrade. Two of them ran past the others positions and kept going, the leader helping the injured, and hobbled past, yelling, “Go!”
They disappeared into the trees and brush.
Jack waited for thirty seconds, stood up, brushed himself off, and set out for a steady but careful jog toward the church.
It was Tuesday night, not an official town meeting, as those were on Wednesdays.
But the church was nearly full as if it was Wednesday night meeting. Everyone wanted to know what had happened first hand.
The town’s six councilpersons sat at their folding plastic tables, in their folding chairs, on the dais, while other members of the community took seats in the pews, the thrum of conversation filled the church.
At the top of the hour, councilperson Kathy Anderson rapped the gavel twice to call the meeting to order.
“Thank you everyone for coming,” she started. “I know this is not a normal meeting but we all agree,” she motioned to the other councilpersons, “It was necessary. Sheriff Nelson, would you brief us all on what happened?”
The sheriff walked up to the dais and turn and spoke to everyone.
“It appears six armed men had penetrated deep into our community and launched an attack on Jack and Tony.”
“How did they get past our patrols,” someone shouted out. More than a few grumbled in agreement.
The sheriff held out his hands for quiet.
“From what we can tell, they came in cross country during the night, avoiding the roads and our patrols.”
“Were they military,” someone else shouted.
At this point in time, Jack stood up to help the sheriff.
“One of them may have been,” he thought of the one whose helmet he glanced a shot off of. “The rest had no formal military training.” Jack pressed on before anyone could shout out any additional questions. “They did not have any small team tactics, they shot wildly, they lacked discipline. Their equipment was a mix of gear, and camouflage. I think Tony and I stumbled on a bunch of civilians lead by someone with prior military experience, or someone who watched a lot of war movies.”
A nervous laughter passed through the crowed at the remark. The tension seemed to ease up a bit in the church.
“I have to agree with Jack,” Sam announced as he stood up. Sam was a amateur astronomer, and the towns unofficial weather man. His exactness for numbers and statistics was legendary.
“We recovered five hundred and sixty three rounds of spent brass at the ambush site. I am sure we missed some. All had commercial, 223REM head stamps.”
A few people, including Jack whistled at that bit of news.
“Five hundred rounds per a six man team is a lot of ammunition to burn through,” Jack commented on.
“Five hundred and sixty three. How much was each man carrying,” Sam asked Jack.
Jack shrugged, “The chest rigs I saw were of at least two, maybe three different manufactures. Some chest rigs can carry as few as three thirty round magazines, others up to eight thirty round magazines. I have seen one carrying twelve.”
Sam considered it for a moment.
“Let us say they carried eight per person. That would be 1,440 total. And we found about five hundred and sixty three, lets say closer to six hundred for the ones we missed. Forty two percent, give or take a percent.”
Jack could not help but smile at Sam’s exactness. “Two engagements like the one we had today and they would be nearly out of ammunition.”
“That is not all,” Sam continued, “They left twenty of these behind.” Sam held up something, made a ready to catch gesture to Jack, and tossed it across the three pews.
Jack caught a flat desert tan Magpul magazine.
“What is it, Jack,” Kathy asked.
“It is a aftermarket magazine. High quality. Not cheap. Unless they have a large supply of these magazines wherever their base is, they will likely run out of magazines before they run out of ammunition. Run out of these and a semi-automatic rifle becomes a single shot.” Jack finished.
“Correct,” Sam said simply and sat down.
The Sheriff continued, “We sent out additional patrols. Found some boot prints leading to the main road. Cherrel Bogantz says she thought she saw some strange looking men rushing down the East road but could not be sure. She was busy chasing after George again,” sheriff Nelson added. The whole church let out a roll of laughter, as Cherrel’s wayward goat was famous for her escape artist antics. “We are looking for volunteers for additional night patrols and two LP/Ops.”
Twelve hands went up. The Sheriff smiled.
“Get with me after the meeting and we will talk assignments.”
Statistics: Posted by Cast Iron — Fri Feb 17, 2017 9:02 am