LOCO GRINGOS 8.4
Randy hefted his rifle, undecided. If he raised the muzzle up, he would need to bring it down to shoot and if anyone grabbed the barrel they could just push it up slightly or not at all, merely hold it in place and he could neither fire nor slash at them. The only up side was that he wouldn’t accidentally shoot his own foot or stumble and land on top of the bayonet horizontally. And, it was easier to drop the weight of the whole thing than to raise it. Still, if he held low the person would need to stoop to grab the thing and then it was easier to raise it up to slash at them. They could push sideways to try to point the muzzle away from themselves, but it was easier to pivot and drive your hip into them as you pulled the rifle away than it would be to keep clear of the ceiling or overhead obstructions, or maneuver anyway downward. Randy suddenly could appreciate why the Brits kept the bottom of the buttstock atop their shoulder at ready arms compared to the American way of having the stock near the hip. It felt weird, but would be much more practical in tight quarters. Not like their practice of warm beer. Bleech! Okay, long time custom dictated a consumable beverage long before refrigeration came along. But custom also used to dictate burning witches at the stake and kidnapping landlubbers such as himself and force laboring them aboard ship, both practices thankfully now thoroughly discouraged. Randy felt himself to be a frightfully handsome sort and it didn’t take much imagination to bring about the sort of creative doings that Randy would be lacking any enthusiasm for such as being the Captains bed warmer. Of course, THEN warm beer might be just the thing needed to get that taste out of his mouth. God, he almost threw up thinking about it. Better to breech the building opening than contemplate what he would have to do to avoid being burned atop a pile of wood for the crimes of heresy.
Randy slipped in the opening and darted his gaze hitherward. He bet those penis hermit ninja’s never practiced looking Hitherward, mores the pity. How can you write it up with any pizzazz without such two-bit words? Why must after action reports be as dry as the desert environment they operated in? He moved silently, not because he had ever envisioned moving in such a manner but merely because by happenstance these shoes were affordable, comfortable, long lasting and silent. Petroleum derived soles being cheaper than stiff leather. His only possession besides his rifle was a bandoleer and a belt with knife and canteen. Less crap to lug and less to jostle. He felt kind of foolish for having forgotten his canteen as he was earlier suckling a butterscotch candy. The belt had been on the bike, along with the bandoleer, and they traveled with not much more than a pocket knife and a lone five round stripper clip on their persons. Just enough to get you home if you ever separated from your gear and transportation. You might be weak and thirsty, but at least you moved fast and light. The rifle never left their persons. They didn’t even talk about it, it just felt natural and necessary. Hmmm, maybe he wasn’t so helpless alone. Figured out the armed at all times, AND the theoretically best tactical carry position.
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