Ok, so I recently saw someone else bitching about Assault Rifles, and I realized that lots of people need an education. Regardless of where you stand on the debate, you need to know what you’re talking about. So this is me doing my part.
It’s ok not to know something, it’s not ok to be willfully ignorant, profess yourself wise, and then make demands off the law based on your ignorance.
So lets start with proper terminology:
Clip:
Magazine:
Round:
Trigger:
Automatic
Semi-automatic
Let me take another second for those last two, because some people don’t seem to get that one. Whoopi Goldberg told Rand Paul that no one should be allowed to own an automatic weapon. Thing is, automatic weapons are already illegal. She did mention, however that she owns a pistol. I would have loved to ask Whoopi what kind of weapon she owns, because i’m sure she’d be surprised to find out that this:
shoots just as fast as this:
In the right hands…Here’s proof:
All semi-automatic means is that one round is fired each time you pull the trigger. In an automatic weapon, you pull and hold the trigger and it keeps firing, like this:
Notice that belt of ammunition in his hand and how his finger isn’t moving off the trigger. One squeeze, lots of pew.
Now, for the term “Assault” rifle. The M4 Carbine seems to be a favorite for this description.
But did you know this weapon functions exactly the same way?
It has the same size magazine, same rate of fire, same ammunition.
The look of a weapon doesn’t make it more lethal. Calling something an “assault” rifle, or saying “military grade” is just a scare tactic and it makes you look stupid to anyone who knows anything about guns. Besides, I don’t own any “assault” weapons, I only own defense weapons.
The point is that having a rail system, collapsable stock, gangster grip, and painting a weapon black, doesn’t make it more dangerous.
It’s the user that makes a weapon dangerous
And honestly, in the hands of the right person, lots of things can be just as deadly
In the end, however, you’re going to have to convince me and my compatriots why we shouldn’t be allowed to defend ourselves. This is Why I Always Carry.
Oh, and if you do get a law passed, you’re going to have to get the guns from us, and to that I say the words of King Leonidas when the Xerxes asked him to drop his weapons:
LJF
Getting out of the military is hard! Don’t make it harder on yourself by not being prepared! Buy CONUS Battle Drills: A Guide for Combat Veterans to Corporate Life, Parenthood, and Caging the Beast Inside!
I didn’t want to venture into the political realm here because this is about helping all veterans, and as we know, vets come from all areas of the political spectrum. As I got ready to head to the barber shop with my son a couple days ago and concealed my pistol I asked myself why I didn’t like leaving the house unarmed, and I think this is something for all veterans.
I don’t like to go anywhere without a weapon and a spare magazine. In fact, if I could conceal a long rifle and a basic load, I probably would do that too. Many of us know that first magazine in a firefight goes insanely fast, and when the adrenaline is pumping hard and bullets are flying your way, your accuracy percentage plummets.
An anti-gunner would say that I’m afraid or paranoid, and somehow they are braver for venturing into the world daily without paranoia.
I’m not afraid. I’m not paranoid. I’m also not naïve. Police, firefighters, paramedics and military are more likely to carry than the regular civilian population. You know why?
Because we don’t have the luxury of pretending that there is no evil in the world.
Cops deal with the worst of us every single night. Take a cop like my buddy Geoff who patrols one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Orlando. This guy chases real bad guys down every night while you dream about gumdrops and rainbows in your violence-free fantasyland.
A few months ago I went to visit him. We walked into a restaurant together, both scanned the room, both moved to the booth in the back corner, and then fought about who gets to sit with his back to the wall.
I’ve seen the world as it really is. I’ve lived through the experience where a situation goes from calm to chaos in a millisecond. I’ve seen the horrific things that people are capable of and I don’t get to forget that shit.
I carry because I know there are evil men out there. I carry because I know how hard it is to take a violent man down. I carry because I know how hard it is to protect someone and fight at the same time. I carry because I know a controlled-pair center-mass is the fastest way to end a fight.
For you jackasses that think that disarming me somehow makes you safer, you should know that my guns are only dangerous to those who seek to do harm; that includes someone that wants to harm you.
So don’t feel guilty for wanting that sense of security. You’re not broken, your eyes are opened and they can never be closed now.
Last night I was talking with some friends about our transition out of the military. There was a common theme and it reminded me of a firefight:
“OP4 is under attack!”
We poured out of the hooches and into our vehicles right outside. We were still adjusting our gear, snapping on NODs, tightening plate carriers, fastening seat belts, as we peeled out towards the gate. I snapped the radio handmic into my chinstrap and could hear the progress of the attack. We were spinning tires and spitting rocks everywhere as we pulled out into the wadi right outside Camp Tillman.
OP4 was several kilometers away, but we could see the tracer fire across the wide open valley in between us and them (the dashteh). When traveling at 20 mph like we usually did, driving across the dashteh was one of the most comfortable of rides since we were on relatively flat roads instead of cutting through rocky dried out rivers like we usually did. Traveling at 50mph under night vision, however, we found every rut, hole, hill, berm, and wall in a direct line between Tillman and OP4.
Although the vehicle violently slammed up and down, none of us wanted to let up, and the driver’s foot firmly pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Our HMMWV engine roared loudly each time a set of wheels came off the ground. I had one hand on my rifle, using my thumb to keep constant pressure on the selector switch and keeping the barrel in contact with the floorboards in between my feet. My other hand alternated from the handmic to the front windshield as I tried to keep my head from slamming into the glass.
OP4 was an unprotected observation post. We basically walked up a mountain and said, “this is a good spot,” and set down our rucks there. That was until this night. This night, all that would change. The enemy outnumbered our boys on the OP at least 4-1, and the paratroopers held their ground for a long time with no heavy weapons and no fortified positions. They fought with rifles, small arms, some artillery and guts. Eventually they became overwhelmed by the large enemy force and began a break-contact battle drill, fighting their way off of the hill.
“They’ve pulled out of the OP, that’s enemy on the top!” I yelled to the men in my vehicle since I was the only one that could hear the radio, and when we were about 1km away, my .50cal gunner began to fire at the mountaintop.
The adrenaline coursed through my veins as I could identify specific enemy positions now that we were closer. I threw open the door of my vehicle, pushed on it with my foot and began to fire. My shots sounded like BB’s with the .50cal firing above me. I could hear our artillery rounds wooshing overhead towards their targets and the distinct cracks of AK rounds coming our way.
“Stop right up there,” I yelled at my driver pointing to a position in front of us and he nodded white-knuckling the steering wheel with a smile on his face. I unclicked the handmic and got ready to hop out of the vehicle as my door was still open. I imagined doing some John Wayne follow me shit and I was stoked. As the HMMWV slid to a stop on the rocky Afghan terrain, I pushed off to jump out and start pegging nearby muzzle flashes.
CLACK!
That damn seatbelt!
My body jerked as the HMMWV door came flying back, slamming into my helmet. I fell back into the vehicle, my NODs had unclicked and were dangling in my face when I felt a sharp pain on my shin. My leg was hanging out when the vehicle door swung back onto it as well. I let out a grunt of pain as my forward observer, who sat behind me in the vehicle took up a position next to my door.
Rounds were flying back and forth, now half of our company was in the fight, pushing the enemy off of our terrain. My machine gunners were pelting the summit with MK19 and .50 cal rounds. My men were already out of their vehicles ready to assault, and I was stuck in my vehicle, snapping my NOD’s back into place, fighting myself out of the vehicle, trying not to be a little bitch about the pain on my shin. In between bouts of laughter, SGT Coca my FO looked at me, “You ok sir.” I nodded as I spun out of the vehicle, untangling myself from that seatbelt. My gunner made it a point to laugh nice and loud in between bursts.
Getting out of the military is a lot like that night. There’s anticipation, excitement, and you have visions of what it’s going to be like, only to get caught by something you didn’t even think about at the last second.
The military does a very poor job of preparing us for this transition, and guys wait too long to start getting ready.
.gif?resize=435%2C174)
