To The Range Today

My wife was out of town at a Christmas Craft Fair at Mohegan Sun, so I just felt like throwing some long range lead today out to 200 yards this afternoon. I only took 30 rounds with me and at that just shot 12 in a little less than 2 hours. Set up and break down took quite a bit of time. My rifle is zeroed to 100 yards. Using my dope card I dialed up the windage and elevation required to get out to 200. The 7.62x54r cartridge shoots a hair flatter than .308 with a 100 yard zero. Out to 200 the .308 drops 3.7 inches but the 7.62x54r drops 3.6

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I got mixed results. I cleaned the bore and then touched off a fouling shot at the 200 yard gong. A previous shooter painted all the plates black, which is hard to see with a black reticle that most scopes have, So I painted a white spot in the middle. My hit is circled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next I took aim at this Birchwood-Casey spatter type bullseye target. The first shot was right on the line of the 9-10 ring at about 11 o'clock. The next one was just above it. The third shot was just above the red center at 12 o'clock. A little disappointing to say the least. On the other hand, it's been about 7 months since the last time I did some long range shooting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I then moved over to this target also made by Birchwood-Casey. The next two shots were at the large center diamond. First shot was left, the second was right. Geez, I am really sucking today! The shot in the upper left small diamond was later in the session and after the next shot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just for ha-ha's I took a shot at the thick disk lying on it's side. It too, had been painted black so I rotated it for an unshot surface and sprayed about a 3" diameter spot of white. I had hit this target before and just like then, I put one round dead center where I was aiming. That's when I decided to go back to the target with diamond and aim for the upper left one pretty confident I was gonna punch the center. DAMMIT! off by about an inch. WTF?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I did an internet search on what my problem could be. Basically the response was "aim small, hit small." So I tested that theory with my next 3 shots against some rocks I rounded up a little bigger that my fist. I hit each one with one shot at 200 yards turning them into clouds of dust. Apparently my trouble is all psychological because it certainly isn't my equipment.

This last shot was because I don't like odd numbers and wanted to shoot an even 12. This was at the 75 yard gong without readjusting my scope but holding low on a guesstimate. Centered by windage and just a bit low on elevation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This rifle performs better than I can make it unless I spend a lot more time at the range with it and make a shit ton more ammo. But knowing that the purpose of this rifle is to engage and destroy "man sized" targets of opportunity from a hidey hole in a case of FAFO, I need to not be so hard on myself. Every one of today's 12 shots would have produced satisfactory results, and unlike the SEAL snipers in the movie "Captain Phillips," I won't be lying prone on the fantail of a pitching naval destroyer while taking aim at an also pitching small craft with bad guys inside.

Plans For Cooler Weather

And more layers of clothing to easily conceal a handgun and spare mags. I am planning on carrying my full size Glock G-17 loaded with Hornady Critical Defense 115gr JHP rounds and two spare mags. In anticipation of this, I ordered and received yet another kydex OWB holster and mag carrier in black from OnYour6Designs.com to fit it. An initial test fit showed another well made product, that held my gun and mags securely, and when I have time I will figure out whether or not to cant the holster. All of this easily hides under a loose fitting flannel, fleece pullover, zippered hoodie, or when necessary a suit jacket. For normal times I will stick with the Kommiecticut legal 10 rounders, which I also have a half dozen always loaded up with Federal HST 147 gr JHP for the PCC-9. If things start getting spicier the carbine goes in the truck in a soft sided case that accommodates the mags. The pistol ammo will be changed over to the Federal so the mags can go in either weapon since the PCC-9 sports the Glock mag well.

But if things continue to go sideways I may break out the super deadly 17 rounders I have squirreled away for SHTF. The problem is getting "caught" with magazines over 10 rounds and making my "paper felonies" real ones. 

Remembering 23 October 1983

From Military.com:

"Between 1975 and 1990, Lebanon was embroiled in a country-wide civil war that saw its rival religious, ethnic and nationalist populations form armed militias and shifting alliances. The fighting inflamed regional tensions and provoked international responses.

One of these was a peacekeeping mission of American, British, French and Italian forces called the ​​Multinational Force in Lebanon (MNF). Deployed as part of an agreed cease-fire after a Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) attack on Israel and Israel's subsequent invasion of Lebanon in 1983, the MNF spent almost a year and a half in the Lebanese capital.

The MNF was responsible for training the Lebanese military, restoring the country's central government in Beirut and overseeing the withdrawal of all foreign forces in Lebanon. A massive suicide bomber attack on the Marine Corps Barracks in October 1983 wiped away any success the MNF could claim, and led to the eventual withdrawal of American forces in March 1984."

From The Marine Corps Times - "The BLT Building is gone!!"

This date holds special significance for me. At the time, I was serving in the US Army Reserve and sleeping comfortably in my own bed at night, every night. I reported for duty one weekend a month to Westover AFB in Chicopee, MA and went on a two week "summer camp" every year. I was not on watch 7/24/365 in some shithole country of ingrates somewhere. I had been married just a little over two months, and my wife was out of state for the funeral of her uncle Gary in Austin, Texas. When I heard the news of who was killed when the names were released I was devastated, and remember crying myself to sleep that night. I mean deep wracking sobs that left me out of breath and my eyes burning so bad they hurt to close.

 

 

Stephen was a childhood friend I had known since the fourth grade. When he first came to my elementary school, he was in a set of leg braces to stabilize his weak hips. The brace went from his waist, down both legs keeping them straight, with a cross-bar between his feet. His feet rested on steel plates with thick rubber treads for traction. He "walked" by using a pair of arm brace crutches and kind of skipped along. He was a clown and smart ass and he and I got into a lot of mischief together. In middle school he no longer needed the braces and from then on and in early high school we played Senior League baseball together. His Dad was the football and baseball coach at Rockville High School and our Senior League baseball coach. Because we went to different high schools, we lost touch, but I always heard about his athletic exploits, especially in baseball. It was no surprise that Stephen would join the Marines right out of high school.

His funeral service was an impromptu reunion of old school chums, but certainly not joyful. No one spoke to each other, just glances and silent nods of recognition. We followed the horse drawn caisson on foot from the church to the cemetery, where full military honors were rendered. It was my first exposure to Taps played at a funeral service, and is why to this day while doing a Patriot Guard mission for a perfect stranger, I get a little tug at the old heartstrings and a little choked up.

The athletic fields at Ellington High School were named in his honor a few years later with a permanent stone monument placed in one corner. I wear this patch on my biker vest in his honor.

Years later, his parents bought the house in the cul-de-sac two doors down from my parents, and his sister Nancy already lived a few houses down in the other direction. I had gone to the cemetery trying to find Stephen's grave, but could not. I went over to his dad's house to inquire where his grave was. All he would say is that Stephen had been cremated, which lead me to believe they kept his ashes. Rather than push the subject, I wished his father a good afternoon and simply left. I never had the guts to go ask his sister. Last I knew, Stephen's parents were living the retired life somewhere in Florida.

As a side note, my own cousin Steven is a Marine veteran a week younger than I am. He was part of the MNF in Beirut, Lebanon but I believe he had rotated out before the bombing. I don't know if he was in those barracks or somewhere else. But I do remember him remarking what a beautiful country those animals destroyed.

 

Stephen Tingley's death is the reason I get so miffed at the way people view and "celebrate" Memorial Day as the "1st Day of Summer" or National BBQ Day. It is also one of the many reasons I am a Patriot Guard Rider.

"Deal's Off, Jihadi Scum!"

Photo of the broadcast of FOX News from 13:25 today

If I were all of a sudden the C.I.C., a crushing force of all branches of the U.S. Military would be immediately on the way.

But then if I were C.I.C. all along, this would have never happened, and the word "Taliban" would be stricken from all language. Anyone claiming to be a member would be summarily executed.

UPDATE: 14:10  NOW REPORTED 10 U.S. SERVICEMEN DEAD!

WHAT.THE.HOLY FUCK?

UPDATE: 14:42 THE AMERICAN DEATH TOLL CONTINUES TO CLIMB.