240 machine-guns. They already had a number of captured M4, SAW and 240 weapon systems, as well as sniper rifles, and these would be allocated as required from the central armory. This meant that AK type weapons, utilizing the 7.62 x 39mm short round, were out in the long run.
The Regime military mostly used military 5.56mm 62 grain ammunition for their M4 rifles. Those fighters with AR15 style weapons, many of which appeared on the surface identical to the M4 but were not chambered for 5.56mm, could only use .223 ammunition.
As far as Jack and Jim knew, 5.56 rifles could successfully use .223 ammunition, but the other way around could cause problems to varying degrees. Even if it simply caused stoppages, it was an issue in combat. There was a limited supply of this .223 ammunition in the hands of the Resistance, just what the fighters had personally stored, and any looted resupply from Regime units would be 5.56mm.
This posed a problem, and just as with the AK style rifles, Jack simply couldn’t tell the guys to dump their AR15’s. The compromise was that captured M4’s were handed out, as many as they had, and those left w ith AK or AR15 rifles, using either the 7.62mm short or .223 ammunition, would continue to run those rifles until suitable replacements could be found as operations were conducted.
Jack had been standing outside the barn talking to a group of the arriving original platoon. They were a wild looking bunch but he was getting a good feeling off them. He was just thinking that his worries about problem egos were ill founded and it looked like the training should go smoothly. The group was dispersing to go to the accommodation area.
The shout came from his left, “Hey, Berenger you douche, you owe me twenty bucks!”
Jack turned and saw a wiry man dressed in filthy outdoor clothes, a pair of intense blue eyes staring at him out of a heavily bearded face. Jack stared at him intently, and then the recognition dawned.
“Caleb! What the hell! Get off my farm before I kick your ass!” This grabbed the attention of the group, who were turning back in anticipation.
Jack advanced on Caleb, who put his hands up. Suddenly, Jim appeared from the flank and was on Caleb, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck.
“Wait, wait!” called Jack, “I’ll let you beat him later, it’s just Caleb. We’re buddies.”
Jim let him go, a little reluctantly, and Jack and Caleb shook hands.
“Jim, this is Caleb Jackson, we went through Ranger School together. He’s an asshole, but don’t worry about it,” Jack grinned. Turning back to Caleb, “What’s the deal buddy?”
“I’m the platoon leader of this sorry bunch,” said Caleb, “good to see you man.”
The atmosphere had visibly relaxed and the onlookers started to disperse. Jack, Jim and Caleb went to grab a coffee and catch up on the porch of the farm building. They spent several hours sitting around catching up and discussing the tactical readiness of Caleb’s platoon, as well as the training program. Caleb had been a lieutenant in a light infantry Battalion.
“Hey you!” came the forceful female shout from over by the barn.
What now?
Jack looked up.
“Oh no,” said Caleb, shrinking into his chair.
Advancing across the farmyard was a healthy looking young woman dressed in boots, BDU pants and a tight thermal base layer top, red hair streaming out behind her. She was fixed on Jim, and it did not look like it was going to go down well for him. Jim was looking confused, which was a first for Jack.
She halted at the bottom of the porch steps , “Which of you sorry assed cowboys are responsible for organizing the female accommodation?”
Jack and Jim shared a look, understanding dawning. Oops .
Jim stood up. The woman put her hands on her hips, and smiled at him.
Jim went red.
Jack stood up.
“Who are you,” said Jack.
“THAT is Megan,” said Caleb,
The Regime military mostly used military 5.56mm 62 grain ammunition for their M4 rifles. Those fighters with AR15 style weapons, many of which appeared on the surface identical to the M4 but were not chambered for 5.56mm, could only use .223 ammunition.
As far as Jack and Jim knew, 5.56 rifles could successfully use .223 ammunition, but the other way around could cause problems to varying degrees. Even if it simply caused stoppages, it was an issue in combat. There was a limited supply of this .223 ammunition in the hands of the Resistance, just what the fighters had personally stored, and any looted resupply from Regime units would be 5.56mm.
This posed a problem, and just as with the AK style rifles, Jack simply couldn’t tell the guys to dump their AR15’s. The compromise was that captured M4’s were handed out, as many as they had, and those left w ith AK or AR15 rifles, using either the 7.62mm short or .223 ammunition, would continue to run those rifles until suitable replacements could be found as operations were conducted.
Jack had been standing outside the barn talking to a group of the arriving original platoon. They were a wild looking bunch but he was getting a good feeling off them. He was just thinking that his worries about problem egos were ill founded and it looked like the training should go smoothly. The group was dispersing to go to the accommodation area.
The shout came from his left, “Hey, Berenger you douche, you owe me twenty bucks!”
Jack turned and saw a wiry man dressed in filthy outdoor clothes, a pair of intense blue eyes staring at him out of a heavily bearded face. Jack stared at him intently, and then the recognition dawned.
“Caleb! What the hell! Get off my farm before I kick your ass!” This grabbed the attention of the group, who were turning back in anticipation.
Jack advanced on Caleb, who put his hands up. Suddenly, Jim appeared from the flank and was on Caleb, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck.
“Wait, wait!” called Jack, “I’ll let you beat him later, it’s just Caleb. We’re buddies.”
Jim let him go, a little reluctantly, and Jack and Caleb shook hands.
“Jim, this is Caleb Jackson, we went through Ranger School together. He’s an asshole, but don’t worry about it,” Jack grinned. Turning back to Caleb, “What’s the deal buddy?”
“I’m the platoon leader of this sorry bunch,” said Caleb, “good to see you man.”
The atmosphere had visibly relaxed and the onlookers started to disperse. Jack, Jim and Caleb went to grab a coffee and catch up on the porch of the farm building. They spent several hours sitting around catching up and discussing the tactical readiness of Caleb’s platoon, as well as the training program. Caleb had been a lieutenant in a light infantry Battalion.
“Hey you!” came the forceful female shout from over by the barn.
What now?
Jack looked up.
“Oh no,” said Caleb, shrinking into his chair.
Advancing across the farmyard was a healthy looking young woman dressed in boots, BDU pants and a tight thermal base layer top, red hair streaming out behind her. She was fixed on Jim, and it did not look like it was going to go down well for him. Jim was looking confused, which was a first for Jack.
She halted at the bottom of the porch steps , “Which of you sorry assed cowboys are responsible for organizing the female accommodation?”
Jack and Jim shared a look, understanding dawning. Oops .
Jim stood up. The woman put her hands on her hips, and smiled at him.
Jim went red.
Jack stood up.
“Who are you,” said Jack.
“THAT is Megan,” said Caleb,
Similar Books
