Hey Joe
- 2 years ago
- 11
- 0
Hey, Joe! free porn video
This is a combined story effort between DG Hear and Jake Rivers. Carl Smith has two great songs that are complete opposites in their story lines: ‘Hey, Joe’ and ‘Back Up, Buddy’
‘Hey, Joe!’ Is the story of a guy that wants his buddy’s girl. ‘Back Up, Buddy’ is the story of a man telling his buddy to leave his girl alone. We thought it would be interesting for readers to see these stories at the same time by two different authors. We each have no idea what the other is writing.
Back Up, Buddy
Back up, buddy, don’t you come any closer,
I know you want her but the answer is no, sir
Back up, buddy, don’t you come any closer, she’s mine all mine.
Hey, Joe!
Though we’ve been the best of friends
This is where our friendship ends.
I gotta have that dolly for my own.
Thanks very much, as always, to Techsan for his quick and accurate editing! A special thanks to DG for joining me in a bit of fun.
A TIME OUT OF LIFE
Our platoon was pinned down by a VC sniper hidden on a hill at the end of the valley. No one had been able to get a hard fix on his location. It was Thanksgiving Day in 1965 but no one was eating turkey. We were in a long valley near the Phu Bai airfield trying to locate a Viet Cong force that had been sending harassing fire at planes taking off and landing.
Earlier the lieutenant had tried to send out a small patrol and the SOB picked off two of them before they even reached the tree line. The LT shook his head and walked over to where I was cleaning my rifle.
The Marines at that time were using Winchester Model 70 30.06 rifles for sniper work. This was essentially a target rifle and they had acquired a number of them over the previous decade. There were complaints that the match grade ammo would cause supply problems but for now that had been overruled. The following year would see a change to the M40, which was based on a Remington model 700-40.
I’d learned to shoot with a Winchester Model 70 30.06 growing up in the hill country of west Texas, so this was essentially the same rifle I had at home. Antelope were real spooky so you had to stand off quite a ways – and the heavy barrel was great for varmints, such as gophers. I knew what I could do with what I grew up with. The addition of the eight-power Unertl scope gave me a much longer effective range than the 2.75X Redfield scope I had at home.
‘Danny, anything you can do to help us out?’
I’d been listening to the few shots the sniper had fired and I had thought a lot about the angles involved in the shots at the patrol.
‘Yeah, LT, I think so. I’d guess he’s within fifty yards of that clump of rocks on the left side of the valley and about half way up the hill. Put a couple of guys quartering around that area with binoculars and have them let me know if they see any movement at all.’
We looked over the map and it was a good twelve hundred yards to the rocks. I’d never sighted the Winchester for more than a thousand yards.
After twenty minutes or so, Billy, the lieutenant’s radio operator leaned over, ‘Danny, I saw something move about twenty-five yards to the upper left of the rocks.’ Laughing a bit nervously, he added, ‘Hell, it was probably just an animal or something.’
‘Yeah,’ I thought, ‘… maybe.’
I got in a comfortable position and turned the knob for a thousand yards. If I did find a target I’d have to wing it for the over-distance. I started at the rocks and slowly moved up and to the left, looking carefully at every inch of the terrain. Finally I saw an anomaly, a straight line. Deciding it was the barrel of the VC sniper’s, rifle I moved the aiming point slightly for where his head should be located in relation to the barrel. I was assuming he was right handed … if not, I’d miss.
There was no wind, it was dead calm and hot. I figured he was about fifty yards higher than I was and adjusted for that. Flashing back to the Sniper manual (the military had a manual for everything, even on how to dig latrines) I remembered the example. For a scope sighted for a target at 500 yards, to hit another, unsighted target at 600 yards would be a hold off of twenty-five inches. That worked out pretty good for this target since I was sighted in for a thousand yards and I was taking a shot at close to twelve hundred I wanted to shoot about fifty inches higher than where I guessed his head would be.
I breathed out to the two guys with the binoculars, ‘Okay, watch.’
A sniper is a one shot killer. The average grunt shot upwards of fifty thousand rounds for an enemy kill … the average sniper’s number was one point three – about a quarter’s worth of ammunition.
Fear played a big part in what I was doing. All too frequently I would be gently easing back on the trigger and have the sense of a VC sniper taking aim at me. I handled it – controlling my fear was the name of the game. It was all about being in the zone: controlling my breathing by taking slow, steady deliberate breaths. I could feel my heart rate slow and my body coming to a completely relaxed state.
When it was right, I was one hundred per cent in the zone. For that moment time stops, I would feel alive with some nagging sense that I wouldn’t be staying that way for long. That moment would seem to last forever for me … a time out of life. Then I would pull the trigger and know I had taken a man’s life.
Looking through a scope at a target is something quite personal. I would watch some guy wipe his nose with his sleeve or the sweat off his brow with his hand. Sometimes I would watch the eyes shift and I would wonder what he was thinking about … and whether he was married and had kids. Was he looking at me … wondering what I was thinking? Wondering if I had a wife? Sometimes I just thought too damn much. It was best to think of this as an intellectual exercise of the dynamics of trajectory, speed and the play of the elements on the bullet on its way to its own violent death.
I eased gently on the hair trigger, images of the startled leap of an antelope made when hit with a high-power rifle. In another world now, I barely heard the shot or the quick kick of the recoil. I’d held steady and had a quick flash of something falling back, streaks of red coating the clump of grass he’d been behind.
I looked over at Billy and he nodded, not saying anything. The LT put his hand on my shoulder and walked away, sending another patrol out to see if the sniper had any documents. I lay down, my head on my pack and looked at the sunlight making a dappled pattern through the trees. Lighting up a smoke my body and mind shut down. I went somewhere that no one ever went with me: a lonely place, a place of cold and ice.
I remembered what the gunnery sergeant at the sniper school told us he had heard overheard some anonymous Marine captain say to some friends in a bar one night in Saigon:
Lauryn
- 10.08.2021
- 11
- 0
