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3 years ago (10/02/08)
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2 years ago
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27 year-old male from PG, BC, CA
| Latest Post | |
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E3
Time start - 2200
Latrines. I don't want to talk about it. So where was I?
I was wearing another Marine's helmet with a scratched HUD eyepiece, but at least the comm link worked. But that scratch was pretty big, or looked like it from my perspective, and the first time I peeked out over cover to snap off a few bursts with my BR55 I really noticed it. The damn scratch made it nearly impossible to hit my target. But what could I do?
I flipped the eyepiece out of my way and peeked through the scope. But if there's one thing I hate about the BR55, it's the recoil, especially when trying to sharp-shoot. There was an easy fix: I just set it to fire on semi-auto. And then I peeked through the scope again, searching for a target as fast as I could, when in a short moment of silence I found one of the bastards firing at us, and simultaneously heard a grenade hit the ground nearby. I didn't know where it landed, but I shouted, "GRENADE!" and in an instant a bunch of us hit the deck. The grenade exploded on the other side of the fortifications, but I wasn't about to go deaf again, and I covered my ears as best I could just as it went off.
I was the first one back up again and I looked for my target. In the shooting-range I was a pretty good shot, but practice targets don't shoot back. This was a lesson I learned immediately as I adjusted my aim long enough to give my target time to notice me and snap off a burst that hit really damn close. Small chunks of the concrete barriers were chipped off the tops around me and startled me enough that I squeezed the trigger and ducked down to catch my breath. I had been holding it since standing to take aim.
Seconds later I got a pat on the shoulder from Griggors who shouted above the gunfire, "Nice shot, Patterson!" I had apparently hit the terrorist gunman in the head where I had planned. I never told anyone that it was sort of an accident. At the time, it didn't matter. That was the first enemy kill since we arrived, and I made it with one bullet.
You might think, "Oh, so that's how he got his nickname!" But it isn't. The firefight went on. Our job was just to defend this bridge, and let nothing onto it. These terrorists were using fairly shoddy gear, and there didn't seem to be that many of them. But we were there doing that job for what felt like all day.
Near the end of the fighting our ammunition was running low. Myself, I was down to my last magazine. We hadn't been deployed with rocket launchers, and many of us were really starting to wonder why. Anders said, "They prob'ly use 'em to unclog the latrines." That got a few chuckles from us who were paying attention. The Sergeant asked him if he wanted to find out personally. That got more laughs.
Our fortifications had taken a fair beating from grenades, but since at that point it had been almost an hour since the last grenade had been thrown at us, we figured the terrorists were out. The Sergeant ordered some of us as low on ammo as I was to cease fire to conserve it. "Better if we're all able to fire at once if need be than just a few of us," he said. So there we were, half the unit firing on semi-automatic to keep the enemy from getting too ballsy, and the other half sitting back, ready to fire if the need arose.
Suddenly, the terrorist truck started up and began to move, the lot of them advancing toward us behind it. It seemed that our less-than-enthusiastic fighting at that moment gave the enemy the impression that we were nearly completely out of ammo. They were pressuring us to use up the remainder of our ammunition, and we really had no choice but to give in. But their underestimation of our resources was a mistake they would cost them the battle.
The Sergeant ordered us to fall back toward the rear fortifications. We hadn't taken any casualties, but I guess he wasn't about to see that change. So fall back we did. And only then did I realize what he had done. Sure, we had lost some ground, but the defenses we had left were falling apart and creating some really awkward terrain. And as I watched the truck attempt to drive over the ruined concrete barriers, the damn thing got high-centered on them and ended up with all but one rear wheel on the pavement.
"Patterson, take out that driver!" came the order, and I peeked out with my BR55, set it to 3-round burst, and punched some holes in the windshield. The truck had been in Reverse at the moment the driver died, I guess, and began to roll backwards. This caused the enemies to scatter out from behind the vehicle and opened themselves up. Some made it to the damaged side of the barriers we once held, but the majority of their current number got cut down. We now outnumbered them two to one.
Things didn't last much longer after that, as you can imagine. But the enemy started playing coy and we wasted the rest of the ammo in our Battle Rifles. We had to resort to small-arms fire. The M6G sidearm we all carried. I never thought much of it at the time, but after squeezing off a few rounds with it, I was in love.
These terrorists were very stubborn, as is usually the case, and though the Sergeant gave them the offer to surrender, their only response was with pistol-fire of their own. Seemed like every one of them, the remainder of their men, all got up and charged, screaming war-cries or death-threats or something in Arabic (or was it? I'll probably never know), firing as they ran. Anders managed to pick off the gunner who fired the shots aimed at the Sergeant. Sheppard got one or two others that I saw. Most of our shots missed, but that wasn't anything new.
After the proverbial dust settled, we checked the bodies and went about securing the bridge. We all got together after and wound-down, and got to checking our pistol mags. Turned out that I was the only one with any rounds left. One bullet.
And that's how I got my nickname.
I still have that bullet. Useless now, of course. I guess it's my lucky charm.
Time end - 2310
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| Awards | | | | The Goods | | | Name |
Kyle | | Occupation |
Student | | Birthday |
June 29th, 1984 | | Gamertag |
| | FATHERBULLET'S... | |
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