Home, Home On The Range

I used to be petty good with this ...

... the SLR. 

Not a marksman, but I was pretty good.

And I wasn't bad with one of these ...

... the 9mm Browning.

I've even been known to hit targets with this ...

... the Sterling Sun-machine gun.

But I could never get the hang of this ...

... The Light Anti-Tank Weapon.

I remember trying to fire that beast at some old tank wrecks on the ranges (not where the buffalo roam) of northern Germany back in the 80's.

It's a relatively simple ... un-clip the covers front and rear, extend the inner tube from the outer until there is an audible click and the sights pop up ... and the weapon is primed and read for use.

They were, as the name suggests, very light.  You can't reload the little buggers, so after sending the projectile on it's merry way, the 'tube' can be discarded.

I remembered the first time I fired one of these beasties.  I was about 19 years old and very excited. After two years in the Army I was going to be allowed to blow the blazes out of something.

Needless to say, it didn't all go as I expected it to. In fact, the only thing that the blazes blown out of it was that damn weapon!  

Not once, but three times!

Indulge me for just a few moments longer and I'll explain.

Imagine this:

• you're in the firing pit and have a LAW in your hands.
• the weapons instructor has just given you a final run-down on the weapon you are about to fire.
• he instructs you to arm the weapon
• you pull the inner and outer tubes apart. You hear the 'click' and the sight pops up.
• he tells you to aim ... you do.
• he says "Fire when ready"! You do.
• the weapon goes 'click' instead of "whoosh".

That's how it went at my first attempt to destroy an already an old and perforated tank.

My instructor shout "Hang fire" and exited the pit after telling me not to move.

My brain told me to dump that weapon, which had in actual fact just turned into a bomb, and go with him.

I think I was more scared of our 'gung-ho' instructor than I was of having a 'ready to go' armour piercing shell in my hands, so I stood there, to change the colour of my underwear ready at the least provocation.

The range was cleared then my instructor returned and told me to close (push it back together) and then re-arm it. I did so. Three times!

"No good!" was all he said. "Let's go for a little walk down the range, shall we?"

It wasn't a question.

We left the firing pit and move twenty or so yards down range, whereupon he told me lay the weapon on the ground, still pointing towards the target, and to leave the range to the left.  As we stepped away ... WHOOSH!!!

The LAW discharged it's little anti-tank projectile into a small sand bank where upon (because it wasn't an anti-sand projectile) it completely failed to detonate with a 'WHUMP'!

"Damn! F*** it, f*** it, f*** it!" screamed my instructor as he did a little stamping dance. "I was looking forward to packing a bit of PE4* around that bugger and blowing it up!"

All my other firings went without a hitch, although I completely failed to hit the target every time. 

*PE4 was a type of explosive (If I remembered the name correctly)

The Gas Regulator

Today I was lucky enough to be joined at my coffee shop table by an American called John Nutall.

As we queued for our coffee, we both eyed the one remaining table and wondered who would get there first and claim sovereignty.

As it happened we both turned away from the counter with our Latte's at the same time, so an unspoken agreement was reached and we shared that table.

We bandied one or two comments back and forth about crowded coffee shops and people in general before John told me that this was his first visit to the UK since he had been in the Army back in the 70's and 80's.

"Oh yes" he drawled (isn't that how you described an American talking?). "I was stationed in aplace near Aldershot.  Dunno what the hell it was called, but I was there for six months before shipping out to Frankfurt, Germany".

"Aldershot is near where I did my basic training" I told him.  "After that I was posted to Detmold in Germany".

You see the difference there already?  They get "Stationed" and we get "Posted".

We had something in common so, for at least fifty minutes ... maybe an hour, we exchanged 'war' stories and, low and behold, it turns out we both took part in Crusader 80 (a big military manoeuvre in Germany back in 1980.  See Another "First Encounter" with Americans, When The Jock Hits The Shit and No Jocks, No Americans, Just Crusader 80 (Part Three) )

We were apparently located fairly close to each other during that exercise. Probably no more than a mileor two apart.  We may even have met!

We reminisced and swapped tales for a while and then the subject changed to this ...

L1A1 SLR
(The gas regulator is just behind the foresight)

... which was the standard personal weapon in service with the British (and other) Army.  It was quite a heavy  rifle, but when used correctly had a stopping power second to none.

"Jeez!" moaned John.  "I ne'er un'erstood how you guy's could fire that thing an' survah've".

That is how he spoke.  Honest!  He missed out letters in most words with two or more syllables and kept sticking in unnecessary H's.

"That SOB had a kick like a mule.  Damn near took my shoul'er off'f me when I fired it" he continued,rubbing his long since healed sore shoulder.

"Brits are bastards!" I told him. "There's a gas regulator on those rifles. If it's wide open then the rifle won't re-cock itself.  If it's closed all the way, it'll kick harder than any mule you've ever come across".

A few well known expletives were muttered by John after I told him that it was standard practice back then to  close the gas regulator before anyone form our 'allies' fired the weapon.  

Shock and Awe tactics!

For over twenty years John has lived in awe of Brit squaddies and their abilities to cope with such brutal kick-back.

Now he knows the truth and, I have to admit, I took great pleasure in telling him.