In an earlier post with a pic, it was the interior of a small outpost across the river, just after it was "over-run" by Chuck. No need for the Bad Guys to fight their way thru the wire, just leave the outpost alone, let the troops and their families, who lived there with them, get lazy and complacent. Then after lunch, when everyone was napping and sleeping off their Rice Wine, walk in thru the front door, flip grenades into the "hootches", grab the combo and weapons, and beat feet. In and out in probably less than two minutes.
We mounted a rescue from across the river, but in reality, was just a clean-up of the dead. Our local guys, the QRF as is nowadays called, had to gear up, assemble, and get to the river, bring up some sampans and ferry across. I don't recall how long it took, I am guessing 45 min at least.
Here, in this slide, note the blown and burned bunkers, with the 292 antenna still standing. Smoldering, dead soldiers and their families. A massacre, really. But totally predictable.
When a big force tried to overrun the District compound just north of us, they were repulsed. I hopped a ride up to look it over, and it was just gruesome. And already with the awful odor of death. I never took any pics of dead. I learned when around the dead, to breathe thru my mouth, not my nose, so I wouldn't smell it. Of course, inhaled a few flies.
Spent the last few days zeroing in my X Bolt 223, with my 40grain Vmax bullets. A clover leaf at 100 yards, off a sand bag. I can still shoot. Took my 1915 303 SMLE MkIII up to a shop/gunsmith up in Charlotte this afternoon, I bought it for ten bucks in 1959, and am sourcing a new Enfield barrel, so it has the accuracy it deserves. I reload my own 303.
Next up, to get my MK 5 Jungle Carbine to shoot also to point of my aim. Thing kicks like a mule. Great drive, the 40 miles to and from the range, back roads, no traffic, winding and hilly, open exhaust, under the arching trees, windows down in my Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio.
Life is good, you all take care, and all the best... SF VET
We mounted a rescue from across the river, but in reality, was just a clean-up of the dead. Our local guys, the QRF as is nowadays called, had to gear up, assemble, and get to the river, bring up some sampans and ferry across. I don't recall how long it took, I am guessing 45 min at least.
Here, in this slide, note the blown and burned bunkers, with the 292 antenna still standing. Smoldering, dead soldiers and their families. A massacre, really. But totally predictable.
When a big force tried to overrun the District compound just north of us, they were repulsed. I hopped a ride up to look it over, and it was just gruesome. And already with the awful odor of death. I never took any pics of dead. I learned when around the dead, to breathe thru my mouth, not my nose, so I wouldn't smell it. Of course, inhaled a few flies.
Spent the last few days zeroing in my X Bolt 223, with my 40grain Vmax bullets. A clover leaf at 100 yards, off a sand bag. I can still shoot. Took my 1915 303 SMLE MkIII up to a shop/gunsmith up in Charlotte this afternoon, I bought it for ten bucks in 1959, and am sourcing a new Enfield barrel, so it has the accuracy it deserves. I reload my own 303.
Next up, to get my MK 5 Jungle Carbine to shoot also to point of my aim. Thing kicks like a mule. Great drive, the 40 miles to and from the range, back roads, no traffic, winding and hilly, open exhaust, under the arching trees, windows down in my Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio.
Life is good, you all take care, and all the best... SF VET
