The Tactical Guy

[Sailormilan2]

 

 

 

The Tactical Guy

 

As I was leaving my house, I stuffed my Glock 10mm "man gun" Mexican style in my pants. My backup is a fully customized 1911 with all the IPSC add-on options in my $500.00 leather pancake holster custom made by Belgian Monks who have devoted their lives to silence and holster making. These are the ones used by SEAL Team 6, which I used to be a part of, but all records of my activities were destroyed in a fire "accident".

 

I put on my Royal Robbins photographer vest to match my pants while wearing a T-shirt underneath reading "From My Cold Dead Hands". That way, nobody can see what I'm packing.

I had my Centennial .38 Special in my ankle holster, just like the gun rag guys carry.

 

Lastly, I had my "Covert Sniper" I.D. Card in my wallet with my "Concealed Weapons Permit Badge". I was ready for anything.

 

I drove my Bug Out Truck to the 7-11 for some beer, 'cause you never know. It is a performance styled Subaru BRAT with 4 cylinders of ground pounding fury.

 

I pulled up to the 7-11 store and noticed a nefarious looking Girl Scout eyeballing me from the back of her mothers' SUV. A likely cover.

 

The mother returned to the truck and went for the keys in her purse, but I knew from my years of combat honed instincts that she was actually making a furtive movement for an offensive weapon.

 

I attempted a tactical shoulder roll, but fell flat on my face, kind of flopping on the pavement to avoid any incoming rounds and to make it look like I meant to do that. The store owner called 911, which is good because I then did a roll and attempted to draw my Glock.

 

Unfortunately, since I did not have a holster, the gun "went off", and the bullet creased my privates.

 

But I was prepared for that and bit down on a 9mm casing to take my mind off the pain as I dove for the garbage barrel.

 

That's when I noticed the Girl Scout shouting something to her mother who began to take cover. I knew they were closing on me so I drew my custom trusty 1911 Wilson Combat...I knew that they would be impressed with that. I then duck walked to the front of her SUV, but my gut kinda got in the way and I fell on my rear, which caused me to swallow my 9mm casing.

I then tried to roll to my right, but didn't want to scuff my holster, so I just threw myself into the telephone pole, but I landed on my right side anyway. So I fired one shot towards the woman's SUV to pin them down as I recovered my wind.

 

And before the mother knew what was happening, I charged her and I threw my groin into her knee. I knew that as I vomited on the ground in front of her that I had interrupted her OODA loop. I had the advantage now. As she ran screaming for the Girl Scout, (I knew she was going for backup) I made for my Super Charged BRAT Tactical truck. I jumped into the drivers seat forgetting that I had left my rare Israeli contract AR 15 Bayonet on the seat, honed to a razor's edge. I could handle it though. Half of my butt is an implant from war wounds.

 

As I attempted to start my truck, police and paramedics arrived on the scene. My truck would not start and instead backfired once and caused the police to Tase me. At which point I tactically soiled myself while in convulsions. My custom 1911 then fell out the window, but I still had my Centennial .38. I knew that I had to take out the woman with the purse.

 

So I aimed my revolver at her at which point the first police officer fired once striking me in the chest. Fortunately, I was wearing my level 3A body armor. I didn't want to hurt the cops--they had obviously been duped by the evil temptress who was now embracing her partner in crime and crying to the police in the background. I knew it was a ruse.

 

I pulled out my concealed weapons permit badge and showed it to the officer who shot me and yelled out, "I'm one of you guys!". He continued to cover me and ordered me to drop my .38 so I laid it down. I still had my bayonet after all, attached to my butt.

 

The cop walked toward me and upon reading the badge, maced me right in the eyes. Fortunately, my Oakley shooting glasses stopped most of the spray and I was able to rip free of the Taser cords easily. It only cost me one nipple, easily replaced. I dove for the passenger side of my truck and began to run zig-zag for a ditch. Unfortunately, the bayonet sticking out of my rear slowed me down. I knew it would have to be hand-to-hand now.

 

I knew the cop couldn't take me when I saw he merely carried a Glock 17, not a man's gun. So I immediately threw my eye into his right hook, followed by a knee into his Mag light. As I lay thrashing on the ground, I took the heel of my Bates Enforcer boot and kicked at the cops ankle. I knew from my classified experiences in Tajikistan that once breaking the ankle, the cop would fall down and I could "stun kick" him in the head, knocking him out but not hurting him.

 

Apparently the cop had also been to Tajikistan because he side stepped me and struck me in the back with his ASP baton, but my trauma plate absorbed it. I then drew my Benchmade auto knife and was promptly tased again, but I was ready for it this time and only wet myself a little bit.

 

Next thing those cops knew, I was unconscious. That'll teach 'em.

 

[Jimro]

So no kidding there I was....

I'd been preparing for "The Event" for quite some time. My stockpile of Wolf brand 5.56 was only half of my "comfortable level" so I hopped into the BOV (that's Bug Out Vehicle for you civilian types) and headed down to "Uncle Bob's* Gun Store and Bait Shack" for another couple cases, just in case.

 

I noticed that the fuel gauge was a tad under a quarter tank and I knew then and there that I needed to fill up, just in case "The Event" happened and I needed to BORT (that's Bug Out Right Then for you civvies). So I bypassed the CITGO station (communist bastards) and pulled into a BP. While pumping my fuel into the main tank on my BOV I noticed the clerk behind the counter selling a military age male a drink. This got my attention because it somehow seemed out of place, I've read on the internet that you should always pay attention to your gut, so I do.

 

Knowing deep within my soul that something bad was going down I raised my personal security status from "blue" to "orange". I bladed my body to the convenience store and put my right hand to the small of my back to palm my "carry piece". Some people are satisfied with a cheap import like Glock, but me I like the simplicity and reliability of the classic American pistol, the Star Model B. I chose the 9mm "B" as I call her, over a standard 45 like the awesome Norinco 1911 because I can use ammo I capture from the thugs trying to get me in case of "The Event".

 

The gas pump finished fueling the BOV and I waited for the machine to spit out a receipt, all the while keeping my eyes firmly on the threat inside the store.

 

"Hey Mr. got some change?" said a new threat to my right. I whipped around to address the new threat by pulling out the "B" and getting it on target. I slipped and fell to the pavement trapping my arm behind my back, lucky that this surprise move had caught "The Threat" off guard. I rolled left and right flailing my legs to keep "The Threat" away.

 

"Mr. you ok? you try to stay still while I get some help." said "The Threat" and he proceeded into the convenience store to get his buddy as he obviously knew I was more than a match for him. I did a standing base and got to my feet, decided that the receipt wasn't worth waiting around for more enemy reinforcements to arrive.

 

I got into the BOV, a highly modified Geo Metro, and peeled out of there using the "Rockford" technique. Unbeknownst to me someone had pulled in behind the BOV in an attempt to box me in, just like the Mujahadeen did to the Soviets in Afghanistan. My rear bumper slammed into the front of Range Rover and I decided to change tactics. I slammed the automatic transmission into "D" and exfiltrated with haste. Long ago I decided that I needed the automatic tranny even with the drop in mileage so I could shoot and drive at the same time, just like a SEAL.

 

Those thugs, if indeed they were thugs and not undercover mercenaries, had been lucky, if I hadn't been able to get out of there safely then the only recourse open to me was the "B". I have the "B" in condition red, locked and cocked, filled with high quality steel cased Wolf 115 grain FMJ bullets.

 

My gut was still giving me an uneasy feeling, and it wasn't the burrito special I had for dinner last night. Spiderman doesn't have the sense for danger that I do.

 

I took a couple detours on my way to Uncle Bob's* Gun Store and Bait Shack, circled the same block three times just to see if anyone was tailing me. I pulled into the parking lot and backed into a stall, nose out so that I would have maximum maneuverability in case of rapid egress. I surveyed the damage to the rear of the BOV. Nothing some 100 mile per hour tape wouldn't fix.

 

Uncle Bob* (name changed for his protection) knows me pretty well. When I walked in he asked, "You want the usual?" and I nodded. I try to never speak so that people don't get emotionally attached to me in case of "The Event". Bob put one box of Wolf 5.56 and 9mm each on the counter. "That'll be 17.93".

 

I fished exact change from my pocket, careful to sort out any pennies minted before 1982. I took the newest addition to my stockpile and left. The bad feeling in my gut decreasing the closer I got to my domain. A man's home is his castle.

 

The extra lock I installed on the front door of my 1977 single wide always slows me up for a second, but that's the point. Once inside I pulled the "B" and cleared each room to make sure no one had breached the perimeter. Safely inside of my sanctum I stashed my ammo with the rest of the cache in the living room. I keep a BOB (that's Bug Out Bag for you civilians) in each room just in case.

 

My world was once in order again, so I booted up the Celeron and logged onto the internet to share my close call.

[karlunity]

exiting lives you fellas have. Well done, : )

sheltered karl