Goldmarble — Roleplayer Guild

Halliger stared at the man who was dispensing ammunition from the truck. The bulky wooden case for the The Gewehr 1939 was on the ground beside the truck, and in addition to the wax paper wrapped cartridges of 7.5mm, was a substantial wooden crate, bearing 20mm x 105 among the numerous other markings, noting it was armour piercing ammunition, and held a total one hundred twenty cartridges. It was a shocking alert that this was as real as it could get. War had officially been declared. Narrowing his eyes and rolling his shoulders, he took the waxed paper ammunition packages and stuffed them into pockets for the time being as he stooped to pick up the ammunition crate and lifted it as he turned towards the truck where the rest of the squad was already loading into. He passed the ammunition on to Balaika, and then returned to retrieve the rifle's crate. With a grunt of effort, the mass of the rifle, nine empty magazines, a single magazine pouch and a double pouch, complete cleaning, maintenance and armourer's kit, all rose with him as he turned back to the truck. His cheeks were turning red as he hefted the crate into the back of the truck, nearly two hundred pounds sliding over the grit to fit neatly under the left hand bench. With a hand of assistance, he climbed into the back and finally removed his pack, and G34 rifle, sliding them to the front of the truck, thanks to the empty space where the five missing squad mates should have been.

Rudolph spent the first moments of the trip removing the clipped ammunition from its paper wrappings, and sliding them into the pockets of the leather bandolier around his waist. His usual habit of flattening the wax paper sheets and stacking them presented itself again, before he gave it a twist, and dropped it between the slats of the bench. When they arrived, he helped unload the truck and as Krebs gave orders, he listened and sounded his understanding. His first task was opening the crate the G1939 came in, pulling out the barrel and the receiver to mate them back together, followed by opening the ammunition crate, and starting to load the magazines with the big, fat cartridges, the new brass lightly oiled to prevent corrosion, and the pointed bullets painted solid black with a white rim just before the case mouth. It was a slow, methodical process as he used the loading tool to shove the follower down, then jamming a round into the magazine. When he had four of the nine magazines loaded, he took to the shovel.

With haste, the spade dug chunks of the rich soil and tossed it aside in a methodical rhythm, using speed and strength that he had plenty of, he dug to try and catch up with the others in with his trench. At the hiss of Aldo of the trucks he looked up from his labour, and listened. "Eier!, a final flick of black soil, for the grenade trench, before he dropped the entrenching spade. Two expansive steps to the rear, and Rudy grab the cannon, even as the chill rolled down his spine as the sound of the diesels came closer, he returned to the trench and placed the weapon. The second trip netted the four magazines, in his haste, he slid into the trench, grunting as his knee rolled over a small rock that grated against his skin and bone through the uniform. Magazines stacked next to the rifle, he lifted the first and rocked it into the magazine well, he kept his hand on the pistol grip, but his finger off the trigger as he tripped the bolt release, sending the massive weight of steel to ram the first shell home into the chamber, causing the rifle to buck from the weight transfer. He quickly reached over, onto the grass beside his dropped shovel, and levered the G34 into his shallow trench. His hand snaked out again, fishing his cloak and helmet from the area, and pulling the cloak over himself, and slapping the helmet upon his scalp.

He looked over to Aldo as the half-tracks broke from the forest, and smiled though, even the pain of his knee forgotten but the sudden surge of adrenaline, "Must agree with you. Tanks would have been better," he slid behind the anti-armor rifle, levering his shoulder into the rest and lifting the back end of the weapon, he continued, "wouldn't you agree?" His left hand flicked to the elevation control of the rear sight, adjusting it, for five hundred meters. At that range, the weapon could still penetrate more than twenty mills of armor steel. Taking aim, and trying to steady his breathing from the recent exertion, he said softly, "Tell me when to engage." Looking at the wind on the field, and reached to adjust the windage a notch. He wanted that first shot to hit where he wanted it to. He scanned the vehicles that were rumbling out of the forest, recalling from memory the models, their armor, and weaponry.

HeySeuss said
Probably was carried by a two man crew at least. Ammo? Well, heavy. I would think that it would be kept in a truck or put on a mule.

Heh, Empty 10 round magazines weighed 2 kilos alone, loaded with 10 rounds put it at just under 5 kilos. 11 lbs. For one magazine. One magazine weighs more than most battle rifles of WW2.

Barrel was able to be quickly detached for transport, breaking the thing down to 50 lbs for the individual crew members. Plus their personal firearms, ammunition for that, and the rest of their gear.

For transport, there was also a small dolly that could be used (and fired from if need be), two wheeled.

So uh....Volunteers for a spotter? Glorious position following gunner to distressingly close proximity to enemy tanks, while carrying in excess of seventy pounds of equipment. Must have a strong back, and good testicular fortitude.

Or NPC?

Goldmarble Member

Old

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts