Hand me that.

Taps had played some time ago indicating it was now well past 22:00, what a way to spend a Friday night. I’m sure those in the armory did not appreciate standing downwind. After working nearly twenty four hours a day for a week leaves you with a unique odor, one you don’t notice until you have showered and your buddies have not.

Spread out before us on a well worn wooden table were maybe six machine guns in various states of assembly. While not an overly complicated machine than many parts covered the entire table from edge to edge.

Heads bent never looking up while engaged in the process of getting these machines qtip clean. This is a maddening task, like crawling under your car and getting every surface clean enough that the Pope wouldn’t dirty his smock if he shimmied his way down there. You know that the second you drive it becomes dirty, like just one round fired and your weapon is dirty as hell.

If memory serves there were four of us and six guns. Not sure if it was true but they say never to mix gun parts, the machine does not work the same if you do that.

As we scrubbed the carbon off the parts somone, I think Besser, verbally asked if someone would pass that shit to him. Without looking Craig picked up the part and handed it over. The second Besser took hold we all stopped cold.

Somehow we all instinctively knew exactly what he needed. On a table of over one hundred parts and countless cleaning implements we all just knew.

Having a solid team is nice, having one that anticipates is something you just need to experience. Sometimes at work you have teams but I’m not sure we can ever get to the same level as what I experienced in the armory all those years ago.

A team that litreally spends every minute of every day for years together is something that I never thought I would miss.

 

 

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