What Would Your Milsurp Say?

[martin08]

How many times have we heard "If only it could talk" when admiring a war weary milsurp?

So when I was asked on another forum, I tried my best to interpret the message from my recent Finn Mosin find. My '21 SA marked Izhevsk Dragoon.

And if this gun could speak, it would talk of a certain uncertainty, of where the next bullet would fly away from one soldier, or which incoming bullet might be the one that necessitates the passage of the gun on to the next soldier, to again be held in anxious unsurety.

Over three hundred thousand men were killed or went missing during its time of services in both the Winter and Continuation Wars. The Izzy, and many guns like it, would talk of battle and service to God and Country. And today as the pin strikes forward, it can still talk in the same sharp and thunderous tone that once filled the minds, hearts and fears of the defenders at the Mannerheim Line. A frozen time of terror not forgotten by those few survivors of today. But the weapon itself can still elicit wonder and teach history - perhaps hope against hope that a lesson of war's futility might be learned presently.

Today it is collected for the lecture of its past. Admired for its stark, yet decaying appearance. Yes, it still speaks in the awe that it exudes out of the pores of patina and oil soaked fibers. A fine gun. And a finer example of human antiquity in the pursuit of bloody ground possession and strife's controlling desire over a foe on a plot in Olde Western European culture.

As I soaked in its historical significance and steadied sights across the sandbag rests last week, "KABOOM!", it said on Sunday.

What would your milsurp say to you?

 

[flintoid]

Well written, Martin08.

My '23 Izhevsk re-arsenalled dragoon would probably speak of the hands it's passed through while the russians pushed back the germans on the eastern front... only to be later re-arsenalled and stored away in a crate for decades in case duty was called to do it all over again.

My AK parts kits would probably swear about the importers and their gas torches and cry of their lost FA receivers. They still go kaboom in my hands... and sometimes are reminded of their former lives when I bump fire them from the hip.

 

[NinerMaine]

I have had both a Carcano M38 Calvary Carbine and an Arisaka Type 99 that when I disassembled them for a good cleaning I found a good amount of beach sand under the butt plate and the trigger guards. The Type 99's sand was about 50% black. Makes you wonder doesn't it?

 

[40 caliber]

My mausers would say "I would really like to get out of the safe more often!!! We know you like the SKS best but what about us Mausers!!!!

Martin, yours was much more poetic and thoughtful, but ......Iyam what Iyam

 

[40 caliber]

I have had both a Carcano M38 Calvary Carbine and an Arisaka Type 99 that when I disassembled them for a good cleaning I found a good amount of beach sand under the butt plate and the trigger guards. The Type 99's sand was about 50% black. Makes you wonder doesn't it?

That is really cool.

 

[majspud]

I was born a poor b....; nope, try again.

I was born in the middle of the Great War, 1916, into a small private consortium family gunsmith, V. Chr. Schilling, in Suhl Germany. I came late into the 'c' block of Gew98s produced that year. Accepted into Imperial Prussian service, I served honorably during the remainder of the war. After a brief rest I was spared the fate of destruction, suffered by many of my comrades during the disarmament of the German Army after the Treaty of Versailles. I was rearsenaled and marked with the 1920 property stamp, marking me as an 'official' rifle allowed to the German Army. I languished quietly in the early interwar years until 1936 when I was shipped to HZa Spandau for a major overhaul, under the beginning of new Nazi government's rearmament program. My worn out stock was discarded, but my original and still matching action parts replaced into a heavily used Beech "B" marked one. I did like the solid feel of my old Walnut one; Beech feels somewhat flimsy. This Beech stock had already seen service with two other rifles; their serial numbers being lined out and replaced with my action number. It was here I was stamped with HZa Spandau’s SU58 rework proof mark on my heel, and also on my rear band; a new 98k style one at that, and dated 1936. My barrel was replaced by a Simson and Co., Suhl, made one, but marked with the defunct Weimar proof, as the Nazis were still pretending to be a republic. This new stock had a bolt take down lug, also HZa Spandau marked; it feels like I'm not wearing underwear with the breeze and all. My old fashioned Lange sight was replaced with a modern tangent one, and I was now reclassified as a Gew98M. My sight parts were made by Mauser/Obendorf; the sight base was ® proofed and S/42K (1934) dated, in another effort to fool the Allies about German rearmament, while my rear sight slide, leaf, and spring were S/42G (1935) dated. At this point I was still wearing a straight bolt in my action, but not my original one; the bolt body now bore Berlin proofs from DWM as well as HZa Spandau rework marks, and my bolt guts also had a different serial number. Fresh out of overhaul I made my way to the German Railway police, the Bahnschutz, who marked me as their own with an engraved entwined KS on my left butt stock.

Being an old war horse, I did not see front line service in the Second World War; that was left to the new and younger generation of K98k’s. I was lightly used, and my barrel remained bright, sharp, and clean. As I was a rear echelon weapon, again I was spared the fate of millions of my younger brothers; captured by the Communists. Some were destroyed, and some were disassembled and rearsenaled so that they were barely recognizable. Now in retirement, I languished in an East German arsenal for more than 40 years. As the political winds changed, I again saw the light of day. I was lightly marked under my barrel, CAI ST ALBANS VT 8mm GERMANY, and was imported into the United States, probably in the early 1980’s, but I don’t remember as I was still half asleep at the time. Eventually I found myself in Indiana. In 2010 I was won at auction by a FFL3 holder in the state of Massachusetts. Here after so long unused, I was stripped apart and given a good cleaning. My front trigger guard screw was frozen and came apart grudgingly. I was cleaned of my dried Cosmoline, and my trigger assembly and ejector box were stripped and reassembled. In a reunion of sorts, I was presented with a Weimar era muzzle cover and a reproduction sling made of vintage leather. Shortly after I was driven to a 100 yard range and charged with 30 brass-cased 1950’s vintage Yugoslavian made 7.92x57 cartridges, a feeling I hadn’t known in more than 50 years. However, my 94 year old spring was too tired to discharge the recessed primer of the surplus ammunition. Quickly retrofitted with a 30 pound Wolf made spring, I roared forth again, my Simson made barrel still true after 74 years. I've now passed my 95th birthday and reside in a house 37 years older than I am, in solemn companionship with eight other German Model 98 Veterans. I am cordial with another resident, a 1931 M03 Springfield; after all he IS a copy of my design. The lone M91/30 Ishavek here, 1939, keeps to himself; although we once exchanged toasts of Schnapps and Vodka.

MS

 

[45collector]

I like to think my Luger and Remington Rand met face to face in the woods somewhere in Germany and the owner of the RR ended up bringing home both.

 

[ChevyGuy91]

This thread is so awesome.

 

[martin08]

This thread is so awesome.

I'll say! Keep 'em coming gents.


Excellent detailed history, majspud. And I hope you saved that sand NinerMaine!

 

[NinerMaine]

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Here is the story of an Imperial Japanese Army officer and his sidearm. In the heat of battle on an island in the Pacific he encountered some US Marines. He pulled his type 14 Nambu pistol from his holster and began firing. From the corner of his eye he saw a marine rise and throw a grenade towards him. He was full of the warrior spirit and was more than happy to die for his Emperor. He ignored the grenade as it flew towards him. While still firing his pistol at the enemy the grenade exploded covering him with shrapnel. He fell to the ground, bled out and died.

When the fighting was done, the marine walked over to the dead officer, took the pistol out of his hand, unfastened the belt strap from around the body and picked up the holster. He placed the pistol back in the holster and looked down at the face of the dead officer then quickly stuffed the holster in his shirt and moved out with the rest of his platoon. Later that evening, when the days fighting was complete, the marine took out the holster and gun and took a better look. He fought hard for his country that day and did his job. It was a hard first day of combat, but he survived and at least he will have a nice souvenir to take home. It was then that he noticed all the shrapnel holes in the holster from his grenade. He thought it was too bad about the holster, but at least the gun was undamaged.
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That marine survived the war and took home his Jap pistol. He settled down in a small town in rural Maine, got a job at the mill and never talked about the war. He made peace with himself and lived a life of peace while working hard, building a home and raising a family. He would often think about that Jap officer from whose bloody hand he took his souvenir. He had trouble remembering all the others he killed in the war, but always remembered the face of that officer as he was the first man he killed. As the thrill of victorious battle faded with his youth, he kept his war things in a box in the attic and out of the way from prying questions. He did what his country asked of its young men back in the war and that was that. It was all best forgotten.

The marine lived a full life, grew old, retired and died. Years went by and his old widow started to clean out the attic of all the junk. When she found the old box with the pistol, medals and photographs she was surprised. Her husband never talked about those days and never mentioned all these war things. She kept the photographs but threw the rest away in the plastic garbage bags with all the other junk in the attic. She figured no one would be interested in an old pistol and some medals. Later that day her nephew stopped by and saw the trash and offered to take the bags to the dump for her. She was relieved to get the help. The nephew was glad to help out the old aunt. At the dump, while pulling the trash bags out of his pick up truck one of them got caught and ripped opened, spilling the contents onto the pavement. He looked down and saw an old leather holster and the war medals.

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The nephew thought the medals were cool and that the pistol might be worth some money. He put the medals in his pocket and threw the pistol in the cab of his truck. Later that day he called a friend he knew who liked old guns. The friend came over to look at the gun and offered a surprising amount of money for it. The nephew knew his aunt could use the money and sold the gun to the friend. He would keep the medals as a token of his favorite uncle and would stop by his aunt's house the next day and surprise her with the cash.

That is the story of how a gun manufactured in Tokyo, in June of 1931, made its way to a gun safe in a small town in Maine in 2010. The bits of steel shrapnel still left in the leather holster stand as a testament to its history. The owner of the gun understands that history cannot be possessed but only cared for. He hopes that gun and pocked marked holster will always land in the hands of future collectors who will look at the holes in the leather and consider the story of the gun and the men who held it.

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[dwarven1]

I have had both a Carcano M38 Calvary Carbine and an Arisaka Type 99 that when I disassembled them for a good cleaning I found a good amount of beach sand under the butt plate and the trigger guards. The Type 99's sand was about 50% black. Makes you wonder doesn't it?

Sands of Iwo Jima are black, aren't they?


My M1 Garand would say:

UN-BAN the Scrivener!!!

Especially since I bought Betsy from him.

 

[JuergenG]

My very first Luger's story would be like "I was born at the Mauser factory at Oberndorf in the byf q-block of 1941. I was issued to a man wearing a black uniform, who carried me through WWII, brought me home after a long walk from Austria and hid me in his father's barn for the years when private ownership of firearms was threatened by the death penalty. He cared for me for many years and kept me in excellent shape.
When his time came, his widow passed me on to my current owner who lets me share a space with my sisters born at DWM and the Erfurt factory. I enjoy being taken out of the darkness of the safe once in a while and I pay back with excellent shooting results."

 

[Speedway]

Ok here goes.

I am a Walther P38. I have a zero in the beginning of my serial number. I originally had ~13k brothers and sisters that share the leading zero in the serial number. My magazine serial number does not match the rest of me, but is only around 100 numbers off, and also shares the leading zero in the serial number. My magazine swap happened a long time ago.

After the war, I was brought home to Connecticut, USA by a GI. When my owner died of old age, his widow sold me to a proprietor of a gun shop. One day, a fat bastard named Speedway paid my bail and brought me home. Speedway really needs to get off his ass and shoot me one of these days. That is all.