Los Angeles defector

"Jason the Numb"

Big Guy's eyeballs nearly dropped to the ground as he exclaimed, "This, this, this isn't just an expert, this is a master!"

Brown smacked his lips in frustration and muttered, "A perfectly good Czech-style machine g*n, is it really going to be ruined like this?"

Despite only wearing a dirty and thin shirt on his upper body, Jason didn't feel cold. Instead, he felt a pleasant warmth on his back, causing him to break into a slight sweat. It had been a long time since he felt this comfortable. Looking at the scattered parts filling his shirt, he muttered to himself, "This is a replica made by Factory 41. It's heavily worn. If I can replace the barrel, it might still be usable, albeit in a makeshift manner."

Old Blackskin finally snapped out of his daze. This wasn't just a decorative pillow; it was the real deal. The difference was stark, worth a fortune. Watching Jason's focused expression, Old Blackskin couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for no apparent reason. A racehorse was still a racehorse, even if you locked it in a livestock pen. Enough, enough. It was just a machine g*n, after all. If Jason wanted to keep it, let him. Old Blackskin sighed and said, "Jason, how does it feel? Is this g*n comfortable in your hands?"

Upon hearing the platoon leader's question, Jason realized he had been lost in thought. After a brief moment of silence, he responded firmly, "This g*n cannot be kept."

"What?—"

Everyone couldn't believe what they heard with their own ears. Big Guy turned to Old Blackskin and said, "Platoon leader, you heard that, right? He doesn't want the g*n. Give it to me instead, I promise to use it as if it were my own son."

Brown interjected with confusion, "Is it because it's disassembled and can't be put back together?"

Old Blackskin waved his hand, saying, "Stop arguing, everyone. Let's listen to Jason."

"I just feel that it would be more appropriate to hand it over to the battalion for allocation," Jason added, without saying anything more.

As soon as Big Guy heard this, he became anxious and exclaimed, "If you don't want it, I'll take it! We found it, why should we hand it over?"

"After a few days as a high-ranking officer, the enlightenment is truly different. You've become selfless indeed," Brown sarcastically chimed in from the side.

Old Blackskin stared at Jason for a while, seemingly understanding his thoughts. "Ah, that settles it then," he said, before turning around to find the company commander.

Jason, of course, wasn't a selfless person. Who wouldn't like a machine g*n? However, having served as a machine g*n platoon leader and experienced the hardships of the battlefield for many years, Jason knew that once the machine g*n started firing, it would attract the attention of countless enemies. Machine gunners had the shortest lifespan and the most frequent rotations. It wasn't that Jason was afraid of death, but he didn't want to endanger the members of the Third Platoon.

Near a roaring machine g*n, enemy grenades and mortar shells would undoubtedly rain down. Snipers and enemy machine guns would also suppress relentlessly. If they kept this machine g*n, it would truly put the members of the Third Platoon on the front lines. Jason couldn't do that. As for whether the machine g*n would end up in the First or Second Platoon, Jason didn't care. Although they were all part of the same company, Jason didn't know them, nor did he want to know them.

"Hey, Old Blackskin, I was just about to call you. Tell your bunch to stop loafing around by the wall and come over here. We've received orders from higher-ups to prepare for a departure to Playa del Rey," shouted the Third Company Commander at Old Blackskin, who was approaching from the opposite direction.

"Alright, can't waste any time," Old Blackskin said with a smile as he approached. He took out a cigarette and handed it over, then cupped his hands to light it for the company commander. After the commander exhaled the first puff of smoke, Old Blackskin spoke, "Sir, I've got a great deal for you."

"Oh! Doing business with you? It's a hassle just to pluck a hair from you. I don't have any money. Not interested," replied the company commander.

Old Blackskin took a cigarette for himself, lit it, squinted his eyes, took a deep drag, and then leisurely said, "A Czech-style machine gun."

Cough, cough, cough... The company commander choked on the smoke, causing snot and tears to come out. War, war... From being a regular soldier to becoming a squad leader, then filling in as a platoon leader when the platoon leader died, and now becoming a company commander after the previous one died. Once you become a company commander, your thoughts are different from those of a regular soldier. We've been fighting the vampire legion for over a year. Their firepower is fierce, while our logistics are poor. It's all about defense every day, and ambushes every time. The whole company only has one machine g*n, and what worries me is the lack of firepower. Czech-style... That phrase hit the company commander right in the heart.

Old Blackskin pretended to give the company commander a back massage while muttering, "Look at you, look at you. You've become a company commander, but your physical condition is worse than mine. It's gotten this bad. Sigh."

"If you dare to mess with me, you old stubborn thing, I'll transfer you to the second platoon. Do you believe me or not?"

"I believe you, that's why I didn't mess with you!"

"What? You really have it? Where did you get it? And the g*n, where is it?"

As the company commander stared at him with wide eyes, Old Blackskin felt a surge of satisfaction. "Every chicken has its own way of peeing. Don't ask so many questions. I've put my heart and soul into our third platoon. Shouldn't the company show some appreciation?"

"Bah! Appreciation? Hand over the g*n quickly, you old geezer, or don't push me to resort to military law!"

"Fine, I'll hand it over. But I have no idea if there are any missing parts on this g*n. If it doesn't fire, it's not my problem."

The third company commander, seeing Old Blackskin's fearless attitude, felt helpless. He quickly changed his tone and said, "Well, Old Blackskin, you're missing two rifles under your command. How about this? You can choose any two rifles from the entire company that catch your eye and take them."

Seeing the company commander finally yielding, Old Blackskin chuckled inwardly. Now it was his turn to gain an advantage. "And add a pocket watch to the deal!" he added.

"What? Bah! Do you think I'm giving you a favor?" the commander retorted.

Noticing the commander's displeasure, Old Blackskin decided to ease the tension a bit. "Commander, don't be so hasty. I've been carrying that pocket watch around for so long without using it because I genuinely like the thing. It's just a little pleasure to hold it in my hand now and then, not for the sake of money. Can't you consider it as a favor for taking care of your brothers and the years we've spent together in this platoon? I'll also compromise and choose just one rifle. How about that?"

After hearing Old Blackskin's explanation, the company commander's anger subsided. The pocket watch held little appeal for him, as it was merely worth a few tens of dollars. It was just an opportunity to take advantage of Old Blackskin. Oh well, let's consider this incident forgotten. Realizing this, the commander reached into his pocket and tossed the pocket watch to Old Blackskin. "Old Blackskin, you're lucky. Here's your watch back. Now hurry up and choose a rifle. We're moving out soon."

Old Blackskin took the pocket watch and put it away, saying, "Why bother with choosing? What's the point? I'll take this one," as he reached over to remove the rifle sling from the commander's shoulder.

"Old Blackskin, you—" the commander instinctively tried to dodge, but he was still caught by Old Blackskin's grip on the rifle sling.

As Old Blackskin forcefully pried the commander's fingers off the rifle, he said, "Why bother carrying a long rifle when you're already a company commander? It doesn't look very officer-like. Don't you still have a sidearm? That alone is enough to show authority."

This is an 'M1 Garand' rifle, manufactured by the Springfield Armory. It's practically brand new. Initially, the production and deployment of the M1 Garand rifle were slow, so only a symbolic small quantity was issued, allocated to a few elite battalions and junior officers. And now, it has been taken away by Old Blackskin

...