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Eng 217Ryan Anthony Artifact Essay

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Das Gewehr

Its past 2 a.m., Pitch black; Noise and light discipline. The Attack Helicopters are loud, but they

stay afar. A perfect night for trick or treat. Its probably the sixth raid this year.

Outer cordon set. Mumbles someone on the 2-way radio.

Roger. No one enters and no one leaves. Goes out the whisper from our end.

Tac team set.

Roger. Just knock and search.

Easy. Yet I can hear my heart pound. Tinnitus probably; darn IEDs.

Fitehah! Enha la Amereecan! Open up! Its the Americans!

Bang Bang! Crack! Boom!

Doggonit!! Suiter shoot! I yell.

Where?

In the Effin house!!

Two and a half inches to the right, and I wouldve lost a patella. I am standing nowhere near

cover and just now for the first time during the night I feel alone.

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But I am not alone. My sister, my security, my saving grace is with me. My M4 service rifle. I

smack its metal magazine just to make sure. It clanks back in affirmative, jolting me back into

combat.

Doc! Smitty is down!

Roger! Moving! I reply.

M4 is the new rifle being issued by the army. The shorter, carbine version of the ancient M16

musket that has been around since before Vietnam. Its the weapon of choice in urban combat

and one that I carried with me in Iraq. Every soldier is issued one and they all look alike. Alike,

but not identical; you recognize yours as a father recognizes his child.

Germans first used the concept of rifling the smoothbore of a long gun, inventing the almighty

Gewehr. This is precisely when Germany will start the World Wars. Why wouldnt one pick

fights after accouching such a brainchild?

This child has grown now. A necessary evil, she safeguards our borders and the American way

of life. That is how I was first introduced to her; passionate love sparked instantly. After the

initial romance though, like all loves, it comes down to hard work and learning to get along. My

responsibility is to keep her clean and hers is to keep me breathing.

Our relationship has grown during the war. I am learning to love her and she is learning to love

me. She is jealous; spitting fire at everyone with an evil eye on me. She is faithful too; the only

one I trust on these Arabian nights. She is always there and always ready to start something.

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My hands were made to fit her contours. Dark and smooth, cold against bare skin. She is a

tomboy. Her perfume is not rose and jasmine. Its frankincense and myrrh; bottom notes of

fragrant oil and black powder.

She is tough as a sergeant. Steel ribs and iron jaw. And such ferocity must stay on a leash. A

black strap holds her intimately close to me, ready to tango. She is full of energy and vigor. Even

on a leash she stays wild and reckless, loud and alive. She is as alive as I am alive. I am alive

because she is alive. I learn to honor her. I learn to treat her like a sister. Like my best friend. She

is mine.

She is jealous but so am I. The weather is after her. I protect her and I bathe her. I scrub her with

brass bristles. Then comes the cotton cloth, lightly dipped in the fragrant oil. Like suntan lotion,

gently, it is laid on her. It covers her enough to make her gleam. It doesnt soak her; she wont

enjoy that. That would make her cough. I do not want her sick! I am alive because she is alive.

In the hands of trained men, the rifle is more than a mere firearm. Men who understand it is not

the number of bullets fired that count, its the hits. As the crumbled German defense retreated

from Normandy, such men held their ground to fight. Half the Allied soldiers on D-Day were

killed by infantry, artillery and mortars. The other half by such men: snipers. These snipers

instilled fear in the Allies hearts. No one walked on that battlefront. Crouch! Bow to the man

who is one with his gewehr.

Ah yes, you must be one with the rifle. It is an extension of your body. You must treat her as you

treat your arm or leg. When you go prone, she lies before you. You see what she sees. She leads,

you follow.

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We both enter the house. Quietly and stealthily, slithering like a snake-- slow and low. I do not

have to think what to do; its drilled in. I keep her in the ready position, constantly looking down

the barrel. Seeing what she sees, following where she leads.

We safely reach our injured comrade.

You alright killer?

Ya. This eye-pro really works!

Bleeding a little. Lets get out.

No need to shoot tonight. Well raise hell some other day.

Fun while it lasted but the rifle was never mine to keep. She belonged to someone else. She was

not given back; she was taken away. All good stories must come to an end, but absence makes

my heart grow fonder.

Still I am happy that she is happy. And I am happy that she is alive. And I am alive because she

is alive.

geweher

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