silverlance
Member
With my new C&R FFL (that reminds me - I better put together my bound book), I bought myself a nice little Mosin Nagant Post-war sniper scoped rifle from www.classicarms.us. I had spent the better part of $300 (not including rifle) on trying to build my own from a Big 5 91/30, so when this came around I was esctatic - especially since my homebrew sniper had turned into a dismal failure. But enough of that.
The gun came in today, and it is beautiful. Hex reciever, all matching numbers, properly curved extractor, exquisite scope with documentation, and all in an excellent condition that puts Big 5's "excellent" to shame.
And then - and then.. I found it!
Inside one of the clip pouches was a small clump of metal, a chain-looking thing of some sort, coated lightly in cosmoline. Initial inspection presumed it to be part of the MN cleaning system, and it went into the oven along with the rest of the parts. A hour or so later, I was cleaning the rabbit ears bottle - when it slowly came to me that, as far as I could remember, Mosin Nagants use rods integrated into the stock, not chains.
I set the bottle down carefully and picked up the chain for closer inspection. About 3 feet long and made of carefully interwoven links that had been smoothed down to eliminate any sharp burrs or edges, the links terminated at one end with an odd ball-and-socket joint that held a blade patch holder.
Yup, a cleaning chain...
A cleaning chain just like those on the Walther P1s...
I picked up the end of the chain, rubbed off more of the cosmo, and put it under the table light.
Lo and behold! Words had been stamped or etched into the steel:
G. APPEL 1936
Hm. I rubbed further, trying to see what else lay beneath the grime. Eventually, only a small, persistent patch remained. Abandoning the cloth, I picked it off with a fingernail.
Underneath lay a very small, yet clearly recognizable German Eagle.
Apparently, someone must have carried my rifle (or the pouch, at least) into combat many, many years ago - and then proceeded to push the Third Reich back, possibily even - who knows? - to Berlin's bitter end!
And survived to bring his little prize home.
What must that soldier have been thinking as he turned in his gun and equipment? He must have known, certainly, that he had left his little war chain in that pouch. Did he mean to one day come back for it? Did he get killed, and the chain forgotten as it lay stuck in the bottom of the pouch? Or, did he - and I like to think he did - tuck it in there just before resubmitting it into the arsenal at Izhevsk, hoping that one day another would find it and have it serve him as well as it had himself?
I sat there, thinking, for some time. Where was this soldier now, I wondered. Dead, most likely. Steel lives far longer than man's frail frame.
I picked up the chain again, felt the perfect smoothness of the links against my fingers. Then, ever so carefully, with the weight of decades heavy in my mind, I threaded a rough cotton patch into the clip and fed the chain into the chamber of my rifle. I could hear each link slide smoothly down the barrel, dripping quietly out the far end.
And with a gentle tug, a draw of time and space and distance, I pulled it through.
The gun came in today, and it is beautiful. Hex reciever, all matching numbers, properly curved extractor, exquisite scope with documentation, and all in an excellent condition that puts Big 5's "excellent" to shame.
And then - and then.. I found it!
Inside one of the clip pouches was a small clump of metal, a chain-looking thing of some sort, coated lightly in cosmoline. Initial inspection presumed it to be part of the MN cleaning system, and it went into the oven along with the rest of the parts. A hour or so later, I was cleaning the rabbit ears bottle - when it slowly came to me that, as far as I could remember, Mosin Nagants use rods integrated into the stock, not chains.
I set the bottle down carefully and picked up the chain for closer inspection. About 3 feet long and made of carefully interwoven links that had been smoothed down to eliminate any sharp burrs or edges, the links terminated at one end with an odd ball-and-socket joint that held a blade patch holder.
Yup, a cleaning chain...
A cleaning chain just like those on the Walther P1s...
I picked up the end of the chain, rubbed off more of the cosmo, and put it under the table light.
Lo and behold! Words had been stamped or etched into the steel:
G. APPEL 1936
Hm. I rubbed further, trying to see what else lay beneath the grime. Eventually, only a small, persistent patch remained. Abandoning the cloth, I picked it off with a fingernail.
Underneath lay a very small, yet clearly recognizable German Eagle.
Apparently, someone must have carried my rifle (or the pouch, at least) into combat many, many years ago - and then proceeded to push the Third Reich back, possibily even - who knows? - to Berlin's bitter end!
And survived to bring his little prize home.
What must that soldier have been thinking as he turned in his gun and equipment? He must have known, certainly, that he had left his little war chain in that pouch. Did he mean to one day come back for it? Did he get killed, and the chain forgotten as it lay stuck in the bottom of the pouch? Or, did he - and I like to think he did - tuck it in there just before resubmitting it into the arsenal at Izhevsk, hoping that one day another would find it and have it serve him as well as it had himself?
I sat there, thinking, for some time. Where was this soldier now, I wondered. Dead, most likely. Steel lives far longer than man's frail frame.
I picked up the chain again, felt the perfect smoothness of the links against my fingers. Then, ever so carefully, with the weight of decades heavy in my mind, I threaded a rough cotton patch into the clip and fed the chain into the chamber of my rifle. I could hear each link slide smoothly down the barrel, dripping quietly out the far end.
And with a gentle tug, a draw of time and space and distance, I pulled it through.
