Ok, I can play.
1979, some of my buddies talk me into going shooting with them, since we had free time. So, we trundle off to the basement of the Trigon, and go to get set up. So, what I have is a Remy M-12 and a brick of Ammunition, cal..22lr, Training (looked like what I'd now call Federal RNL; then, it was just "ammo"--sigh, to be so young and naïve)). What I did not know was that I was set up. The kids in AROTC got classtime to go qualify in the range for marksmanship badges. They knew to grab the Mossy M-44s. Put a rond down range, it's way outside at 2 o'clock. Change hold to low and 7 to get high left around 11. Go back to center hold and maggie's drawers.
Look this marvel over and the front sight is bent. In both horizontal and vertical. Rear sight threads are stripped (mostly). Just enough grip to give the illusion of precision, but really, a mockery of machining. Take it back to the NCOIC. He goes "Hey, what's that doing out?" Turns out they keep it around as it was in inventory when the Commandant of Cadets was a cadet himself. Four decades of ham-fisted freshmen had done it no favors. Crown looked scalloped, it had been hit with so many cleaning rods.
About '91 or so, hanging around with the loval Army Reserve guys, they say "Hey, we have all this left over .22 ammo to use up; come help!" So, they hand me one of the M-16s out of the rack. It doesn't feel right. So, I pop the pins and take a look at how the .22lr adapter has been fitted. Well "fitted" is a word. A word with many connotations. I'm trying to decide just how to look this gift horse in the mouth (and in a less than favorable way), when Isee them set up another rifle. They hae a rack of them, all with green tape on the stock up by the castle nut.
So, the E5 pops this one open, separates the upper. Tips out the BCG. Grabs a 22 conversion and tips it, mostly, into the upper. He then takes up a block of wood and a mallet and beats the conversion into place.
I had to remember to close my mouth.
Off we go, with ammo, mags, rifles, and we set up with the back of the motor ool building for a backstop. They blaze off away. I put a few rounds down range, and notice something. They are not POA, but, they are holding decently enough. I take a seat, hasty the sling, and take my time wearing the target out. Which marvels the E5s. First, I'm going way slower than they are but getting more rounds on target. They round up their E6, who nods a lot. Then shakes his head a bit, as I use the other, untouched 10 rings to show you just had to hold off right. (Was a ton of work, remembering to dope that much kentucky into every shote--every single stinkin' shot.)
After that, I was Merlin the Magician or something. Was good for a few beers at the Ptarmigan afterward, though.