Manufactured in Germany by the Rempt brothers c.WW1 to illuminate battlefields for extended periods of time without the need to reload -
serial number 124, only 22 of these guns are known to exist today, the rest probably being buried in various trenches in France.
1″/27mm caliber flares, double action, four barrels. The hole in the back of the frame might be there to accommodate some kind of shoulder stock. Flares were the most efficient way to light large swathes of the battlefield by night, and were very useful to prevent enemy trench sorties to disable barbed wire or even sentries and machine gun positions.
It was what you had come to know as a typical night. The city was wet from the earlier rains, causing a moonlit highlight on the bricks and asphalt. It also kicked up an unpleasant stench, but one you had grown familiar with in all of your years of living here.
“Alright, kiddies. Time to work,” a burly man clapped his gloved hands together before throwing open the back door of the truck.
Barrels and barrels full of bootleg lined the inside. Thousands of dollars of product for the family to profit from, brought over on a meat truck they used frequently to disguise their hauls. But from where? The shipping yard, you guessed. Now if you could just figure out when it docked…
“What are you thinking about?” the boy next to you asked.
You hadn’t realized he’d been watching you. He scratched his hair underneath his cap before straightening it with a smile. Yoosung, or ‘Lucky’ as he was known, was always smiling. He seemed to practically skip instead of walk. Not the typical mafioso wannabe. But neither were you. In any case, he’s the closest thing you had to a friend right now. And you needed that.
“That it’s cold as shit and I wanna get this over with,” you huffed.
Lucky and some of the other boys popped up into the truck. They all shifted the barrels in their spots as if to weigh the contents before proceeding to move them. They had to roll a few of them down before you could start to dolly the liquor inside the small storage warehouse.
“Attaboy,” the driver said gruffly and condescendingly. His wide hand pat one of them on the back as they wheeled a barrel away.
“Turn the lights off, you nitwit,” the beautiful brunette, your capo-Jaehee, seethed as her heels clicked around the side of the truck and stopped in front of the driver.
“S-Sorry, right,” he nodded before scrambling to the front to turn the headlights dim.
“This is the last job for tonight, so make it snappy,” she played with her gloved hands, seemingly annoyed, “well go on!” she urged you.
You picked up the pace and wheeled the barrel Yoosung placed on the dolly for you. A single one wasn’t too heavy, but do 5 or 6 in a row and boy were you feeling it. Towards the end of the truck you felt beads of sweat on the back of your neck.
“What’s her deal tonight?” one of the boys whispered as you all worked to shift the hooch inside the storage room.
You glanced back to see Jaehee and the driver. It looked like she was scolding him, all while gesturing to the truck.
“Probably in a rush to get to the club to see ‘Pretty Boy’ sing his little heart out so she can drop her panties,” one of the guys joked and pretended to sing into a mic dramatically.
“Shut the fuck up, idiot,” another one smacked him in the back of the head, “if I have to listen to any more of your stupid jokes tonight I’m gunna stuff ya in one of these damn barrels.”
“Alright, alright, lay off,” he rubbed his head with a sour face, “I was only tryin'a lighten the mood.”
A flash of headlights washed over you before being turned off. You all stopped to watch a black car pull up by the truck. You and Yoosung both paused, gripping your dollies and watching as a man in a brown trench coat stepped out and straightened his collar. Bits of red hair peeked from his hat and a serious expression plagued his face.
“Shit, what’s he doing here?” one of the guys whistled menacingly.
Though you had only seen him a handful of times, you knew who it was. Saeyoung, the Underboss. Or as people liked to call him-‘The Mad Hatter.’ You believed him responsible for countless hits over the years. And now you all stood to watch, though some of the outfit stayed back in the warehouse, exchanging quiet glances and pretending to work.
“It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?” Saeyoung and his two body guards met Jaehee and the driver.
“It’s a bit too cold if you ask me,” Jaehee replied.
“Ah, but it’s a clear night,” he looked up to the sky, “star, after star, after star. An endless void. If you look long and hard enough you can get lost in it. How many do you think there are?”
He returned his gaze to the two of them, his solemn face unchanging. Neither of them spoke.
“I asked you a question,” he turned to the large man, “how many do you think there are?”
“Stars? I-uh…” you could almost see the man begin to sweat.
“You can count, can’t you?”
“Well ya, but I-I don’t know-“
“Of course you don’t. There are too many up there. Maybe a simpler question, then? Since you can count and all..how many barrels am I missing from this truck?” he gestured to the meat truck.
“Missing?” his big belly heaved with his now labored breathing.
Saeyoung’s fist swung into the mans gut and sent him coughing to his knees.
“Now, now. You’re good with numbers, remember? I’ll give you a second to count them in your head before telling me. And you’d better tell me. Or things are only going to get worse for you.”
The man started to sob at Saeyoung’s feet, “I don’t know nothin’ about missing barrels I swear on my kids life,” he pleaded.
“I don’t like liars,” Saeyoung grabbed the mans hand and pulled the glove off, “shall we count together? Maybe that will help.”
He singled out the mans pointer finger, while the driver looked up to Saeyoung’s face in terror. His wet eyes were pleading.
“One…” Saeyoung bent the finger back in a swift motion. The snap of bone was like a dry twig breaking under your boot.
The cry in pain filled the empty street and the body guards stuffed the man’s mouth with a cloth before holding him in place on his knees. He struggled for a moment but quickly admitted defeat.
“Two,” another snap of his middle finger, “three…”
Even with the cloth to muffle, you could hear the pain bellowing from his chest. Tears streamed down his stubble-heavy face and his brow pinched together in agony. It took everything in you not to stop him. The cold metal of the gun on your thigh had never been more apparent.
“Four,” the pinky was the last one and it broke easily, “four barrels. Now do you remember?”
He let the mans hand fall before stepping back. The cloth was pulled from his mouth before shoving him forward into the damp asphalt. Shaking and nodding at Saeyoung’s feet, his right hand was a mangled mess now.
“Good, I thought so. Now you won’t forget that number,” he tossed the glove at the mans face, “get out of my sight.”
With his good hand he palmed the glove and clambered to his feet all while stifling sobs. Wobbling slightly and almost running into Jaehee in the process he started to walk fast in the opposite direction down the silent street.
“Hm…I changed my mind,” Saeyoung reached into his coat and pulled a pistol to aim at the man.
The truck blocked your view but the sound of the shot and the thud that followed were telling enough. Your legs were suddenly jello and a pair of hands held you up.
“Keep it together,” Yoosung whispered as he grabbed you. You were just noticing his eyes had glassed over slightly and there was an indent where he must have bitten his lip.
All you could think about were flashes of Saeyoung’s face as he held a gun to your head. ‘Lemme show you what we do to rats and pigs,’ he’d say, his sadistic grin being the last thing you see before he squeezed on it.
“Someone clean that up,” Saeyoung gestured to the body before turning to one of the men, “you, get this truck out of here.”
He handed a wad of cash to Jaehee, explaining that she was to deliver it to the man’s wife. It was to help her get by, at least for a little while, without a husband.
He took long striding steps back to the car. His gloved hand opened the door and he turned to you with a smile before getting in.
“Hey, Lucky! Both’a you, be in the wind before the bull arrives, huh?” he waved and got into the back seat.
The bit of food in your stomach was trying to make it’s way up but you took some sharp breaths to calm your nerves as the car drove away. No wonder there wasn’t a soul at the station willing to try and infiltrate this syndicate. They all either laughed at you or turned a cold shoulder when you brought it up. Not even the feds were willing to acknowledge this level of organized crime was going on. Businesses and citizens alike accepted that this was just the way things were. And here you were, a cop gone under cover. A rat. A bull. The regret was like a thick syrup that clung to you. This was the first time you realized you were probably going to die. But there was no turning back now.
“Come on, there’s still a bit of work to do…” Yoosung pat you on the back with a solemn face. It was the first time you’d seen him not smiling.
For 1967, the Shelby GT350 continues with the same engine of the previous years.
Special specimens or versions were manufactured as follows: - A Shelby GT Hard Top, which would be a precursor to the Ford Mustang California Special.
- A Shelby GT500 Convertible, precursor of the 1968 exemplars.
- A Fastback was fitted with a modified 427 engine to give 650 cf and was known as the “Super Snake”. Only this prototype was produced with those specifications.
The Ford Mustang was redesigned for the 1967 model, in the case of the Shelby, it receives a longer hood that is now made of fiberglass, as well as new defenses. And although you could still see the original design of 1965, these additions gave it a much more aggressive appearance. At the freight of the hood you can distinguish vents that cool the engine. Shelby included new rear lights (transplanted from a 1967 Mercury Cougar, while the 1968 model used the
rear lights of the 1965 Ford Thunderbird), and a “Kamm”, this was a type of tail or spoiler, to improve aerodynamics.
The 4.7-liter V8 (289 cu in) had 306 cf and 329 lb ft of torque with a four-
barrels Holley carburetor. Line equipped a manual transmission of 4 speeds and optionally an automatic of 3.
Designed by Dmitry Shiryaev in the late 60′s. 7,62mm proprietary flechette rounds, four-barrel cluster, top break double action, ~12m lethal range against a standard diving suit. The predecessor to Vladimir Simonov’s SPP-1 underwater pistol, the B-VI-307 was probably the first effective underwater handgun to be developed. Its successor did away with the sorta-rocket cartridges and was overall much simpler and cheaper to produce.
Elaborately Engraved and Inlaid Four Barrel Swivel Breech Percussion Combination Gun by M. J. Whitmore of Potsdam, New York
from Rock Island Auctions
“M. J. Whitmore of Potsdam, New York, worked at the Wagon & Gun Shop and is believed to have been the man who trained Lewis L. Hepburn of Remington fame. He was one of the men listed on a breech loading patent in 1860 and also received a patent for a "clock, calendar.” Many of Whitmore’s surviving firearms utilize the swivel breech mechanism and have long metal actions like this example. Most, however, are over/under combination guns, but this unusual mid-19th century arm has four barrels. Three are .40 caliber and rifled and one is .410 caliber smoothbore. The paired rifle barrels share a blade front sight and adjustable notch rear sight, and the other rifled barrel and smoothbore barrel have individual sets of sights. All four barrels and the left side of the action at the wrist are stamped with “M. J. WHITMORE/POTSDAM N.Y.” The barrels have floral engraving patterns and the action has additional floral engraving as well as rural scenes and patriotic motifs. There is clever trap compartment in between the barrels that contains a wooden ramrod. The butt has numerous engraved German silver inlays, including a reposed stag, a cabin scene on the patch box door, a sun, and stars. The engraving and stock inlays are similar to known Whitmore rifles manufactured in Massachusetts by Nathaniel and Nathaniel Gilbert Whitmore and pictured in the included copy o the article “My Magnificent Whitmore” by David Wood, Jr. suggesting a family connection. N. G. Whitmore was the master armorer at Springfield Armory and also manufactured a very fine rifle for General Grant that was displayed at the Smithsonian.“
1966 Chevy II Super Sport. This girl, dressed in “Tuxedo Black”, has a 327 four barrel (Rochester or Carter?) and I’m not sure if it’s the 275 or the 350 horsepower version. Also don’t know if that’s a Muncie or a Saginaw (probably Saginaw since it’s a small block) four speed under her but she’s got a Hurst linkage. There’s a stiff positraction rearend and an AM radio; so basic but the cool-factor is way up there! If you’ve been following me (like 13,000+ have in less than 176 days since I started this Tumblr) for any time, you know that Craiger S/S rims are the only aftermarket rims I can tolerate. :-). I like my classic cars factory and this girl is a perfect 60’s specimen!
Manufactured by Charles Lancaster c.1882 - serial number 114. .476 Enfield quadruple barrel cluster, top break action pistol, rotating firing pin. All four barrels are proofed separetely for maximum stamping aesthetic.
Manufactured in the United States c.1840′s. .72 cap and ball five and four barrel clusters, manually cocked indexed, brass grips. I just realized that you can technically fit a pepperbox with a silencer, you just need to put one on every barrel. This is funny to me.
The loud banging jolts me out of my much-needed slumber. Four stands at the top of the stairs. “Let’s go initiates! Be in the training room in fifteen, or else.” He doesn’t elaborate on the else. Quickly everyone starts to change into their workout cloths.
The air around the initiates is full of excitement as everyone chatters about what it’s going to be like, being in Dauntless. I don’t keep up with anyone’s conversation though, my mind wandering to what happened yesterday.
I never got tour yesterday, so I am left to blindly follow everyone up a few levels. We arrive to a large room full of fighting rings and dummies to practice on, along with targets and weapon racks. My eyes scan the vast room. Four and some other leader are the only people in the room; shocking me, my heart falls as I realize Eric is not here. I shouldn’t want to see him; he is a dick. Right?
I don’t have long to think, before Four is passing me a gun. The metal feels cold and heavy in my hand. He starts a speech about how being prepared eliminates cowardliness, or something like that, but all I can think about is “my rose”. Did I hear him correct, or was I just so tired I made it up? Even harder than that, what do I want him to say? Do I want to be his?
Suddenly Four has the barrel of his gun against peter’s head. “Wake up!” He shouts after peter’s yawn. I try not to laugh as Peter face contorts in fear. As soon as Four takes the gun off his head, he gives us the go ahead to fire. I look over to see Tris scared shitless, trying to fire the gun. “You have to brace it on your shoulder, Like this.” I say while pushing the butt of the gun into my right shoulder. “Then: close your left eye, breath, aim, and while breathing out, fire.” A second later, I pull the trigger. The recoil sends the gun into my shoulder, but my wide stance keeps me from having to step back.
“Wow.” Tris says, looking at my hit target. “How did you know how to do this? Were never even allowed to think about guns at my house.” I don’t get a chance to answer as someone behind us starts to speak.
“I too would like to know.” Four stands behind us, arms crossed frown on his face.
“Well, I used to read my brothers books, and one of them was about guns.” My stomach turns as I revel this information; it doesn’t feel like something I should share. Four ponders this then leans into my ear.
“Do me a favor; if anyone else asks, tell them I told you.” His voice radiates down my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I don’t have a chance to respond before he retreats, not even bothering to look at me.
“What did he say?” Tris questions.
“Um.” I deliberate “He said Dauntless leaders don’t like know it all’s, so I shouldn’t say things like that.” Even though Tris heard me talk about the books, it didn’t feel right to tell her what Four said.
“Oh, yeah I can definitely see that.” We both laugh as Four glares at us. Hastily we lift our guns and start firing. Fours words felt like fire in my mind. Why would he ask me to say that? What danger could saying I read a book possibly possess, and if it is a problem why didn’t he punish me himself?