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I had been searching for a Universal Ferret (a commercial M1 Carbine chambered in .256 Win. Mag.) for a while. Finally found one on Gunbroker for an acceptable price and bought it. When I got it and started doing some research it turns out that the serial number was 67 numbers older than the oldest known Ferret. A couple of years later and a friend of mine was interested in a Ferret. A pair of them came up on Gunbroker, again at a reasonable price, so we bought them. He kept the one that was similar to my first one and I kept the one that looked more like a traditional M1 Carbine. When researching mine it turned out that it was several numbers later than the latest known Ferret. I wound up with the Alpha and Omega of Universal Ferrets purely by happenstance. I know, I know, big deal.
 
I don't have any guns with special serial numbers. A friend of Dad's was a well regarded Colt automatic collector. We went for a visit and I mentioned that we have a Colt 1908 380 and he said, "Look in that case. There's #1 in the box." !!!
But he had many old Colts with single digit numbers.

The best I have is my 65 Mustang. I've owned it for a long time and most of it's life with me has been as a drag racer. The last 4 digits are 1320.
 
We had some Walthers that started with bubblegum...

I guess with the replacement of bubblegum with what i actually wrote its not that funny--edit
 
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I've been trying to figure out what the "BFD" stands for in the sheepdog ar-15 made by PSA. They donated $10 to GOA with each purchase and it's to commemorate Stephen Willeford's courageous action. Maybe it stands for something or maybe it's just the next set of letter on their normal numbering system? IMG_9297.jpeg

 
I've been trying to figure out what the "BFD" stands for in the sheepdog ar-15 made by PSA. They donated $10 to GOA with each purchase and it's to commemorate Stephen Willeford's courageous action. Maybe it stands for something or maybe it's just the next set of letter on their normal numbering system? View attachment 2213713

Big farkin dingaling?
 
Big farkin dingaling?
Willeford told Pam that there was an active shooter at the church and asked her to stay put. The last thing he heard before hanging up was her pleading, "Don't go over there!"

Then he barreled out the front door, down the street toward the church. He didn't even bother to put shoes on.

Stephanie tried to follow, but he turned and asked her to go back inside and load another magazine for him (he wanted to give her a task so she wouldn't leave the house).

As he approached the old white chapel, he screamed as loud as he could, "Hey!" To this day, he's not sure why—he knows that giving away your position is foolish, tactically—but friends inside the church later told him that when the gunman heard Willeford's cry, he stopped shooting and headed for the front door. "It was the Holy Spirit calling the demon out of the church," he tells people.

Just as Willeford reached the front yard of Fred and Kathleen Curnow, whose house faces the church entrance, a man wearing black body armor and a helmet with a visor emerged from the church. Willeford scrambled behind the front tire of Fred's Dodge Ram. The gunman raised his pistol and fired three times. One bullet hit the truck. One hit the Dodge Challenger parked behind him. One hit the house.

Willeford propped his AR-15 on the pickup's hood and peered through the sight. He could see a holographic red dot on the man's chest. He fired twice. He wasn't sure he'd hit him, though he was later told that the man had contusions on his chest and abdomen consistent with getting shot while wearing body armor. Regardless, the gunman stopped shooting and ran for a white Ford Explorer that was idling outside the chapel, roughly twenty yards from where Willeford had positioned himself.

As the shooter rounded the front of the Explorer, Willeford noticed that the man's vest didn't cover the sides of his torso. Willeford fired twice more, striking the man once beneath the arm—in an unprotected spot—and once in the thigh.

The man leaped into the vehicle, slammed the door, and fired twice through the driver's side window. Willeford aimed for where he thought his target's head would be and pulled the trigger, shattering the driver's side window completely. The Explorer sped away, turning north onto FM 539, and Willeford ran into the street and got off another shot, this time shattering the SUV's rear window.

The vehicle roared out of view. For a moment, it seemed he had gotten away. Then Willeford looked to his left and noticed a navy-blue Dodge Ram stopped at a nearby crossroad.

Johnnie Langendorff, a 27-year-old who had driven down from Seguin, thirty minutes north, that morning to visit his girlfriend, had arrived at the intersection across the street from the church just as the gunman walked out and began firing at Willeford. Langendorff had already dialed 911 when Willeford, whom he'd never met, ran toward him, barefoot and brandishing a warm AR-15.

"That guy just shot up the church," Willeford shouted. "We need to stop him."
The next thing Willeford remembers hearing was the sound of Langendorff's doors unlocking. He hopped in the truck, and they sped after the Explorer.

Going north from Sutherland Springs, FM 539 is a two-lane blacktop that winds around craggy hills, through open pastures, past a handful of ranch houses toward Guadalupe County. As they raced after the Explorer, Langendorff topped 90 miles per hour, overtaking four or five other cars along the way. He stayed on the phone with the 911 dispatcher and updated their location every time they passed a cross street. They'd traveled seven or eight miles when they came around a bend and, for the first time, spotted the Explorer a few hundred feet ahead.
"If we catch him, we may have to put him off the road," Willeford said.
Langendorff nodded. "I already figured that."

As they closed in on the SUV, it swerved back and forth across both lanes and then, abruptly, careered off the road into a ditch. Langendorff pulled up about five yards behind the Explorer. Willeford clutched the AR-15 in his right hand—he only had two rounds remaining, not enough to survive another shootout—and reached down to open the door with his left. Just as he was stepping out, the Explorer peeled off, plowing through a street sign on its way back to the road. Willeford closed his door. Langendorff stomped on the gas. The SUV made it only a few hundred yards before veering off the road, smashing through a fence, and rolling to a stop roughly thirty feet into a field.
 

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