While the AR15, M16, and M4 series rifles vary in model, they all essentially descend from the Armalite AR-10 rifle, introduced in 1956.
The basic Armalite AR-10 rifle was modified to become the AR-15, still chambering the .223 Remington.
Armalite later sold the patents for the AR-10 and AR-15 to Colt, which continued to improve them, such as moving the bolt handle from below the carrying handle to the rear of the receiver.
Colt's improved AR15 subsequently entered service with the US military, initially with the Air Force, designated the M16. Semi-automatic police and civilian versions continued to be called the AR15.
In the 1990s, the M4 carbine, based on the M16A2, debuted and gradually replaced the original M16. During this period, the military donated a large number of retired M16s to police departments.
Compared to the military's more formal nomenclature, the numerous AR15 knockoffs that emerged in the civilian market following the expiration of Colt's patent in 1977 were less formal.
Generally speaking, any police or civilian model capable of semi-automatic fire was collectively referred to as an AR15. Therefore, it's not surprising to see American police with AR-series assault rifles capable of three-round bursts or full-auto fire.
Jack's rifle was a selector-activated AR15; he couldn't pinpoint the specific model. While it lacked a three-round burst mode, that didn't mean he couldn't achieve similar results with exceptional hand speed.
After all, it wasn't his own gun, and the situation didn't allow for that. He could only compensate for accuracy with the number of shots he fired. He observed the impact of the first shot, and then adjusted the trajectory of the next two shots based on feel.
He knew there was a sniper in the southeast corner, surely watching this direction, so he fired slowly with the first shot and quickly with the second. After firing his third shot, he quickly ducked under the windowsill.
Sure enough, even with a silencer that muffled most of the muzzle flash, the noise still caught the attention of the other sniper, quickly prompting a counterattack.
This, however, served Jack's purpose: with the enemy firing relentlessly at him, they naturally had no time to focus on Ronnick, who was rescuing people below.
By the time he shook off the glass and wood shards and returned downstairs, Ronnick had already half-dragged a drunken man back into the station. The two men were leaning against the bars of the holding area, panting heavily.
"What the hell is going on? Who's hitting us, Chief?"
The man, wearing a pointed paper hat, looked terrified and had just come from a party. Although his speech was still a little lisp, he seemed to have sobered up a lot.
With the exception of John and veteran officer Jasper, who remained in the antechamber, everyone, including several prisoners, stared at him intently.
"Fuck, who was shooting at us just now?" Seeing no one speak, the man glanced around and suddenly noticed the bodies of the four corrupt police officers Jack had thrown into the cell behind him. They jumped up from the ground in shock.
"Fuck, what happened here?"
His gaze continued to scan the faces of several prisoners, finally landing on Jack, who was approaching with a gun drawn. His expression shifted from fear to confusion, and then from confusion to bewilderment.
"Who the hell are these guys trying to kill?"
Alex, who came to the police station almost weekly for counseling with Ronnick, was obviously familiar with the Capra Alice had mentioned. She looked at the unfortunate man who had walked into this trap with a slightly troubled expression.
"What are you doing here at this hour, Capra?"
Capra remained stunned, his eyes almost completely blank as he continued to look around until his gaze finally focused on the fishnet stockings beneath Alice's small leather skirt, and he finally came to his senses.
"It's New Year's Eve, and I know you three are the only ones on duty at the station, so I thought I'd come have a drink with Alice."
"Well, you picked a great day. Besides, I told you, Capra, I only sleep with bad boys."
Alice rolled her eyes at the officer, who was balding before middle age and had a look that could even be described as filthy.
Suddenly, from behind Bishop, the sound of a bullet being loaded came from the bolt, and the drug addict among the prisoners pointed his gun at Capra.
"Wow, wow, wow, wow, this is such a sweet love story." The guy's accent was so unpleasant that even just hearing the sound made you imagine him drooling as he spoke.
"That sounds really sweet, but unfortunately, I don't believe a single word you say."
Before the addict had finished speaking, Alice and Alex instinctively raised their pistols, naturally, pointing them at the unstable man.
"Drop your guns!"
"Damn it, he's really a police officer here!"
Seeing their "one of their own" being pointed at, the other two prisoners instinctively raised their guns and confronted him. Seeing this, Ronik wiped his face in pain.
"Put your guns down, please, don't do this again, okay?"
With the exception of the addict, everyone else glanced at each other and simultaneously lowered their weapons, their expressions slightly embarrassed.
Jack inconspicuously moved half a step to the side, hiding the right side of his body behind Alex. With a slight movement of his arm, the Sig Sauer was already in his palm. He then glanced at Bishop, who was also shifting his position.
The stoner kept on talking. "Pretending to chase the chicks, that's a genius idea! Send someone in and pick us off one by one, huh? Tell us your plan, asshole!"
"Come on, didn't you see them shoot? If it weren't for Jack, Capra and I would have been nearly killed!" Ronick was still trying to explain.
"Yeah, they did shoot, sure, but it could also be staged. They just missed on purpose. This was all planned!"
The stoner's words immediately made fellow prisoners, Little Black Smiley and Black Girl, hesitate. It sounded like such a possibility.
Capra was completely awakened by this shock. After all, the guy pointing a gun at him didn't look like a sane person at all. He simply pulled open his jacket.
"Do you think I have a gun? I'm not Rambo, how can I take you all down one by one?"
"At least lock him up. Put him in a cell. He can hide under the bodies, so no one can come in and shoot him."
Seeing this guy's words becoming more and more outrageous, Ronik finally realized that he was wasting his time arguing with a guy with red eyes, obviously still under the influence of drugs.
"I vouch for him. Capra is one of us. OK? I vouch for him." He said this, but his eyes were fixed on Bishop and Jack.
The drug addict shook his head frantically, the saliva at the corners of his mouth turning to white foam. "I'm sorry, but your words are no longer effective. This place is no longer yours, right, Bishop? Bishop, tell them! You're the boss here!"
Seeing that Jack had lost his patience, his eyes narrowed with murderous intent, Bishop quickly gave him a look, indicating that he would handle it.
Amid the addict's incessant chatter, the big black man slowly walked up to him, put his hand on the butt of his gun, and said in a deep voice, "Put the gun down."
"No, no, no, man, please, don't you understand what I mean? This guy just showed up out of nowhere, trying to be clever."
Before the addict finished speaking, Bishop raised the muzzle of the gun with his right hand and cut his throat with a palm knife with his left hand.
"Ho ho." The addict lying on the ground groaned in pain. Bishop took the AR15 and handed it directly to Jack who walked forward, then picked the guy up from the ground.
"Sheriff Ronick is the person in charge here, understand? There is no doubt about that."
The gangster's fierce look was still quite intimidating. With the same sneer, Jack's smile looked as harmless as the sunshine on the Los Angeles beach.
(End of this chapter)