Rush. (on the m1 carbine)

Part 1 of (probably) 1

The smell of cigarettes hung over the machine shop like fog, blending with the stink of machine oil that hung in the air most times. He didn't smoke, but his colleagues sure as hell did, and it drove him crazy. But really, that was thought for another time. He could practically feel his fellow engineer's eyes on his back as he sweated over the mill, although he knew they were probably outside burning through another pack of Lucky Strikes sitting in the old Studebaker that Williams drove. He hadn't slept at all last night, and he was doing this from memory, so he sure as hell hoped it would work. Even a ten-thousandth of a milimeter off and- god damn it, he was getting distracted again. He needed to get it done. After another 15 minutes of slaving over the machine, he took the bolt off the mill, and with a quick glance over. he stuck it in a paper bag and sprinted to the car. He sure as hell hoped it work. If it didn't there would be hell to pay at Winchester and with Studler.