The next morning, we were marched out to the shooting range after chow time. It was cold, the thermometer outside our tent said it was near freezing. Excitement was high; we all expected to finally get our hands on some incredible, super high-tech weapons from the Kristang. And maybe clothing that automatically heated and cooled you. I felt naked without a rifle. Standing in front of us was a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant with a crew cut so severe, it looked like it could cut your hand if your touched it. He wore combat pants and boots, but over his top was a red US Marine Corps sweatshirt.

“I am Gunnery Sergeant Cragen, of the United States Marine Corps.” Cragen paused as shouts of 'Oorah' and ‘Semper Fi’ rang out from the crowd. “I am relieved to hear that we have a few qualified riflemen among us. Since the rest of you are Army, I’ll try to talk slowly, so you can understand.” The other Marines laughed at that remark.

“Listen up, people!” There was a gray box on a table in front of him, he touched a button on the side of the box, and it swung open silently. Everyone craned their necks, we were finally going to see the super high-tech weapons that we'd be killing hamsters with. So it was understandable to hear the grousing when Sergeant Cragen pulled what looked like a standard M4 rifle from the box.

"Oh, fuck me!"

"You got to be kidding me!"

"This is bullshit, man!"

"An M fucking four?"

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!" Which meant, of course, What The Fuck?

"Man, this is for shit," Ski whispered to me and Cornpone. Cornpone just spit on the burnt dusty ground.