The M4 is truly a holy relic bestowed upon us by the gods, to prove that we are infinitely loved. I don't believe that horsecrap about some company in Connecticut called Colt that manufactures them, there is just no way. I have seen the light. I pulled my rifle out of the arms room like Link from the Legend of Zelda pulled the Master Sword from that stone slab. Same dramatic music and everything.
Today, we took our Weapons of Ultimate Greatness and Superior Awesomehood to the range to zero them and qualify with them. My platoon was fortunate enough to have the priveledge to be the last to begin firing, so we were able to enjoy all the fun that one can have when one must sit around in full combat gear for hours and hours, pretending to be practicing our trigger squeeze while in the prone. Fuck it, I won't lie. We slept. When we could.
After one of the longest days I've had in a long time, it finally came my chance to put this beastly piece of metal to work.
Its exactly the same as the M16. Just a bit more compact. I also want to add that I hate the optical sights that we use as opposed to iron sights. Took me forever to get it zeroed, and I still doubt that its properly done. I qualified, shooting only one better than I did in basic. No huge surprise. I don't really mind being a meriocre-at-best soldier, because I'm confident in my ability to do my job. Pity it isn't with all the grace and glam and HOOAH that our ideals would want it to be.
A humorous example would be on one occasion, when we were out in the woods, working on our battle drills. We were attempting to advance under enemy fire (don't want to describe the tactic beyond that, sorry, but its probably not a good idea) and our platoon sergeant and platoon leader had paintball guns, blazing in glory. I saw yellow paint splatter across a tree, and suddenly I was a little more motivated than usual. I was running, nay, scrambling like a chihuahua on a slippery linoleum floor, trying to keep low at the same time, and I ended up baseball sliding to cover behind a tree, like one would when sliding head first to home plate. That clumsy effort at being a soldier resulted in my hand being cut open, though not bad enough to warrant a Purple Heart. Oh, wait, there's more. Here's where we add insult to insignificant injury. We later found out, they weren't even aiming at us.
Oh my god, I am such a geek.
For some reason, I find a lot of humor in how awkward and unlikely of a soldier I am, so I'm going to make it a point to share every awkward and embarassing story with you wonderful readers.
Oh, and I'm considering retitling my blog, "The Next Jessica Lynch" (is he serious??? =] We'll see), but if anyone has any suggestions for a better name, I'm all ears.