Okay, so remember that doofus who lives in the big castle up in Canterlot? You know, the pretty one. Alright, that really limits it down to like, everypony in Canterlot, but you get what I’m saying. I’m trying to say you should start thinking about Princess Luna. Aiight, so now that we’re on the same track, you ought to know something about that moon-dork. She’s super lumping old. Yeah, I wouldn’t guess it either but she’s about one thousand years old at least, but that’s totally okay. You see she’s also some weird mutant that’s a cross between a narwhal, a swan, a horse, and I think she may even have a bit of platypus that doesn’t show but it’s in there just so that her genes will scream “Why was I born?” So that’d explain why she can live for so long. I don’t know where I’m going with this but the point is that she’s been away for a very long time and so she doesn’t know how the world works. She’s the perfect candidate to use a standard US Armed Forces M249 Machine Gun.

But it’s not like a darn thing in that entire paragraph matters. Because our story begins in an unclassified army field base, whatever they call it, where some unclassified army field training is going on, whatever they call it, with an unclassified army field machine gun, whatever they call it. And heading this operation to get these young pups up to speed on the latest armed forces info is none other than Sergeant Cortez.

“Listen up you bunch of fine young gentlemen and Private Skittles. You are all here, some more welcomed than others,” Cortez said whilst glaring daggers straight at Private Skittles, “to learn the overall information necessary to the the new M249 Squad Assault Weapon model” He gestured with his hand over to a table that displayed a functional model of the aforementioned weapon.

The machine was quite imposing, gunmetal grey except for the stock which was clearly of some composite black plastic yet still wicked in design. It was clear just from sight that this beast of a carefully arranged melange of metal was designed for one purpose, and it’s purpose was clear. Its only possible flaw was that of how it is the size of a small child, and even then one must shudder at the thought that this awful construct was formed this way so that it would easily slither and crash amongst the fields of battle. Even the mighty iPod would shrivel in comparison to the fright induced by the mere image of such a vastly superior weapon.

“This design is different than the one you may have seen prior.”

A hand went up from the crowd of soldiers. “Oh oh! Why is that Sarge? It looks just like a regular machine gun!”

Cortez’s face went deadpan. He thought that perhaps while giving the chance to educate these good soldiers, and Private Skittles, a lesson that would perhaps save their lives one day he would find solace despite the presence of one person. He forgot for one brief moment that Private Skittles was among the ranks before him.

So Cortez just pinched his nose so that he could resist breaking a blood vessel in his face from pure frustration and shut his eyes in the vain hopes that perhaps this redundancy to the human race would disappear to the farthest reaches of whatever void that spawned him. He had no such luck. “Private Skittles” He said before he took one deep breath “shut up.”

Cortez then cleared his throat and continued to speak. “Now, as you can see, it doesn’t look vastly different than your typical multi-role automatic weapon, but you will trust me when I say that it is so much more. This specific firearm, which shall be standard issue for support gunner units, has been imbued with mystical powers to give it nigh infinite ammunition.”

“But Sarge, doesn’t magic not exist?” Asked Private Skittles.

“I swear Private Skittles,” Cortez began, holding his hands in frustration and strangling the air in front of him as his imagination desperately desired for them to be clamped around the inquiring private’s neck. “If you don’t stop interrupting I will tie you to a tree and show you exactly why we call it the SAW. Now shut up!”

Private Skittles zipped his pie hole. For now.

“Anyways, aside from that this is your basic model. And tell you all what, I’ll give you a little surprise if you can answer a bit of trivia. Lets start with something simple. A vehicle is heading along a stretch of road from left to right at fifteen miles per hour at a distance from you at five hundred meters. How much should you lead your sights to adjust for this discrepancy?”

Sergeant Cortez looked with disappointment at the blank stares he got from the crowd of soldiers. He couldn’t expect much, they were mostly rookies and so he immediately forgave them. Well, except for the one raising his hand high in the air who was just begging to be court martialed for being a jerk, if that was a prosecutable crime. Still, may be if he is ignored he’ll give up.

“Sarge, you aim one times the length of the vehicle!”

Cortez remembered the mantra that calmed him down. ‘One of these days he will be shipped to open combat. That will be the day the world will be rid of this scumbag.’ He still couldn’t ignore him though.

“That’s it Private Skittles, you’re grounded. Now stay quiet!” Private Skittles put his hand down but still stayed in rank, with that dumb, goofy smile on his face. Cortez continued, despite his boiling frustration. “Alright, that involved a little arithmetic, but you’d do best to remember it soldiers, and Private Skittles. Next question: Say one thing you should do when aiming from a prone position with a bipod supported weapon?”

This time he saw nearly every hand reach to the stars, and he knew that this band of soldiers wouldn’t be coming back in a pine box. “Alright, Private Seung, answer!”

As this young man on duty was about to answer, Private Skittles took this amble opportunity to show just how stupid he was. “You draw an imaginary line from the top of the stock that should go through the shoulder and pass through the heel of the foot.” And he lifted his chin up all proud like he earned a cookie.

Oh, he did earn something alright. Sergeant Cortez reached to his ammo pouch and pulled a strap off of the side that contained one of the standard issue grenades those in the service were known for. One on each side of the ammo pouch, and this one will be used for a glorified purpose. He showed them all the grenade which resembled a ball with a lever. He then unscrewed the top and pulled out a metallic rod with the lever from its explosive housing. Cortez held the two parts of this weapon in both hands and showed that he now held something that looked like a toilet paper holder with a lever, this was the part that he removed, and in the other remained the olive drab ball that had a hole in it where the rod went.

They were all impressed with this show of dexterity. Especially one infuriatingly annoying private. “Wow Sarge, so that’s how you take apart a grenade?”

‘Sarge’ as he was now known as answered this by smacking Private Skittles between the eyes with the ball which left a great big welt right on his face. Private Skittles went down like a sack of potatoes and went quiet. With him out of the way, perhaps Cortez could finally get to work.

“Alright everyone, now that we can focus I’d like to let you all know you get the chance to try out this model. Courtesy of me, for all your hard work and service.”

Cheering was forbidden, and had they done this Cortez surely would have reprimanded them. But the joy from this revelation shined bright on the faces of these soldiers as they all beamed in gratitude for this opportunity.

Then Private Skittles got up and was all like “That is awesome! Thanks sarge!”

Cortez lost it. He charged right at Private Skittles and grabbed him up by the collar and started shaking him violently. “I hate you so much Private Skittles, I swear that I will obliterate you! You’re a Willie Nelson fan, right?”

Private Skittles’ hair was a mess, his eyes were rolling side to side, and he was totally discombobulated but still managed to nod in agreement.

“I hate Willie Nelson! That’s right, I hate you and the bands you like!” Cortez let go of this bumbling private and went back to the display of the weapon. Or at least, he would had the weapon still been there. It was totally gone.

“Okay, did anyone see where the machine gun went?” He said, without turning to face the crowd. He waved a hand over the table to make sure he wasn’t tripping out, and after concluding that only empty space was there, he was about to go ballistic. “Come on, anyone?” He turned back to face the crowd now, and was extremely livid when he saw only one guy had his hand raised. A guy with a bruised forehead.

He didn’t even care anymore about where the M249 went, he wasn’t about to listen to one more of this jerk’s inane comments. So he reached out to the other side of his ammo pouch, and just stood still groping at air. His other grenade was gone.

“Private Skittles.” Cortez called out.

“Yes sir?”

“I hate you.”

Author's Note

Private Skittles is always responsible. And trust me, you don't want to sympathize with him, there is a very good and justifiable reason why Private Skittles is abused at all times.

Oh, and these guys probably won't appear any time in the story other than this chapter, and yet they necessitate the human tag.

Also, the abuse of Private Skittles is the primary reason why this story is rated Teen, because otherwise this story would be rated Everyone. I mean, I'm sure the guys who pass and deny stories would have been cool about it, but you never know. There may be some nutbar who sympathizes with Private Skittles who'd report the harsh language and overt violence demonstrated at Private Skittles which, in all fairness, would qualify as objectionable content and so the aforementioned broskis would have their hands tied. So in everyone's best interests, this story will have to be rated Teen, sorry kids. Thanks Private Skittles, you jerk.