It was 3 in the morning when I got back to my new dorms. I was with C-MS again.
I was prepared to get a long nap.
I was wrong.
Very wrong.
At 5 in the morning, with only 2 hours of sleep, the Soviet guns in my echelon bashed into my room ridden with vodka.
[9A-91]: "Ah, товарищ! Хочешь бутылку лучшей водки, которую я когда-либо пробовал?" (Would you like a bottle of the finest vodka I've tasted in a while?)
[G36]: "Um, 91? What the fuck? English please?"
I said while in my bed, in my underwear, since I was too tired to get in my nightgown.
[Mosin Nagant]: "Ah, those are some, eh, красивая спальная одежда (nice sleeping clothes) you've got there"
Mosin says as she stares at my body, with a smirk on her face.
[Mosin Nagant]: "Позвольте мне примерить эту одежду! (let me try on those clothes!)"
[G36]: "What the fuck?"
I could not understand what she was saying. But, I understood what she wanted.
[AK-74M]: "Nonono, Mosin, 9A, stop."
Thankfully, AK-74M staged an intervention before they could do more stupid shit.
[AK-74M]: "Your gun equally sexy. I try it?"
Crap. AK plans to do equally stupid shit.
Before I could stop her, she grabs my gun.
[AK-74M]: "So heavy! Complex! The optics are shit! I would have Kalashnikov Concern make sight for you if can!"
She drags me out of my covers forcefully
[AK-74M]: "We go firing range!"
She says after chugging vodka down her mouth, shattering the bottle on the floor, and dragging me on the throat, still basically naked, to the firing range.
Hell.
We arrived. After two or three minutes of excruciating pain and asking AK to let go.
In which she answers by drinking more vodka.
Bro's liver is made of carbon fibre.
Maybe literally.
As we enter, she finally let go and slammed a PMAG into my gun.
She then fill autoed my G36, FROM THE HIP WITH ONE FUCKING HAND.
With one fucking hand, she held down the recoil of the it.
[AK-74M]: "This gun shit! Many recoil compared to our intermediate cartridge!"
She said while chugging vodka with the other hand.
After a couple of seconds she heard a click from the gun.
[G36]: "Can we, uh, stop here?"
She reloaded the gun, slamming in another PMAG and firing blindly.
This continued on for quite a few magazines until suddenly, the gun stopped.
The handguard, made of glass fibre reinforced plastic, was melting and on fire.
The barrel was burning red, with the majority of the muzzle brake broken off.
No matter how hard she tried, the rounds refused to chamber again. The barrel must have burst.
It took me a couple of seconds to realise that, SHE OVERHEATED MY FUCKING GUN. IT WAS FUCKING BROKEN.
AND WE HAVE TRAINING AT 8.
Well, FUCK.
