The War Cry of Uncle Sam IC

[Imperial Idaho]

Long Island, New York, Freedonia

Caleb grabbed a uniform and waited in line to get into a stall, when he saw Assad throw up he looked away, and felt bad for the guy.

[Prolieum]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

"Now for today's little bit of sadism, little cruel trick to play on you poor innocent guinea pigs-and cow. Back to the firing line. This should be fun."

[Krugeristan]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

"Now for today's little bit of sadism, little cruel trick to play on you poor innocent guinea pigs-and cow. Back to the firing line. This should be fun."

Oh my God, stop with the guinea cow thing. Assad felt the voices and nausea fade as he stiffly walked back to the firing line, spitting vomit to the side occasionally.

[Prolieum]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The Sergeant led them up to the firing range-now clearly visible in the daylight. Thirty-three firing stations had been set up, set apart by cheap wooden planks, on a table in each small stall rested a CR1, and some ammunition. To the right of the area was a gazebo under which two uniformed men stood, arms crossed.

The Sergeant turned to them. "Target practice, and weapons familiarization. Those two gentlemen are the Range Safety Officer, and the Rifle Instructor. Both have permission to shoot you-so don't tick 'em off."

He nodded over. "Go, sit down on the benches." He shouted over.

"Maggots are yours now, Ramirez!"

The man shouted back.

"Go take your nap, Bulger! We all know how your old bones creak!"

The Sergeant laughed, and walked off.

[Krugeristan]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The Sergeant led them up to the firing range-now clearly visible in the daylight. Thirty-three firing stations had been set up, set apart by cheap wooden planks, on a table in each small stall rested a CR1, and some ammunition. To the right of the area was a gazebo under which two uniformed men stood, arms crossed.

The Sergeant turned to them. "Target practice, and weapons familiarization. Those two gentlemen are the Range Safety Officer, and the Rifle Instructor. Both have permission to shoot you-so don't tick 'em off."

He nodded over. "Go, sit down on the benches." He shouted over.

"Maggots are yours now, Ramirez!"

The man shouted back.

"Go take your nap, Bulger! We all know how your old bones creak!"

The Sergeant laughed, and walked off.

Assad sighed. At least I may not be the oldest one here. He looked at the officer and instructor, choosing not to say anything, before shifting his gaze to Tiffany, but he shot her a look that said, "Why'd you ditch me earlier?"

[Prolieum]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I was sending you to David to help..." She started as a ruler slapped down millimeters from her finer-in fact, you could measure just how many. The instructor circled around her, and between the two of them.

"The only romance allowed on this range is the unsurpassed love between a man and his rifle. Keep it in your pants."

[Krugeristan]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I was sending you to David to help..." She started as a ruler slapped down millimeters from her finer-in fact, you could measure just how many. The instructor circled around her, and between the two of them.

"The only romance allowed on this range is the unsurpassed love between a man and his rifle. Keep it in your pants."

There were so many wise-ass remarks Assad wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He folded his arms over his chest before giving Tiffany the "I'll talk to you later" look.

But he still had some venom to spit to make her feel bad. "There's no way I could love her. I haven't met a more unfeeling person."

[Chewion]

Roosevelt Field, Long Island

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I was sending you to David to help..." She started as a ruler slapped down millimeters from her finer-in fact, you could measure just how many. The instructor circled around her, and between the two of them.

"The only romance allowed on this range is the unsurpassed love between a man and his rifle. Keep it in your pants."

There were so many wise-ass remarks Assad wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He folded his arms over his chest before giving Tiffany the "I'll talk to you later" look.

But he still had some venom to spit to make her feel bad. "There's no way I could love her. I haven't met a more unfeeling person."

T. Kiser walked over to Assad and said "Not cool man. Not cool."

[Krugeristan]

There were so many wise-ass remarks Assad wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He folded his arms over his chest before giving Tiffany the "I'll talk to you later" look.

But he still had some venom to spit to make her feel bad. "There's no way I could love her. I haven't met a more unfeeling person."

T. Kiser walked over to Assad and said "Not cool man. Not cool."

Assad had enough. He stood up, and promptly slapped Kiser across the face. "You are not my boss, you suicidal little special snowflake. You know what's not cool? Telling others what to do when it isn't your place. That's all you've done is annoy me. Why don't you stand in front of those targets, and let me get some practice in, huh? Would that make you feel more special?" Assad then shoved him over before sitting back down.

[Chewion]

T. Kiser walked over to Assad and said "Not cool man. Not cool."

Assad had enough. He stood up, and promptly slapped Kiser across the face. "You are not my boss, you suicidal little special snowflake. You know what's not cool? Telling others what to do when it isn't your place. That's all you've done is annoy me. Why don't you stand in front of those targets, and let me get some practice in, huh? Would that make you feel more special?" Assad then shoved him over before sitting back down.

T. Kiser laughed. He was at least twice Assad's size and way stronger. T. Kiser said "Well know I need to defend my self." He picked up Assad and pushed him into the wall where he punched him in the gut.

[Prolieum]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The man held up the gun.

"This, as you may know, is the CR1. You all have held one, most of you have fired one-today, you get to learn about one."

"You may have noticed that this weapon is an ugly son-of-a-gun, a clunky piece of clanky metal. That metal is sheet-pressed. It means that they round up the ore, smash it down, and print these off like newspaper."

"It does not mean, however, that the weapon is ineffective. Case in point." He snapped the rifle up to his shoulder, and put a round into Kiser's helmet.

[Democratic Peoples republic of Kelvinsi]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The man held up the gun.

"This, as you may know, is the CR1. You all have held one, most of you have fired one-today, you get to learn about one."

"You may have noticed that this weapon is an ugly son-of-a-gun, a clunky piece of clanky metal. That metal is sheet-pressed. It means that they round up the ore, smash it down, and print these off like newspaper."

"It does not mean, however, that the weapon is ineffective. Case in point." He snapped the rifle up to his shoulder, and put a round into Kiser's helmet.

Williams did not blink when the round came out, he had seen too much to be surprised. He had an iron heart inside of him and he did not care much for Kiser anyways. However, many females panicked, and openly screamed. Williams did not care, but he liked watching the show.

[Krugeristan]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The man held up the gun.

"This, as you may know, is the CR1. You all have held one, most of you have fired one-today, you get to learn about one."

"You may have noticed that this weapon is an ugly son-of-a-gun, a clunky piece of clanky metal. That metal is sheet-pressed. It means that they round up the ore, smash it down, and print these off like newspaper."

"It does not mean, however, that the weapon is ineffective. Case in point." He snapped the rifle up to his shoulder, and put a round into Kiser's helmet.

Hopefully that was lethal. To see President Kiser cry because one of his family members is a stupid special snowflake would be glorious. I should shoot him for good measure. Assad was glad the instructor chose Kiser as his target. He hoped next, they'd use him, or his corpse, as a punching dummy.

[Prolieum]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The instructor continued, almost seamlessly. He had not used a live round, of course-but certainly enough to rock the soldier. Odds are he would think he had really been shot at. What came next would be interesting.

"It is ugly, not too comfortable in cold or in heat, and no one can figure out how to weight the stock, but it will work wherever you need it to, no matter how much you mess it over."

He held up a clip.

"7.62 millimeter ammunition. More stopping power-smaller clip size. Standard rounds, AP, tracers, and squash-heads-last is for approved situations only. This is not a spray-and-pray weapon. If you try that, you will find one bullet coming out, and a lot more coming at you. Single shots only. You use suppression with single shots, you kill with single shots. That is the name of the game."

He flipped it around.

"You may have noticed the bullpup design if you know anything about guns, or that it looks backwards if you do not. Magazine inserts behind the trigger-it is why the weapon is so short, but keeps its muzzle velocity. Tight spaces, urban environments-take advantage."

"One problem with that design-the trigger. Start flexing your fingers, it is not an easy pull. You will learn to compensate, and overcome. When firing...."

The instructor continued his lecture on the weapon.

[Krugeristan]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The instructor continued, almost seamlessly. He had not used a live round, of course-but certainly enough to rock the soldier. Odds are he would think he had really been shot at. What came next would be interesting.

"It is ugly, not too comfortable in cold or in heat, and no one can figure out how to weight the stock, but it will work wherever you need it to, no matter how much you mess it over."

He held up a clip.

"7.62 millimeter ammunition. More stopping power-smaller clip size. Standard rounds, AP, tracers, and squash-heads-last is for approved situations only. This is not a spray-and-pray weapon. If you try that, you will find one bullet coming out, and a lot more coming at you. Single shots only. You use suppression with single shots, you kill with single shots. That is the name of the game."

He flipped it around.

"You may have noticed the bullpup design if you know anything about guns, or that it looks backwards if you do not. Magazine inserts behind the trigger-it is why the weapon is so short, but keeps its muzzle velocity. Tight spaces, urban environments-take advantage."

"One problem with that design-the trigger. Start flexing your fingers, it is not an easy pull. You will learn to compensate, and overcome. When firing...."

The instructor continued his lecture on the weapon.

I've already used it. Just give it to me and let me shoot it. Assad rubbed his face while listening. The nausea from earlier was long gone, but it didn't leave without taking his breakfast with it. When's the next time we eat . . . I'm so hungry. The instructor was droning, and Assad was losing himself in his thoughts, not paying attention. He was thinking about that really toxic sugar cake he had just a few days ago. It felt like weeks ago, and his stomach began muttering at the thought of it. It was unhealthy . . . but it sounds so good right about now. Fuck this lesson. I've used the gun before. Just GIVE IT TO ME AND LET'S GET ON WITH OUR LIVES!

[United Earth Space Command]

Premier Toro answered President Kiser's call.

[Chewion]

Premier Toro answered President Kiser's call.

Kiser said "Hello Premier, I don't have a lot of time so I will cut to the chase. Do you have a direct line to Anuac?"

[United Earth Space Command]

"I do. Why do you ask?"

[Prolieum]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

Some hours later, after an exhaustive course on the CR1, PSW, and other Freedonian weapons, the instructor blew sharply on his whistle.

"To the firing line."

[Krugeristan]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

Some hours later, after an exhaustive course on the CR1, PSW, and other Freedonian weapons, the instructor blew sharply on his whistle.

"To the firing line."

Assad groaned out loud as he got up. His legs had fallen asleep, and he was close to collapsing, but he forced himself forward. He kept giving Tiffany the look of "You ditched me", as he went back to the firing line.

[Democratic Peoples republic of Kelvinsi]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

Some hours later, after an exhaustive course on the CR1, PSW, and other Freedonian weapons, the instructor blew sharply on his whistle.

"To the firing line."

Williams did not listen to the lecture for the most part, only tuning in during the important parts. He knew enough to realize that the CR1 was a flawed weapon, though it was a bullpup design it lacked full auto capability. A major disadvantage in the urban environments it was supposed to be meant for, might as well have been for naught. But, he just headed to the firing range, intending on finally shooting something.

[Imperial Idaho]

Long Island, New York, Freedonia

Caleb somewhat listened through the lecture, nodding at parts he knew already. Once it was over he went up to the firing line.

[Prolieum]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The setup was simple, stalls, a gun, ammunition, and targets downrange.

The instructor walked down the line, briefly going over basic range safety protocol, then heading off to the side.

"You have next to you one hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition in six magazines, and before you, three levels of target. The objective is simple-to score as highly as possible. You can see the score numbers right next to you. The far-downrange targets are worth more than the close-in targets, and the middle targets are, unsurprisingly, in the middle. Hitting downrange is optimum for scoring maximum points-however, note that any misses will be punished severely, worth several direct hits. You will assess your own abilities, and take risks or play it safe as you wish, just as you must with choosing priority targets on a battlefield relative to ammunition levels. If you are struggling, you may raise your hand, and I will personally come over to give you help. Do note that we take note of who asks for help."

"Range is clear. You may commence firing."

[Krugeristan]

Firing Range, Roosevelt Field, Long Island

The setup was simple, stalls, a gun, ammunition, and targets downrange.

The instructor walked down the line, briefly going over basic range safety protocol, then heading off to the side.

"You have next to you one hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition in six magazines, and before you, three levels of target. The objective is simple-to score as highly as possible. You can see the score numbers right next to you. The far-downrange targets are worth more than the close-in targets, and the middle targets are, unsurprisingly, in the middle. Hitting downrange is optimum for scoring maximum points-however, note that any misses will be punished severely, worth several direct hits. You will assess your own abilities, and take risks or play it safe as you wish, just as you must with choosing priority targets on a battlefield relative to ammunition levels. If you are struggling, you may raise your hand, and I will personally come over to give you help. Do note that we take note of who asks for help."

"Range is clear. You may commence firing."

Picking up his weapon, Assad put a magazine in it, and put the sights to his eye. I used to be an ophthalmologist. Precision was pretty damn important. I can see everything now, therefore, I'm more capable of shooting well . . . but that means nothing. I'm human. I'll screw up, just like every other human.

Dimly now, he was remembering his right wrist and shoulder. He knew the doctors at Pa'el had performed surgery on his arm while dealing with his impacted pelvis and upper spinal nerve damage, but he could still feel where the muscles had torn when Kiser yanked on his arm trying to get the gun out of his hand at the funeral. The pain was very dull whenever the rifle struck his shoulder with recoil. Maybe I'll add a little more protein in my diet. I haven't really eaten anything substantial in . . .

One month? How's that possible?

He tried to remember the past month. Right after the funeral incident, he had been sent to a hospital in Syria. Didn't eat much there. After that, the meeting in Coeur d'Alene. Ate nothing there, other than ice cream with that AU girl. What was her name?

Valla. I ditched her, poor thing.

After abruptly leaving her to go to that silly Jamboree in Freedonia, he had American beer and German cake. Not healthy. He had nothing at Camp Philmont, and then was kidnapped by Texans, and pushed out of a plane over Syria. He was found by Freedonian soldiers, taken to a base, where he had the surgery, and was out for three days. Ate nothing. He also had nothing while on the plane with those horrid people who jeered at him about gassings in Syria. When he arrived at Roosevelt Field, he had spiked eggnog and that cake made of pure sugar. That was it until the next day when Sergeant Happy-Face gave him a cookie.

No wonder I feel like crap.

In the meantime, he had been hitting the closer targets spot on, and went a little slower on the middle and furthest targets. Assad held his breath while aiming his rifle at the furthest target. His heart started racing, and for the moment, that was all he heard. He began slowly pulling the trigger, and that was when everything could go wrong. He willed every fiber in his body except his trigger finger to remain still, but that wasn't happening.

A nerve twitched. The gun swayed, and he missed the target completely.

[Chewion]

"I do. Why do you ask?"

"Well some of their citizens are attacking Holloman and I need to get in touch with their government."