Specialization

"This", I began, "Is a G36C carbine. It is a masterpiece in the world of firearms. Manufactured by the legendary Heckler and Koch, a German firm that originated in West Berlin- yes, before the wall came down. It fires the relatively ubiquitous 5.56 NATO round from 30 round stick magazines. But," I said with a smile, staring at the ground in front of me, "None of you really need to know that." I pointed at the stick-looking thingy jutting out from the gun on the right side. "All you guys need to know is how to put a bullet in the firing position,"-I pulled the charging handle-"The safety switch," -I thumbed the gun into semiautomatic mode-"And how to shoot." I pointed the gun at a human-sized target about 100 yards out and pulled the trigger. The testament to German engineering barked, and a small dark spot appeared on the target, right in the torso. The gunshot started ringing in my ears. I had forgotten to put a suppressor on. "Oh, and don't forget to put a suppressor on." I pulled one off of the table and screwed it on the front end of the gun. It was about the size of one of those murder mystery books that you found in airports. I fired again. The gunshot was quieter than the sound of the bolt opening and closing. "Very simple. Point and shoot." I turned back to the crowd. "If it is not shooting, start pulling levers and flipping switches. It'll work eventually. Just keep it pointed down there," I gestured to the range. "-When you do. Alright. Pick up a gun and start shooting." Uncle smiled. As the other kids made their selections of weaponry, he walked over to me. "Where did you learn that?" He inquired, the dry smile still present. "I thought that you would know," I said with a grin. "Yeah. I do. Just wanted to hear you say it." He walked to the middle of the range and started watching the other kids take their first shots with the greatest small arms the world had to offer. The German chick took aim with another G36C. George fiddled with the red dot on his SIG. Alice was already slapping a second magazine into the receiver when I saw what gun she was wielding. An ARX. Berreta, Italian. One of the oldest gun manufacturers of all time. They were making weapons when you couldn't hit a man standing 50 feet from you with one. I watched them spray lead down the range, my personal army. They were hitting their targets after they figured out how the gun worked. I saw a lot of fiddling, a lot of careful caressing- the guns looked brand spanking new- and a lot of eagerness. Pent up anger? Frustration? Coldness? I wondered if I should be seeing emotion or not a lot of it. Each person was acting differently. I pulled a SPAS-15 shotgun, a Beretta M9 handgun, and a PSG marksman rifle. The term "sniper" was a bit too hoity-toity for my taste. The time flew by. Before long, I was the only one left on the firing line. I looked behind me. It was 1814 hours. Holy hell. I broke out of my trance and just now noticed the air that was thick with gunpowder. My clothes would need to be washed. Black marks were left all over my hands. I saw that everyone else was standing behind me, watching. I stepped off of the line and returned the guns to the cabinet. "How long were you guys standing there?" "Good half hour", Alice mused, a smug look on her face. "I take it you enjoyed yourself, John?" Uncle said, like he was starting a TED talk. "Like a kid in a candy store." I replied, truthfully. "Gunplay is important, perhaps most important of our further operations," Uncle began. "But there are other things we must learn and teach each other. I want to get through the rest of you guys at least by the end of tomorrow. Come." He motioned to the door.