ВИФовцам должно понравиться ;))
Like most soldiers, I had a love/hate relationship with the weapons I carried: they can protect or save your life, but they also make you a target. And sometimes they don't work as advertised, or even turn on their owners.
In Vietnam, a couple of hours before I was to get on the helicopter that would take me out of the base camp and into war, I had an interesting colloquy with the company armorer, a chain-smoking sergeant who was obviously glad to be staying behind. He set four hand grenades in front of me and I had to tell him about raking leaves...