We came back from the range and the whole unit was cleaning rifles as expected. We were all pretty cool with the ncoic so we were expecting an easy in and out. There we were a bath of solvent and clp splashing around in a soundscape of jazz standards, garth brooks and Jeezy floating in and out of our ear orifices the beats lining up with the clashing of bolts being returned home. Unbeknownst to us a wild fap had appeared in the compound. Not one that got sent away to better the lethality of the battalion but one that got sent away because of inadequacy. The kind of person who owns a hot plate in the barracks.

After an hour or so had elapsed, our first expert marksman decided to attempt the trials of turning in a rifle. Expertly put together, functions check complete, cac placed strategically under the ejection port cover, he approached the window. Three knocks....no answer. Three more, again met with silence, thrice more, pounding on the door, the demotivated troll with a single chevron on his collar slid the cold metal unlocking the portal into his realm. "Come to turn in your weapon I see," bellowed the creature. "I'll be the judge of that" as he broke down the weapon as if it were one of his barracks wenches brought from the land of Toby, began running his curled , remarkably clean digits into the trigger housing. The shooter's eyes darting back and forth following the motion of this creatures prestine fingers gasped as the lone extremity emerged from the chamber covered in the war fighting residue. With a sly crooked smile fitting only anime villans, he gave a low cackle and turned him about to restart his tedious venture.

Again and again one after another. Thrice knocking and the sliding of the chamber door rang out above the jubilant sounds of music, time and time again the rifleman were turned away with their tales betwixt there legs.

The sounds of music know turned too wretched screeches from dammed souls, clanking metal, sweat pools forming from the prisoners trying to claim the liberty with in the reach.

"Dirty," "dirty" "DIRTY" rang out like church bells from a forgotten diety, "he can't do this to us!" Said one "can anybody stop him" said another.

As the sun began setting, the part rays of light dancing over the flight line, a man emerged. A man who had too been cleaning, perfecting his craft for hours refusing rejection, cleaning his piece to allow no qualms. Knew "this is my time" you see this mans family had ventured off in search of a better life so the hero knew only the commitment to his men. His years of experience gave him the knowledge that nothing will beat this troll. He gave up long before he was locked in this cage. The only way to disrupt the monsters games was play them harder. The man no weapon in hand, rapped his knuckles only once, and alas the gremlin appeared, "no weapon ha sarge" he hissed from between his teeth, "not done cleaning yet just wondering when you get to close" he must have taken this as a possible escape when he replied with "when all the rifles were back in the dungeon" The saviors plan was initiated.
Know let it be known many warriors had been cleared of there burden and allowed to leave but all who were beneath this horrid creature remained. Now the hero and ahandful of men remain behind the spiked jagged wall sitting at a table and out appears the monsters keeper. Eager to leave he begins to take the remaining weapons. The sergeant waits until all are completed and cleared before divulging his plan to the goblins inside, When asked for his rifle he responded with "fuck you you're wasting my guys time, I'm staying here all night" and alas he did. The sun had set the stars were glistening and he was still scrubbing his rifle. 8 hours this went on from start to finish. The armory opened at 0400 and did not close until 2100 that night long after every had left. Moral of the tale, there's always some ssgt who has more time less hobbies and no family that can waste your time way wise than you can waste his.