The average government issue M16 assault rifle weighs 3.5 kilos and is 1000mm long.
For how long do you think you could hold one of those vertically on the top of your head? Mike could tell you this: after the first half hour, it's just a matter of which would give out first - your arms or your consciousness.
By his third year, Senior Midshipman Mike Stone was one of the top two M16 riflemen in his university. The funny thing is, the person who taught Mike to be a better marksman was not his Gunnery Instructor. It was an Indian taxi driver at Puduraya - who happened to be a former army sniper. But that's a different story.
Mike remembers clearly his squad's first trip to the outdoor shooting range. Most of them couldn't even see the target 200 meters away, much less load and fire their weapon. At the end of that afternoon, the 5 cadets with the lowest scores were lined up front for everyone else to see, in order from worst to worstest.
Needless to say, Cadet Mike was part of that notorious lineup. However, he wasn't the biggest cock-up that day . That honour went to Cadet Shazni Hafizi.
The officer on duty was Sub Lieutenant Radzi Abdul Razak - six feet of tanned muscle and sadistic hatred of cadets. He lowered his cigarette from his black lips and stared down the Fab Five, one by one. He ordered them down onto the push-up position.
This isn't going to be pleasant, Mike thought, dropping to his palms and toes.
"Kadet!... Korang tahu tak 'askar' tu apa?!" Radzi began his monologue. Yup, this was gonna take a while. "Aku Seksa... Kerana Aku Rela!"
He proceded to remind the Fab Five that all that they had accomplished that day was waste the navy's supply of bullets. Noone dared to respond. The afternoon sun was equally merciless.
"Engkau, kadet!" he nudged Fizi with his boot. "Berapa markah kau dapat?"
"4 per 100, tuan!" Fizi called out, his chin two inches away from the grass beneath him. Droplets of sweat tickled his face as they rolled over his eyelids and sunken cheeks.
"Empat?!" Radzi wasn't pleased. "Tu skill tahap BERUANG kau tahu tak?!"
"Kalau aku tangkap beruang kat hutan nu..." he pointed across the rolling hills. "Aku pakaikan dia uniform navy... Aku bagi dia M16 sebijik... Sama je markah dia!"
Despite his mounting anxiety, in his mind Mike pictured Papa Bear lying on his belly on the ground, snout pressed against the butt of a rifle. Squinting over the barrel, his fat furry paw hugging the trigger. Waiting... Eat my porridge, will you, Goldilocks?
Mike felt a laugh rising from the pit of his stomach. With every ounce of willpower, he tried to stifle it. He couldn't.
Radzi's face turned sour the moment he heard faint chuckling interrupt his serious speech, but he immediately regained his composure. All the other cadets cringed at what was going to happen next.
Radzi smiled menacingly.
"Oh, kau suka ye, kadet?" he mocked.
He went to pick up one of the M16s lined up by the truck.
"Woi! Sini kau, macha!" he called. Leaping back onto his feet, Mike immediately began to regret his own sense of humour.
45 minutes later, the only person chuckling was Radzi. Mike's consciousness had given out before his arms did.
