Looking at the large-caliber automatic pistol, which was as long as his forearm, Kate gained a completely new understanding of self-defense weapons. With 19mm bullets, a twelve-round magazine, and fully automatic firing, even with a large amount of composite materials, this gun weighed over 3 kilograms.
What kind of concept was that? An M4A1 carbine only weighed 2.86 kilograms, and the pistol Fisher mentioned was heavier than a rifle.
"You don't understand, this is a man's romance!" Fisher was already filled with fanaticism. He hadn't been this excited even when he spent a fortune in his previous life to get a MA37 model water gun.
"Give me a twenty-meter target!" Fisher, after loading the gun, pulled the bolt, chambered a round, and raised the gun.
With a whirring sound from the rail, a human-shaped chest target was hooked and moved to a position twenty meters away from Fisher.
"Friendly reminder, this thing is a bit loud!" Fisher grinned, showing his white teeth, and pulled the trigger.
"Boom!" The deafening gunshot and a bright muzzle flash appeared simultaneously. Almost at the same time, the human-shaped chest target was blown to smithereens.
However, to Fisher's surprise, although the recoil of this gun was relatively large, it was still within a controllable range, similar to a 12-gauge shotgun.
"Adjustable floating stock, and the muzzle bore has been specially treated, plus a flash suppressor that can release almost all flames and gases to both sides.
The only problems now are the loud firing sound and the obvious muzzle flash! Also, because it uses composite materials, it's best not to use this thing for close combat!" Samuel explained meticulously.
"Of course, we also manufactured heavy rifles with 50-round drum magazines. Those are made entirely of steel, weighing over 17 pounds. Unless a soldier is equipped with an exoskeleton, no one can use them! So, should we switch to a different material? Or reduce the caliber, because small-caliber rocket-propelled ammunition is still somewhat difficult for us, and currently can only be produced on a small scale!"
"No, don't reduce the caliber. You continue your research, and there will be more funding.
Also, install two of these for me first! Oh, Samuel, find me a skilled engraver too!"
...Abdullah Hussein carefully put down the carving knife in his hand.
Just now, a busty beauty who was touring their village ordered a silver bracelet from him. This was worth 300 US dollars, something he couldn't have imagined in the past.
When he was a child, he spent more than ten years learning his craft from his father, but eventually picked up an AK74.
If it weren't for the support policies of Jiushen, Abdullah would never have dreamed that he would actually be able to make a living from his ancestral craft one day.
"Aruba! Quickly package this up!" After confirming that the silver bracelet was finished, Abdullah immediately shouted for his eldest son, who was working as an accountant at the front desk.
"Okay, Father!" The young man wearing a small white cap immediately ran over with a box.
"It's packaged, Father!" After skillfully wrapping the ornament with wrapping paper and ribbon, Aruba carried the box out of the room.
"Clang!" Abdullah, who had just stretched, heard a crisp sound and was startled.
"You rascal, you'd better not tell me you broke the box, because if you did, I'd have to kick your butt hard!" Abdullah, feeling exhausted, fiercely pulled open the curtain and walked out.
"What are you looking at?" Seeing the beautiful silver bracelet on the ground, Abdullah was about to slap his son, but found him staring at the sky with his mouth wide open.
"Dad, what is that?" Aruba pointed to a rapidly approaching black dot in the sky.
Abdullah squinted, looking up, and realized that it looked like a Jiushen armed transport plane. He had been thoroughly beaten by these things when he was a guerrilla in his early years.
"It's just a plane, what's there to see? Hurry up and fix the box, the customer is waiting!"
"But Dad, that plane seems to be coming towards us!"
"What?" Abdullah looked up and stared intently for a few seconds, confirming a fact: the transport plane seemed to be flying towards him.
Could it be coming to arrest me? Didn't the policy say that as long as we put down our weapons and served our re-education period, all past offenses would be forgiven?
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, but Abdullah had no intention of escaping. Jiushen had already registered all citizens, and he wouldn't get far before being caught by the National Guard in town.
Abdullah, filled with apprehension, saw the transport plane land in front of his door, spewing blue flames, and his heart instantly leaped to his throat.
When four soldiers, dressed in combat fatigues, wearing tactical vests, and carrying rifles across their chests, walked out of the Xi'an VTOL transport plane, Abdullah almost fainted.
Because Jiushen's security police were dressed exactly like that.
"Who is Abdullah Hussein?" The female officer with a ponytail leading the group asked loudly to the crowd.
"I, I am!" Taking a deep breath and patting his son's head, Abdullah stepped forward and said respectfully.
"Are you the best silversmith here?" the female officer asked again.
"Yes, I… am a silversmith, but I wouldn't dare call myself the best!" Abdullah, who had intended to say he was a prisoner of war, paused for a second after hearing the female officer's words. It seemed they weren't here to arrest him.
"Alright then, come with us. There's an order that needs your craftsmanship!"
"Ah!" Abdullah was a bit dumbfounded.
"What are you standing there for? Get on the plane, we're in a hurry!"
"Oh, oh!" Reacting, Abdullah quickly put on his small white cap and followed the soldiers onto the plane.
The news of Abdullah being taken away by soldiers quickly spread throughout the nearby villages.
His wife, who was visiting her mother's house with their youngest son, naturally heard the news.
Unsure why her husband had been taken, the woman rushed home, first hugging her eldest son and crying for a long time.
Then she began preparing for Abdullah's funeral, buying a large pile of incense, candles, oil, and other items.
Afterward, the three of them sat in the room and waited until evening, when Abdullah walked through the door, beaming, with a thousand yuan in his pocket, a cake in one hand, and a leg of lamb over his shoulder.
His wife immediately fainted.
"This extravagant woman!" Abdullah, hearing the cause of the matter from his two sons, was both angry and amused.
But since his wife had fainted, he had no choice but to invite the doctor back home.
When Abdullah's wife slowly woke up and saw her husband completely unharmed, she burst into tears.
Abdullah could only explain that he had been taken to sculpt ornaments for a big boss.
His craftsmanship was excellent, and the boss was very satisfied, not only giving him double the wages but also a stack of food coupons.
He used the food coupons to exchange for some imported pastries and then got a leg of lamb.
Only then did his wife break into a smile.
"What are you laughing at? Go quickly and boil the lamb leg, and get me a cup of tea.
I walked a long way from town to get here; I'm exhausted!"
In fact, Abdullah was not an isolated case.
In the past few years, due to the increasingly harsh living environment, a large number of armed militants chose to come down from the mountains and surrender to the Iraqi security forces and Jiushen security forces.
After screening these individuals, the most heinous ones were sent to Africa to play in the sand, while the other unfortunate ones were sent to labor camps to build their beautiful homeland.
Of course, Fisher would not let these guys only know how to work.
The labor camps had various training classes to teach them various skills: welding, cooking, hairdressing, and even excavator operation.
Fisher even personally inscribed a plaque for the training classes, calling them "New Western Training Classes."
As long as they learned well, they could shorten their labor service time, and those with good performance could even be released early.
It could be said that this move of his dismantled most of the armed militants that Jiushen would have had to worry about.
As for the remaining die-hards, they were handed over to the Ghost Squad.
These battle-hardened veterans either carried out decapitation strikes or directed bombers to deliver a laser-guided bomb to their hometowns.
In short, except for the quality of life, which might be inferior to the period of Saddam's rule, other aspects of Iraq have now returned to their previous levels.
In fact, in terms of medical care, transportation, and communication, they have even surpassed it, as the Iraqi people did not have smartphones and tablets during Saddam's era.
Jiushen's impact on Iraq has been immense.
It can even be said that if Jiushen were to withdraw from Iraq, Iraq would revert to its pre-2003 state, with central decrees not reaching the provinces, numerous local factions, and constant warlord and bandit activity.
Therefore, even among the few local Iraqi officials who felt that Jiushen was becoming too powerful, none dared to make any move.
Not to mention what they would do to Jiushen, once they even had such a thought, the civilians who received Jiushen's wages would tear them apart alive.
So, even if some insightful people knew that Jiushen was a poisoned chalice, they still had to drink it.
However, after drinking it, Iraq would slowly transform into Jiushen's shape…
Looking at the golf hole less than twenty meters away, Fisher took a deep breath, swung his club lightly, and the golf ball rolled along.
It stopped abruptly less than a palm's distance from the hole.
"Looks like you still need to practice!" Fisher's father smiled and handed the club to a bodyguard nearby.
He walked to an electric golf cart not far away, took out two bottles of iced mineral water from it, tossed one to Fisher, and then picked up the other and drank most of it in one gulp.
"After all, I don't play every day like you guys do!" Fisher took a sip of mineral water, then stepped on the turf beneath his feet, letting out a long breath.
After inspecting Jiushen's base in Iraq, Fisher returned to his family's old stomping ground, Boston, the capital of Massachusetts.
Boston is not only the largest city in the northeastern United States but also a historic cultural city.
It is home to Harvard and MIT, and it is also the birthplace of the American Revolutionary War: the Boston Tea Party, the Shot Heard Round the World at Lexington, Bunker Hill, Concord.
It can be said that it has a long history of anti-British sentiment.
Fisher came here for two reasons: first, to attend the Boston Consortium's annual meeting, and second, to find a good brother to help him take the fall.
After all, he was planning to take on the Macallan Group.
If Jiushen alone entered the fray, it would attract too much attention.
If a few good brothers joined in, then the battle would become a regular business conflict.
"I understand your idea, but this Macallan Group is not as easy to deal with as you think!" Although he no longer participated much in family affairs, Fisher's father's understanding of the complex entanglements between these consortiums was something Fisher still needed to learn.
"James Macallan, their history dates back to the Hundred Years' War.
At that time, their family was a very important weapon supplier to the French army.
Originally, with this merit, they could have secured a very good earldom, but his ancestor felt that the war was at a stalemate, so he chose to bet on both sides!"
"Then France won, and they were liquidated!" Fisher interjected, vaguely remembering this from movies.
"Right, they were liquidated. The Macallan family was forced to flee to England, and they didn't return to France until after Charles VII's death.
They kept a low profile, then rose again during the French Revolution, becoming France's arms supplier once more by relying on Napoleon's rise!
Then came World War I and World War II. Speaking of which, the Macallan Group was still working for the Nazis in World War II, but they emerged completely unscathed after the war.
Can you believe it!" At this point, Fisher's father clicked his tongue in wonder.
"Anyway, it was all the Nazis' fault, they were all forced!"
"Exactly, they were forced!" Fisher's father crumpled the empty water bottle into a ball and stuffed it into the car's trunk.
"I'm telling you all this mainly to let you know that forces like the Macallan Group are deeply intertwined with those families in mainland Europe.
You are in me, and I am in you, influencing each other.
If you want to bring them down, you must have a justifiable cause!"
"A justifiable cause, like James Macallan being the mastermind behind terrorist funding, how about that?" Fisher stroked his stubble, speaking thoughtfully.
"Ahem, you can't just say things like that, you know, son.
I know your mother and I may not understand your ideals, but we will support you unconditionally.
So, I will discuss your ideas with the other families.
I think they will support you too, after all, we are the Boston Consortium!"
"I understand, Father!" Fisher nodded, and just as he was about to say a few more emotional words, another electric golf cart drove over.
Kate, dressed in athletic wear, a sports tank top, and athletic shorts, and Fisher's mother, similarly dressed, were sitting in the back of the cart, loudly calling out.
"They're all on their way! Are you two still going to play?"
"Got it! John, tell everyone to gather, we're going back to the hotel!" Fisher nodded, calling to John, who was following behind him, to gather the bodyguards.
The other families of the consortium were already on their way, and they had to hurry too, at least not to be late!