A cruel memory

My worst experience in Basic Training happened in May 1951 while we were being trained to fire the grenade launcher from our MI rifle.
The platoon was standing facing the open field. The First Sergeant and the Corporal were forcing a frightened soldier to fire his rifle. The soldier threw the rifle with the grenade into the open field and screamed in fear. The next day we were at another open field. The platoon was lined up facing a stone wall. Wooden boxes loaded with grenades were stacked behind us. The same soldier was on my left facing the wall. When he refused to pick up a grenade, the same sergeant and corporal held him as they pulled the pin and forced it into the soldier’s hand. He threw the grenade backwards, right behind me. It bounced off the boxes full of grenades and landed right next to me. I picked up the live grenade and threw it over the wall and yelled to hit the dirt. As soon as it went over the wall, it blew up. My buddy grabbed me yelling I had saved their lives. A piece of the grenade had hit my head. I stopped the bleeding with my handkerchief. The sergeant quickly had the platoon board the trucks but ordered me to stay behind and police the area. That was my “reward” for saving all those men. I still can’t forget or forgive the cruelty of the First Sergeant.

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