In the military, discipline is essential. Following orders is one of the first things they teach formerly autonomous civilians during basic training. You quickly learn that any order, from any superior, must be obeyed immediately and exactly. A question like “But Sarge, I just thought…” is quickly followed by “Who told you that you could think, soldier!” You’re told when to wake, when to eat, how many pushups to do, when to fire your weapon and when to stop firing.

Hand grenade training follows the usual Army pattern: a lecture, complete with illustrations, about what a hand grenade is and what its purpose is. It’s a lethal weapon designed to blow up and wreak havoc on any human body close by. Demonstrations in how to use the device are conducted, followed by drills on the range.

Somewhere out in the backwoods of Fort Dix, New Jersey is the grenade range. About twenty of us trainees lined up, facing the range which contained a few burned out tanks as targets. The Range instructor sat up high on a wooden platform and barked orders through a loudspeaker, while a few sergeants prowled the line. “Assume the position! Pull pin! Throw!” The position was standing, right arm cocked with right hand (holding the grenade) under your right ear; left arm, elbow pointing up and down range, with left index finger inserted into the pull ring. Upon pulling the ring, the left arm was extended, as if saluting the target. The throw was overhand, and the final maneuver was to hit the ground and cover your head. Of course, we were using practice grenades. They were smooth, painted blue, and had a small, cherry-bomb like charge inside. When the charge went off, it blew out a plastic plug in the bottom of the device; relatively, but not completely, harmless.

After you pull the pin, it’s not until you release the handle on the grenade that it gets dangerous. You have about seven seconds until the thing explodes once the handle is released. After throwing a couple of these firecrackers toward the dead tanks, we had one more to go. The order came: “Assume the position! Pull pin! Drop your grenade!” All twenty guys followed the order. Twenty sets of eyeballs then focused on the about to explode device lying at their feet. Well, I bent down, picked up my grenade and chucked it in the general direction of the tank carcass. Then I hit the ground. However, on my way down, I noticed another grenade right there at my feet. Apparently the guy to my right decided not to risk getting a finger blown off, so he dropped his grenade and ran.

I grabbed that thing off the ground and tossed it out in front of me in the same direction as the last one. It  exploded just a few yards out as I hit the ground hoping there were no more surprises waiting for me there.

Those who ran off, (there were many) got the privilege of throwing empty grenades on the range until their arms fell off. The rest of us got to throw a real grenade, but in a highly controlled environment. We individually entered eight-by eight bunkers, walled in by heavy timbers stacked about chest high. A sergeant entered with us, and handed us a live one. One at a time, we were given instructions, and talked through the throw. I felt completely safe. Until I looked over at the bunker to my right, and saw a recruit with grenade in hand, his left elbow up and pointed at me! His sergeant calmly took hold of both the kid’s elbows, and turned him ninety degrees to point him down range. Only then did I throw my first and only live grenade toward the banged up tank, then I hit the dirt. Never saw where it landed, and it turned out not to be all that exciting anyway.