How Grenade Training Taught Me When to Bend the Rules

This is the first of an occasional series of posts about my experiences on active duty.

Thirty-six hours later I was still hearing BOOMS!

Military chaplains do not get weapons training. But I did not find this out until the Officer Training School chief petty officers, in charge of “sailorization,” told me not only was I barred from qualifying to fire the standard issue 9mm pistol, I was not even allowed to sit in a class explaining how it was used. So about nine months later when a colleague of mine asked me if I wanted to visit Marines practicing throwing grenades I naturally answered - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - YES!

The following Friday morning found me bundled up in body armor and a Kevlar helmet, sitting in the back of a Humvee with four chaplains and RPs (Religious Program Specialists – enlisted personnel assistants and bodyguards for chaplains) headed to the training area. Our mission: to walk among the Marines not in training and chat with them.

Jumping down from our vehicle, we were greeted by the Chief Warrant Officer in charge who asked if any of us wanted to get trained. As my chaplain colleagues hemmed and hawed I concluded this was a moment of truth. YES! I shouted, followed quickly by my RP. After all, when would I ever get another opportunity?

Remember all the war movies you have seen where they throw grenades? Yeah, well it does not work that way. It is much more difficult than it looks, and much more dangerous. First, we practiced with dummy grenades, habituating to the multi-step procedure that endeavors to ensure safe, accurate use of this weapon.

Then we went to the bunker where the real ones were used. In my section, I met a Staff Sergeant whose job was to make sure I followed the range officer's commands and stayed safe, which included falling on a live grenade if I dropped it so I would not get killed. Yeah, I know. It is what makes them great.

I got to throw three grenades and that I am writing this attests to my having made no mistakes. Even though I threw them into a huge pit surrounded by a tall mound of earth the BOOM of detonation shook the ground. In the moment I was so excited I didn't really notice.

Our mission accomplished we loaded back into the Humvee and headed home. When I got to my house my wife looked at me and asked, “what happened?!” I had not realized it but I was soaking wet from sweat and looked haggard. A short time later when I went to clean up so I could lead Sabbath evening services I started to shiver. Four hours of being in a ground shaking, booming environment had frazzled my nerves far beyond anything I have experienced before or after. Any loud noise made me jump.

As I walked back from the chapel that night, I reflected on what it must be like in combat with no respite from the booming. Maybe you get used to it, though I cannot fathom how.

By Sunday morning I had calmed down, but as I am writing this, my hands are shaking a little at the memory. I am equally fortunate to have gotten a small taste of what those whom I am charged to care for go through and to have never had to use a grenade. But I am glad I could if it meant protecting one of the fine young people I work with. Saving their life would be worth losing my career. Thanks to a gusty CWO I can.

Question – When do you think it is appropriate to bend the rules for a greater good?
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