Grenade!

“I, NIRC, RANK & NAME, Right Master Hand, No Sweaty Palms request to enter the bay sir!” I announce my presence to my Platoon Commander. He leans to the side of the bay, cap off in surrender to the hot and humid air that affects one and all here in Tekong.

“Samuel eh? Step forward into the bay and prepare your grenade” he orders. I trot up the bay area, a elevated reinforced concrete semicircle designed to protect one from the blast of a awry grenade. Or at least that’s what they told us.

I glance at my PC, 2LT Zhi Rong. Before me was 48 recruits from Hawk Coy, Platoon 3. 48 prime opportunities for a surely gruesome death. His trademark smile was missing, replaced with an impatient frown. A 20 year old man, the same age as me, separated only by educational qualifications and rank. Just as scared as me.

Standing at the prescribed legs at shoulder width apart, I stretch my arms beyond the reassuringly thick concrete barrier and follow the regimented steps.

“Safety Ring Twist!”

“Safety Ring Pull!”

I tug at the ring. Nothing. I tug again. Not a budge. Only after my 4th pull then it gives way obediently.

“Safety Pin Out!”

I turn to pass the expanded Safety Ring to my PC to find him wearing his usual grin.

“Why Samuel? Too scared until no strength to pull the ring out?”

Smiling back, I politely reply in the negative; his grin and friendly teasing reassuring me tremendously.

“Grenade prepared and ready to be thrown Sir!”

A pat on my back was the signal. My right arm arched backwards while my left arm hung onto my rifle as I swung as hard as I could. All while shouting “GRENADE.”

A muffled scraping of boots informed me that Zhi Rong already took cover in the bay. Time for me to do the same and to count down.

1-thousand

2-thousand

3-thousand

4- I never quite managed to say the thousand as the air around me seemed to explode from the force of the grenade. Even though I wore earplugs, I could hear ringing in my left ear. My joints ached from the blast, was it really so terrible? I shudder to think of the destructive force of artillery, many times that of a hand grenade.

Counting two seconds more for the fragments to clear, I peek out to survey the damage. Zhi Rong was already standing, cap on head looking at no mans land.

“Not bad Samuel, you threw the grenade. Call up the next guy quickly, its bloody hot in here.

Mumbling my acknowledgements, I stumbled out of the bay area aching but with a sense of accomplishment. I threw a hand grenade today, how many people get to do that?

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