Post by me on Sept 16, 2007 22:04:13 GMT -5
It had always been a question close to my mind, and one day I finally had the courage to ask the drill instructor one important thing. "Why do we always use watermelons for target practice?" I remembered asking before we had begun the days shooting.
Every single day we would line up and face a small dummy which always had a watermelon in the place of its head, then we would begin shooting, until the green globes so filled with reddish fiber and liquids were unusable. We would use all sorts of weapons to do it as well, from pistols to rifles, and even the rare squad automatic weapon. Those were always the best, since the chain fed support weapon rarely failed to fascinate the lucky few who got to use them, or those who were forced to watch.
The drill instructor took his attention from the few who had chosen to inspect the weapon they would be familiarizing themselves with, a combat shotgun, and directed a oft practiced and much used look at me. It was the look of someone addressing a lesser being, or someone who was so idiotic that they warranted little attention. Though there was something odd about the look, it also seemed to project pity. Like he was saying that he was sorry that I was too freaking stupid to understand.
He raised his hand and bellowed a quick order, and the few people whose disappointment equaled their curiosity looked disdainfully up from their shotguns straight at us. I could almost feel dozens of eyes boring into my suddenly vulnerable form. It was almost a relief when the drill instructor shouted in his booming voice, "Private, is there a reason that you decided to question the finest training regime that could be devised by the U.S. Army?"
Though the words were directed at me, I could tell that he was addressing everyone gathered there. It was becoming a public spectacle for no other reason then to shame him for asking a question, but now that I was in hell, I might as well question the devil. "Sir, yes sir!" I bellowed back, automatically assuming a more attentive posture.
The Sargent almost smiled before grabbing my shotgun, and sliding several shells into it. All the while he was speaking, "We use the watermelon because it is the perfect analog for a human head. Do you know what that means soldier!"
I shouted once more, "Sir, no sir!" It was rather easy to see what he meant. They couldn't exactly use real human heads, if they did a much smaller amount of people would stay in the army. Though I still didn't know why they had to use watermelons. They probably weren't the most inexpensive analog to obtain, and I could think of better ones.
The Sargent's smile quickly turned into a predatory grin, as he chambered the first round of the shotgun. "This watermelon, when shot, acts the exact same way as a human head! Practice makes perfect, but since you don't want to practice, I guess that you and the entire platoon will have to run the loop!" shouted the irate drill instructor.
A chorus of groans rose, as I watched the drill instructor blast the watermelon apart with my shotgun. Carefully avoiding some of the angrier recruits I quickly fell in line. This would be a long day.
It was a year later when I finally saw active duty, and I was currently laying in a crater with the rest of my squad. We were in a perfect flanking position, but only one thing stopped us from firing on the enemy, and that was the presence of a cart full of watermelons. I felt his finger twitch as the memory replayed in my mind, and I could see that same twitch developing in the fingers of all the other soldiers gathered in the crater.
Perfect practice makes perfect, was the thought that ran through my head as our entire squad came up firing. Red fiber was exposed to the world, and liquids took flight, suddenly freed from their containers. A smile developed on my face as I sent my bullets flying at the last target, then frowned. My entire squad had emptied all its ammo into the cart full of watermelons, and a rather bemused enemy squad stood ready to take advantage of our situation.
The last thing that went through my mind, before the lead that is, was one simple, incomplete, though. You stupid little drill intruct-.
Why do our armed forces practice against a rather large fruit? No one, except one wonderfully overpaid man shall ever know.
Every single day we would line up and face a small dummy which always had a watermelon in the place of its head, then we would begin shooting, until the green globes so filled with reddish fiber and liquids were unusable. We would use all sorts of weapons to do it as well, from pistols to rifles, and even the rare squad automatic weapon. Those were always the best, since the chain fed support weapon rarely failed to fascinate the lucky few who got to use them, or those who were forced to watch.
The drill instructor took his attention from the few who had chosen to inspect the weapon they would be familiarizing themselves with, a combat shotgun, and directed a oft practiced and much used look at me. It was the look of someone addressing a lesser being, or someone who was so idiotic that they warranted little attention. Though there was something odd about the look, it also seemed to project pity. Like he was saying that he was sorry that I was too freaking stupid to understand.
He raised his hand and bellowed a quick order, and the few people whose disappointment equaled their curiosity looked disdainfully up from their shotguns straight at us. I could almost feel dozens of eyes boring into my suddenly vulnerable form. It was almost a relief when the drill instructor shouted in his booming voice, "Private, is there a reason that you decided to question the finest training regime that could be devised by the U.S. Army?"
Though the words were directed at me, I could tell that he was addressing everyone gathered there. It was becoming a public spectacle for no other reason then to shame him for asking a question, but now that I was in hell, I might as well question the devil. "Sir, yes sir!" I bellowed back, automatically assuming a more attentive posture.
The Sargent almost smiled before grabbing my shotgun, and sliding several shells into it. All the while he was speaking, "We use the watermelon because it is the perfect analog for a human head. Do you know what that means soldier!"
I shouted once more, "Sir, no sir!" It was rather easy to see what he meant. They couldn't exactly use real human heads, if they did a much smaller amount of people would stay in the army. Though I still didn't know why they had to use watermelons. They probably weren't the most inexpensive analog to obtain, and I could think of better ones.
The Sargent's smile quickly turned into a predatory grin, as he chambered the first round of the shotgun. "This watermelon, when shot, acts the exact same way as a human head! Practice makes perfect, but since you don't want to practice, I guess that you and the entire platoon will have to run the loop!" shouted the irate drill instructor.
A chorus of groans rose, as I watched the drill instructor blast the watermelon apart with my shotgun. Carefully avoiding some of the angrier recruits I quickly fell in line. This would be a long day.
It was a year later when I finally saw active duty, and I was currently laying in a crater with the rest of my squad. We were in a perfect flanking position, but only one thing stopped us from firing on the enemy, and that was the presence of a cart full of watermelons. I felt his finger twitch as the memory replayed in my mind, and I could see that same twitch developing in the fingers of all the other soldiers gathered in the crater.
Perfect practice makes perfect, was the thought that ran through my head as our entire squad came up firing. Red fiber was exposed to the world, and liquids took flight, suddenly freed from their containers. A smile developed on my face as I sent my bullets flying at the last target, then frowned. My entire squad had emptied all its ammo into the cart full of watermelons, and a rather bemused enemy squad stood ready to take advantage of our situation.
The last thing that went through my mind, before the lead that is, was one simple, incomplete, though. You stupid little drill intruct-.
Why do our armed forces practice against a rather large fruit? No one, except one wonderfully overpaid man shall ever know.