No Laughing Matter

Before shipping out, my grandfather ducked into a pawn shop and purchased two .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolvers in armpit holsters. On his first night in Africa, he was posted on guard duty at the ammunition depot. A solid round from a weapon such as a pistol could easily set off all the ammo in the depot, so only shotguns were allowed in that area. Nobody ever mentioned this to Granddad.

He had the intended 12 gauge shotgun, his Smith & Wessons, his issued .45 caliber Colt sidearm, and just for good measure, a Thompson Sub-Machine gun (the one mobsters pull out of violin cases) with a 250 round drum magazine.

Around 2am, a hyena laughed at him, and took off up a tree. Yes, hyenas can climb trees. He issued a 'stand and be recognized' order but got no response, so he thought it was an enemy soldier. He opened fire with his sidearm, both revolvers, the machine gun, and the shotgun. The camp thought they were under full attack!

He was in the process of reloading the Tommy before someone ordered him to stand down. When he was finally calm enough, they went to find the remains of the intruder. There were only small pieces of fur left to identify what he had shot. His commanding officer remarked that it was perfectly clear how my grandfather got his Expert Marksmanship medal, because he figured that he had hit that hyena with every shot that he had fired: 9 rounds from the .45, 12 rounds from the Smith & Wessons, 250 from the Tommy gun, and 5 from the shotgun!

The guy who put a rookie on post in the ammo supply without proper instruction was in serious trouble, but Granddad never got much out of it, aside of the satisfaction of anhilating his intruder!

Gun Safety

When I was about 10 years old, my father had to take a pistol safety class in order to get a permit to carry a firearm. Class was in the local VFW and instructed by a friend of the family. Since there was no one available to watch me, I went with Dad and got the 'sit there and be quiet' routine. I had brought a half dozen crayons with me, but had not thought to bring paper. While the instructor gave his lesson, he picked a few sheets of paper up from the end of the 16 foot long table that was buried in handguns, and dropped them on the desk in front of me. There was something printed on one side, so I ignored it, turning the paper over and colouring on the other side.

When his lessons were concluded, he handed out the test papers from the same stack. Being an observant child, I realized that he had handed me extra tests to draw on. Out of boredom, I flipped over one of my drawings and took the test myself. When everyone had finished writing, I collected the tests for the instructor. He took a minute or two to correct them, since pnly those who passed the written test would be allowed to participate in the hands-on portion of the class.

He smiled widely as he gave the results. The highest scoring test in the room- with only a single incorrect answer- had no name on it. He interrogated his class to see who had forgotten to write their name, but this was a moot point, as the test had been filled out in crayon.