For discretion’s sake I’ll call him Petty Officer Smith. He was a bit quirky at times and an affable fellow, but not one of infinite jests. He was somehow more interesting than the rest because his temperament made his presence in the Sea Bees even more improbable. I suspected it was just another case of expediency when the Navy fast-tracks someone to fill a billet. PO3 Smith was more civilian than anything else and was more interested in showing me his Walk Man than discussing the fineries of deflection and elevation of the 60mm mortar that we were assigned to.
NMCB 0215 was in its military training phase that alternates with its construction phase because that’s what Sea Bees do – build and fight. Our particular section was assigned to mortar training at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina under a 10-year an active duty Marine named Sgt. Johnson. His job was to teach us the basics of using the weapon in the defense. After a couple of days of torrential rain our section graduated from the compressed air simulators to sighting in a target at night with fluorescent stakes that made our dirt and pine positions look like a science fiction movie set.
For crew served weapons to be effective a cohesive team has to pull together, especially in the rotation of duties that it takes to master the weapon. As we moved to the range and into the pits to begin firing, there was little thought of PO3 Smith. I had more interest in the mechanics of the job and doing what we were taught. Sgt. Johnson had us set our mortar range at one donut, a puffy high explosive band around the shell to give it an extra boost. It was really cool to see the rounds going up into the clouds and impacting targets 19 seconds later. When a shell exits the tube, it sometimes leaves a perfect smoke ring.
After I fired of a couple of rounds, it was Petty Officer Smith’s turn. When I handed him his shell, he pulled the pin . . . and stood there! He knew the drill, but he suddenly took it upon himself to announce to the world his undying devotion to love, peace, harmony, and understanding. Because of that he couldn’t drop the round down the tube. “I am a Conscientious Objector!” To paraphrase Bogart: “Of all the joints in the world, this person had to sashay into mine.” Eventually, after shouting at him in livid and colorful terms, I finally got him to fire it off without killing someone.
I think the Master of Arms came and took Petty Officer Smith away. That was that, except it really wasn’t. Our blasts had broken one of the two expandable legs of the mortar tripod. Next, we had a hang fire and, just like in the movies, Sgt. Johnson cradled the tube in his arms, walked about 50 yards out, and slid the shell out into his cupped hands. I really hate crew served weapons.
