Letters To Home - November 30, 1950

Fort Dix, New Jersey
November 30, 1950

Very dull week-end. The storm ended Saturday evening, but we didn't get electricity back until late Sunday evening. No heat for two days, so we all stayed in bed and caught up on our sleep.

Monday afternoon we went to the 200 and 300-yard rifle range. Shot tracer ammunition for the first time at 300 yards to get sighted-in. Lots of fireworks. I got sent to the pits to pull targets for awhile. Didn't know just what to expect. The movies really give a person a distorted view of ordnance sounds. Bullets DO NOT whine over a person's head. They CRACK, like a bull-whip. Unsettling the first few times. Richochets are no fun, either, especially tracers. One landed on the rim of my pit, sat there, sizzling, for awhile.

My M-1 is definitely not working properly. Seems to carbon-up after two or three shots, and will not function in the semi-automatic mode, no matter how thoroughly I clean it.

Tuesday we went by truck to Range 19, away out near Lakehurst, New Jersey. Took almost an hour to get there. We shot the combat course; shot from different positions, such as from a foxhole, from behind a log, through a window and from behind a pile of rubble. Used tracers again to watch the hits. Tracers can be a very valuable training aid.

On Wednesday, we took a trip to the grenade range. Threw hand grenades and shot the rifle grenade. We were all pretty uneasy about the hand grenade, especially when our instructor gave the order to pull the pin, and then made us hold the thing for five seconds before throwing it. Perfectly safe, though, as long as the handle stays depressed.

The rifle grenade is a miserable s.o.b. to work with. It fits over the muzzle of the M-1, and is shot off using a black-powder blank cartridge, also using special sights. Recoil is stiff; five shots with that thing and you walk sideways for a week. Also, the hot powder residue from the blank flies back into your face.

Tonight I'm sleeping in the orderly room. Got the job of assistant CQ (Charge Of Quarters). Nothing to do, except that I have to get up tomorrow morning ahead of everyone else, and wake them at the prescribed time.