Kangaroos & Grenades

From Waz from Oz:

One of the most disgusting sights I have ever seen was a kangaroo that had been shot by a 40mm M-79 grenade launcher firing frag. It was on Singleton Army range in NSW Australia. Now, the range there is perfect 'roo country: flat, gently rolling, with plentiful water and grass all year round. This means that the Eastern Grey Kangaroo is also overrunning the place. They are regularly shot, bombed, triggering old mines and UXO (unexploded ordnance) by jumping on it. They also have the annoying habit of putting themselves directly between the muzzle of your rifle and whatever it is you're shooting at.

Anyway, one day, I'm at the M-79 range. The '79, or wombat gun, is a bulky rifle looking thing- like a single barrelled shotgun, only more so. People are running in and out of the firing bays, between the 'thork' of the thing firing and the metallic 'whang' of the explosions. Then comes the call: "Cease fire- detail, action."

Which basically meant to return the weapon to its loaded and cocked state though with the safety on. The reason soon got back to us: 'Roos on the range!

After about a minute, the 'roos were happily chowing downand showed no signs of wanting to move. The OIC (officer in charge) decideed to do something definitive. "Detail, instant." The firer shouldered his weapon and flicked off the safety.

"Detail, at the 'roos directly to your front: Fire!"

There was a few seconds of silence.

"Detail, fire on those fucking 'roos!"

More silence.

"That's an order!"

"Firing nowww... grenade!" yelled the firer.

There was a hollow 'thonk' sound as the round went off. I counted: 1, 2... a bit before two, there was a high pitched boom. The range must have been about 150 feet.

"Detail- unload."

We were all called out of the waiting bay. The officer told us this was a golden chance to see the actual effects of a 40 mil frag. We all trooped out to see the 'roo.

It was quite dead. It's mates could be seen bounding away at a great rate of knots, and no fucking wonder. The thing had been blown in half. It wasn't like a sheet shrapnel job though. The grenade had apparently caught the roo right in the pocket (not that it had one anymore). The reflexive twitching was quite inpressive, and shattered veins still pulsed feebly, drooling blood out onto the ground. The 'roo's upper arms and ribcage were missing, presumed very fucked up. What was left of its now finely-minced internal organs was steaming gently in the cool morning air as it oozed and slopped its way out of the burst-open abdomen.

The hydrostatic shock of the blast had knocked both its eyes out. They too were missing. Judging by the rest of the mess, they probably flew all the way to Helsinki. Much of the flesh had been stripped away from the bone,and the bones that were left showed signs of extensive pitting from the shrap. The liquid and semiliquid remains were scattered away from the point of impact in a rough cone. There was not a single inch of whole skin left on the body. The hide was tattered, as if it had been slashed with a razor. A couple of the city kid soldiers were 'calling for Hughie', adding a rich cheesy vomit note to the burst open viscera smell already polluting the air. There is absolutely no smell like that 'bust-a-gut' odour: if you've ever gutted an animal, you'll know what it's like.

I looked for a joey, but there wasn't one (or maybe there was: what's one more kilo of mince going to look like?) Finally, a fine bloody froth sat like red bubblebath over the entire putrid fucking mess.When we attempted to move the 'collateral damage' victim, the corpse just fell apart, being structurally unable to support its own drag factor. So we just sort of shuffled it around, stomping it down so it didn't look quite so conspicuous. It didn't work, though, and it took me about a week to carve the purulent rotting roo guts out of the welting in my boots. The skull we had to jump on until it cracked and we could flatten it. I being the heaviest member of the platoon, the job was given to me. I ended up pulping it with a rock... I didn't realise how tough 'roo skulls could be.

Anyway, the 'roo was dead and we got back to firing the 79. There were no other incidents like that again that day, although 'roos started dropping dead from infections caused by the shrap wounds and probably liberally laced with their former friend's skin, guts and (probably) baby joey. I was able to trade extra food for not retelling the story that night.

Hope that was tasteless enough.

Waz (can't wait to see what it'd do to a pregnant woman)

(Originally posted on 10 Sep 1995)