As is tradition, this fuck up didn't happen today, it happened almost 4 years ago to the date. I was reminded it of it after reading a few other military related posts, and got the same feeling in my stomach just thinking about it as I did when it actually occurred.
Sorry for the length.
A little back story: I was deployed to Afghanistan in 2010 to 2011 with the Army, and as the new guy in the unit I was always stuck in the gunners seat of our platoon sergeant's truck because it was off track and wouldn't stay facing a certain direction unless I held it there. I ended up being a good gunner, so even after it was finally fixed I was allowed to stay on the gun. Fast forward to May of 2011, and we are pushing out on a very important mission of extending the green zone of our Area of Operations(AO). So important, that the Commander and Sergeant Major of our Task Force showed up at our Joint Security Station (JSS) to oversee the 2 day mission. For this mission, we switched the .50 cal on our truck with a Mark 19, which is fires a 40mm grenade automatically. Pretty sure the first time I fired it in combat I jazzed all over myself as I watched grenade after grenade shoot out of the weapon and blow up on all over a mountain side we were taking fire from. It was glorious.
Now to load a Mark 19 is a little tricky. It fires from the open bolt position, which you pull back using two handles located on the side of the launcher itself, and it actually grabs a grenade and holds it in the open position until you push the trigger down, throwing the grenade forward, dropping the shell casing out the bottom, grabbing another grenade. The feeder paws on top of the launcher feed grenade after grenade onto the bolt face, repeating the process over and over. To load it, you put the grenades on the feed tray, one away from where the bolt would catch the grenade, pull the handles back until you hear a click sound which ensures the bolt is locked in the open position, PULL THE TRIGGER, which slams the bolt forward in a blank fire. We call that the "ghost round." Now, you have a grenade on the bolt face. You charge the weapon one more time, and you're ready to rock and roll.
As we were leaving the JSS, I began to load the Mark 19. We were expecting heavy contact, so instead of leaving the weapon with a ghost round loaded, I was instructed to get a round in the chamber and put the weapon on safe. This is where the fuck up starts.
I began putting the grenades on the feeder tray, careful to ensure that the ghost round was in the chamber. I began trying to pull the bolt back, but it would not lock in the open position. Instead, I would pull it back and it wouldn't click into place. I would literally pull the bolt back and it would just slam forward like a shitty game of tug of war. I continue to try and fuck with the bolt, pulling it back over and over again to no avail. Everybody in the truck is talking shit to me, even the truck behind me gets on the radio and asks if I need a man up there to load the gun for me. I flip them off and continue to fuck with the gun.
My PSG (platoon sergeant) calls up to me and asks if I got the gun up yet. As soon as he starts talking, I hear the bolt click into place. "Fucking about time." I thought. I told my PSG that I had the ghost round chambered and he yelled at me to get a round on the bolt face and to hurry the fuck up. Without even thinking, I aim in the general vicinity of the JSS, where my company comander, company first sergeant, Task Force Commander, and Task Force SGM, are all huddled in our TOC over a map, and push the trigger down.
"THUMP, THUMP, THUMP."
Fuck. I watched in complete and absolute horror as three 40mm grenades jump out of my weapons muzzle and spin their way directly towards the JSS.
"BOOMBOOMBOOM." Their explosions echo throughout the entire valley, and our radios fucking ignite: "Where the fuck did that come from?!" "Were those RPGs?" "Are you fucking kidding me we're 2 minutes out the gate and we're getting shot at?" "Where the fuck did that land?" My truck? Complete fucking silence. You could have heard a mouse fart if it wasn't for the sound of my butt hole tightening up and my knees clanking together. My stomach had literally dropped to the floor, my heartbeat was rattling my tonsils, and I was just holding onto the Mark so tight my knuckles were as white as Michael Jackson. My PSG looks up at me and goes, "You're so fucked."
He gets over the radio and explains to everyone that I had ND'd(Negligent Discharged) the Mark 19, and then it was really fucking quiet over the radio. I'm still shaking like I'm fucking Mohammad Ali, and then the radio awakens with the voice of my 1st SGT. "We're going to have a fucking talk about this when you fuckers return. Those rounds landed 50 meters outside the J....Charlie Mike."
We never got shot at that day, either. I figured my only hope at not losing my rank, gunner position, or any credibility gained would be to perform surgery on the Taliban via the Mark 19, but I never got that chance. It wasn't until our exfil did we take minimal contact, and it was when I wasn't even on the gun, and my PSG's radio guy got the kill. We returned to base and I began doing the Michael J. Fox dance all over again.
We ended up completely pulling apart that gun to find that two small, somewhat important springs were bent just enough to cause the gun to not click back into place properly, which saved me from any sort of trouble, but for 2 weeks I walked around scared completely fucking shit less.
TL;DR: I tried loading my grenade launcher to kill Taliban, instead almost killed my Chain of Command.
Edit #1: had to fix a few lines and grammar.
submitted by adhdmi to tifu
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