Grandfather's travails

On an unknown-to-me day during World War II, on some unnamed island in the Pacific, my grandfather, a member of the USMC, had gotten into trouble once again. Whether it was for using an unexploded Japanese bomb to make a swimming pool and blowing out the windows of the officers mess or something else I don't know. All I know is my Grandfather Moody, my father's side, was on some tropical island that is probably a resort now was tasked with carrying part of the M2 squad machine gun.

Now, the M2 was a heavy fucking piece of equipment. I know, I've held part of a modern, lighter version version in my lap, and after just a few minutes of it simply sitting there it seemed like the weight was crushing my balls. Whether my grandfather had the receiver or the barrel, who knows, maybe he was carrying the whole damn thing between him and another guy since that's how I remember my father telling me this story.

Perhaps he'd pissed someone off more than my father was aware since a standard sniper tactic is to shoot whomever is carrying a platoon's heavy machine gun. Regardless him and the other guy were getting farther and farther behind their platoon. Islands in the South Pacific are volcanic, with hillocks and jutting geology and rises and valleys and a general disdain for flatness.

So my grandfather and the other man came over a rise with their load, and the entire platoon had been wiped out in an ambush. Whether this means to a man, or reduced to numerous men who were at that point retreating, I don't know. All I know is, my grandfather's penchant for finding whatever mischief he could get into at any time he wasn't tasked with direct combat most likely saved his life, and my father's, and therefor mine.