When a young sprout, I remember an Independence Day when my buddy's uncle was home on leave before an expenses-paid trip to Korea. He had a box of fireworks like I'd never seen. He was sitting in the back yard just at twilight, a few brews into a case, lighting cherry bombs with his cigarette, then holding them, wathching as the fuse sparkled. He'd give it a well-timed backhand flip at about a 45 degree angle so it flashed about 10-15 feet out. Spectacular, and worked well--until it didn't. Afterwards he had to pick up his beer with the other hand.
I wonder what well-chosen language Sarge used when he saw the man's trigger hand.