Jumping Mustangs - Honor and Courage
Poems by Harry Heater, chapter members & others
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FINAL INSPECTION
(Author
unknown)
The Soldier stood and faced God
Which must always come to pass
He
hoped his shoes were shining
Just as bright as his brass.
"Step forward you Soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?"
The Solider squared his shoulders and said
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't
Because
those of us who carry guns
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work on Sundays
And at times
my talk was tough,
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully
rough.
But, I never took a penny
That wasn't mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When
the bills got just to steep,
And I never passed a cry for help
Though at times I shook with fear,
And
sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place
Among the
people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here,
Lord, It needn't be so grand,
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't,
I'll understand."
There was silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod
As
the Soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.
"Step
forward now, you Soldier,
You've borne your burden well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's
streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
INFANTRYMAN:
The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years. He is a short haired,
tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears,
but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his
father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably
an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that
either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock
and roll or jazz or swing and 155mm Howitzers. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working
or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him,
but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine
gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like
a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without
hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues:
he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but
never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll
share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle
when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and his weapons like they were his hands. He can save your
life -- or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay
and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He
has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who
have fallen in combat and is unashamed. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price
for our freedom.
Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country
free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for
he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
He is an INFANTRYMAN!
(25 Oct 2002)
FORGOTTEN FIGHTER
"In World War II" he whispered,
"I was wounded by a blast."
As he began his story,
Reminiscing of his past.
"I was just a boy back then,
I lied about
my age.
To get into the army
And fight for the USA
I love this country very much,
It's still
the very best.
And I would fight, to keep it free,
And, safe from foreign pest.
We won that war, and
I came home,
My wounds had healed enough,
To re-enlist, with other men.
The army made us tough.
Then a little flare up,
In Korea called us out.
A threat against our freedom,
Spreading fear without a
doubt.
There I caught a bullet,
When I tried to save a friend.
Another wound, for Uncle Sam,
They
sent me home to mend."
"Soldier, have you had enough?"
My sergeant said to me.
"Or,
do you want another tour,
If ever there's to be.
We would train and fight again,
If ever it need
be,
Because we loved America,
We'll fight to keep it free."
"It didn't take too long.
Before my boys were off again.
We were shipped off to a war,
We thought would never end.
I didn't
understand it much,
If it was wrong or right.
But I was a US soldier,
And my country said "Go Fight"
I never questioned orders,
That were sent from up above.
I did it for America,
The country, that I love.
I fought to keep my country safe,
Again, in Vietnam.
Then, wounded I came home again,
A victim of napalm.
My fighting days were over now,
And, I had given all.
But, some had given more than me,
Their names are on a wall.
I am now, well up in years,
A soldier old and
worn.
I could only sit and pray,
As, I watched Desert Storm.
So proud of our boys over there,
Who stand for what is right.
Freedom is the battle cry,
The reason why they fight.
Young soldiers
fight for liberty,
Protecting freedom's bliss.
Old soldiers dream of bygone days,
While fighting loneliness.
We were heroes in our day,"
He said, and then he sighed.
"Forgotten in some V. A. home,
And all my friends, have died.
I never ask for anything,
Just wanted to live free.
But, if you
write this story,
There are many just like me.
Who fought to keep our country ,
Safe and free from every foe.
Only to come home again,
And have no place to go.
Sadly, when
the limelight fails,
Heroes fade away.
Some men fight the silent battles,
Till their dying day.
Please remember what it took,
And what we have to pay
And join with us remembering
On this Memorial Day.
Memorial Day is Special,
It is not just summer's start.
The reason that we have this day,
Should be etched on your heart.
Lives were lost, and young men died,
To keep this country free.
So take a moment on that day,
To meditate with me.
Remember all those valiant men,
And women who
fought for,
The lifestyle that you now enjoy,
Because they went to war.
Author Unknown
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
I promise Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times,
That our Bobs and Jims
Went to battle, but we still pine.
It was not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand,
Or would you want a Soldier,
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end?
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him Honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline
in the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
~author unknown~
Bury Me With Soldiers...
I've played a lot of roles in life;
I've met a lot of men.
I've done some things I'd like to think
I wouldn't do again.
And though I'm young, I'm old enough
To know that someday I will die,
And think about what lies beyond,
Beside whom I would lie.
Perhaps it doesn't matter much;
Still, if I had my choice,
I'd want a grave amongst soldiers when
At last death quells my voice.
I'm sick of the hypocrisy
Of lectures by the wise.
I'll take the man, with all his flaws,
Who goes, though scared, and dies.
The troops I know were commonplace:
They didn't want the war;
They fought because their fathers had and
Their fathers had before.
They cursed and killed and wept God knows
They're easy to deride,
But bury me with men like these;
They faced the guns and died.
It's funny, when you think of it,
The way we got along.
We'd come from different worlds
To live in one where no one belongs.
I didn't even like them all;
I'm sure they'd all agree.
Yet I would give my life for them,
I hope; some did for me.
So bury me with soldiers, please,
Though much maligned they be.
Yes, bury me with soldiers, for
I miss their company.
We'll not soon see their like again;
We've had our fill of war.
But bury me with men like them
Till someone else does more.
Rev. Charles R. Fink
(Formerly Sgt in the 199th Light Infantry Brigade, Vietnam 3/69-3/70)
FREEDOM IS NOT FREE
I watched the flag pass by one day, It fluttered in the breeze. A young Marine saluted it, And then he stood at ease. I looked at him in uniform so young, so tall, so proud, With hair cut square and eyes alert He'd stand out in any crowd. I thought how many men like him Had fallen through the years. How many died on foreign soil? How many mothers' tears? How many pilots' planes shot down? How many died at sea? How many foxholes were soldiers' graves? No, freedom isn't free. I heard the sound of Taps one night, When everything was still, I listened to the bugler play And felt a sudden chill. I wondered just how many times That Taps had meant "Amen," When a flag had draped a coffin. Of a brother or a friend. I thought of all the children, Of the mothers and the wives, Of fathers, sons and husbands With interrupted lives. I thought about a grave yard At the bottom of the sea Of unmarked graves in Arlington. No, freedom isn't free.
Enjoy Your Freedom & God Bless Our Troops
Chief Billy D. McAfee, USNR-ret