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 then 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