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Of course, these are pictures of Grafenwoehr, in Germany. Anyone who has ever been will always recognize Camp Aachen...
G6 Section for KFOR1B
Here is a photo taken on Camp Bondsteel, Kosovo, with me and the rest of the section.
I'm the tall, strikingly handsome guy in the middle of the back row.
Names from Left to Right:
Back Row:
MAJ Mike Bessasparis
SFC Jose Rodriguez
SSG Rick Goode
CPT James Dooley (Me)
SSG Armando Rosario
PFC Nicholas Smith
SSG James Howard
MAJ Fred Harper
Front Row:
SPC Roy Metcalf
SPC Antonyo
Merrell
SPC Daryl Flemming
Missing from this picture is SPC Kendric Curry. Due to his job, he was unavailable
for the photo. This is significant, because shortly after re-deployment from Kosovo, SPC Curry died in a traffic accident.
I, and the others in the photo, feel it is incomplete without at least the acknowledgment that he was there. - And that he
was a fine soldier and friend.
None of these sayings and poems are mine. I have no idea who wrote them, except for St. Crispian's Day Speech, which
was Shakespeare. For all the rest, if you know who wrote it, please let me know so I can give them the credit.
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The Final Inspection
The soldier stood and faced his God
Which must always come to pass
He hoped his
shoes were shining
Just as brightly as his brass.
Step forward now, soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have
you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?
The soldier 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 most
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 just got to steep,
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear,
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've
cried 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, Lord,
It needn't be so grand,
I've never expected or had too
much,
But if you don't, I'll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often
trod
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God,
Step forward now, soldier,
You've borne
your burdens well,
Walk peacefully on Heavens streets,
You've done your time in Hell.
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It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves under the flag, and whose casket is draped by the flag that allows
the protester the freedom to burn the flag.
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St.
Crispian's Day Speech
Westmoreland: Oh, that we now had here but one ten thousand of those men in England that do
no work today.
Henry: What's he that wishes so? My cousin, Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin, if we are marked to die,
we are enough to do our country's loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will, I pray
thee wish not one man more. Rather, proclaim it Westmoreland, through my Host, that he which hath no stomach for this fight,
let him depart. His passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company,
that fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day and
comes safe home shall stand a tiptoe when this day is named, and rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall
see this day, and live old age, will yearly, on the Vigil feast his neighbors, and say tomorrow is Saint Crispian.
Then
will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say "These wounds I had on Crispian's Day."
Old men forget, yet all
shall be forgot: But he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day.
Then shall our names, familiar in
his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, be in their
flowing Cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son: and Crispian's Crispian shall ne're
go by, from this day to the ending of the World, but we in it shall be remembered.
We few, we happy few, we band of
brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother. Be he ne're so vile, this day shall gentle his Condition.
And Gentlemen in England, now a bed, shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap,
whilst any speakse, that fought with us, upon Saint Crispian's Day.
- It's sad, but most people won't take the time
to "translate" this speach into something they can easily understand. Please try. It's a very good speech, and anyone that's
ever been shot at or had rocks, bricks, and bottles thrown at them while fighting a war or supporting piece can relate.
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TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I
HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH
SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER
THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM
HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS
THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT
I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN
WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS
EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR
FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO
SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH
SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S
CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND
TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
- This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan.
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The Sheepdogs
Most humans are truly like sheep
Wanting nothing more than peace to keep
To graze, grow
fat and raise their young,
Sweet taste of clover on their tongue
Their lives serene upon Life's farm
They sense no
threat nor fear no harm
On verdant meadows, they forage free
With naught to fear, from naught to flee
They pay their
sheepdogs little heed
For there is no threat; there is no need.
To the flock, sheepdogs are mysteries
Roaming
watchful round the peripheries.
These fang-toothed creatures bark, they roar
With the fetid reek of the carnivore
Too
like the wolf of legends told,To be amongst their docile fold
Who needs sheepdogs? What good are they
They have
no use, not in this day
Lock them away, keep them from sight.
There is no need for their fierce might.
But sudden
in their midst a beast
Has come to kill, has come to feast
The wolves attack; they give no warning
Upon that calm
September morning
They slash and kill with frenzied glee
Their passive helpless enemy
Who had no clue the wolves
were there
Far roaming from their Eastern lair.
Then from the carnage, from the rout,
Comes the cry, "Turn the sheepdogs
out!”
Thus is their nature but, too, their plight
To keep the dogs on leashes tight
And live a life of
illusive bliss
Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss.
Until he has them by the throat,
They pay no heed, they
take no note.
Not until he strikes their core,
Will they unleash the Dogs of War
Only having felt the wolf pack's
wrath.
Do they loose the sheepdogs on its path.
And the wolves will learn what we've shown before;
We love our
sheep, we Dogs of War.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam
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An American Christmas
The embers glowed softly, and in
their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was
asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I
would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps
I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble,
I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing
out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in
the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me,
and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment
I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the
window that danced with a warm fire's light
then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night"
"Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest
of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like
my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers.
"My dad stood his watch in the jungles of
'Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house
and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep
in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside,"
he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.
(Author unknown)
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