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Contributed by Lovingcritters
on Thursday, 11th August 2005 @ 04:25:54 AM AEST
Topic:
americantragedy
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Last Full Measure
by Richard McQuisten
August 2005
July, the month of military re-enactments. Fife and drums, tricorn hats, blue jackets over tight white pants and putees, brass buckles across the arch of low cut leather shoes and banners flying.
The high, piercing notes of the small flute cutting through the years of history, stinging the ear with patriotism. The drums, echoing the thunder of our past, changes the pulse and the rhythm to those who listen, for the sounds of drums is carried in our blood. A line of cannons roar and buck...and belch so we might remember how it was in the battles of our past.
In spirit form, a young Union officer, no longer mounted, looks down and thanks us for our efforts, but knows very few of us will ever hear the sounds of “spang” and “whap,” as Confederate grape shot cut twigs and limbs above his head as he and his platoon sought cover in a Louisiana thicket. In his effects, sent home, was an un-mailed letter carried in his tunic with a hole through it where the stamp should go.
Our glory is of the greatest in the world, yet the expense has been terrible, for the price of freedom is bought with brave mens lives. I’m confident that ambassadors try, that peace teams gather in all sincerity but when the bugle blows it becomes very personal and many young men will miss the morning muster.
Trying to thank those who paid the ultimate, is no easy thing to do, you humbly step aside and let their spirits pass…you throw a flower to the pavement…look to God and flag… in some way try to feel the pain and hope to Heaven they didn’t die in vain.
The respect must be shown to all groups, to all periods of time, for the freedom of this nation has been a progressive task and is never ending. So, now, in quiet reverence, I remind you that a man impaled on a British bayonet during a skirmish in 1776 may not be remembered.
A captured and tortured sentinel in 1812 is still unaccounted for.
Through the white haze of powder smoke a young Texas lad, leaning against a picket post in the yard of the Alamo, watched flies blow the blood on the front of his shirt. He coughed one more time, forgot the flies and slid to the ground.
Tired of looking over a mule’s rump while plowing a rocky hillside, a boy from Tennessee joined up with General Scott in 1847 and walked his way down Mexico. At Molino del Rey, he tossed a coin to a widow selling melons, he took two of the fruit and a charge of sharp garnets in his throat from an old flintlock pistol.
A Confederate six-pounder had been firing steadily for an hour. In the haste and excitement of battle the boy serving as loader was forgetting to swab the gun and a smoldering coal in the dirty breech set the charge off as he rammed the ball down S and the bottom half of him lay under the muzzle.
A dispatch rider out of Fort Sill is missing, but they found where the Indians ate his horse.
A man on guard duty in the Philippines lit a cigarette one night. In the morning they found him with a small, blue hole in the center of his forehead. He was a quiet man, kept to himself, and only the company clerk knew his full name.
In Belleau Wood a young corporal nearly cut his finger off trying to open a can of “bully-beef.” He ran and ducked on his way to the medical tent as the men watched him. It was then the Germans started an artillery barrage and a man in a bunker, when questioned, answered, “I was looking at him one second - and the next, he was gone.”
On Guadalcanal the next morning, when it was safe to move a little, they found a redheaded Marine floating face down in the water of a small stream. His throat had been cut. The platoon leader asked, ‘‘Who is he?**
A dirty, mud-caked BAR gunner with leeches on his neck answered, “I don*t know. He came in with those ten new guys just before dark, but he asked if there was anyone here from Wyoming.”
In a frozen ditch outside Chosin Reservoir a boy of nineteen heard a noise behind him in the dark, and turned to ask, “You got the ammo - psst, you got the ammo?” The north Korean could not understand English and the boy could not understand the flash of light, the noise, or why his chest was searing hot. All he said was, “It’s so damn dark.”… and he died.
In Viet Nam a sergeant who had been busted to private for drunkenness, stayed drunk so he could stand the stench of the burial detail he had been awarded as punishment. A Chaplain working with the detail asked him, “Did you know this man?"
“Yea, I knew him. But it’s no loss, he smoked a lot to keep his nerve up.”
“But, he didn’t before he came here - did he?”
“No, he wanted to be a preacher like you.”
The priest touched the body through the rubber bag, bowed his head and whispered. “How much the peasants pay for the glory and greed of kings.”
The surgeon was working frantically to save the boy slipping away from him after the terrorists truck did its trick on the Marine barracks in Beirut. He almost had a piece of mess hall tray unwrapped from around his spine, when the assistant waved his hand to stop and the doctor heard again, “You did all that you could.
Granada: Seals in first to guard the host, and all didn’t swim away. The 75th Rangers jumped at 500 feet and were relieved by the 82nd. A quiet little war considered a minor campaign. And, I suppose it was, unless you died there.
Now today there is Iraq and Afghanistan, and peasants are once again giving their last full measure.
And taps are blown for the combat weary and those who sleep…forever.
Copyright © Lovingcritters
... [2005-08-1104:25:54]
(Date/Time posted on site)
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
(User Rating: 1)
by Archie on Thursday, 11th August 2005 @ 06:07:16 PM AEST
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As a war vet I could not have read a more humble tribute than this one. Tell this young man I said thanks. |
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
(User Rating: 1)
by Elizabeth_Dandy on Saturday, 13th August 2005 @ 08:00:32 AM AEST
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A heart-wrenching narrative of the horrors of war, the heroism of often simple soldiers that never get their due, all the "UNSUNG HEROES" -m and how many there be.
This is a unique reminder of the duty of forever honor great men, esp[ecially those that have been forgotten. Let us pray for them.
May God give them all the deserved glory which will be unveiled to us.
Marvellous write Connie!
Thanks for composing and posting
Warm love
Elizabeth |
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
(User Rating: 1)
by MorningDove on Saturday, 13th August 2005 @ 10:46:30 PM AEST
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The cost of freedom is so very high. These young people who so valiantly give of themselves, at their expense, whether it be physically or emotionally , can never be repaid for the selfless jobs they do. Mankind has never progressed beyond primal brains when it comes to war. Because of these wars , killing and death are a daily life event happening somewhere on this planet. The families of these fine young people are heroes, as well as the men and women fighting. This narrative on war is brilliantly written. I just wish we could have brilliantly found a way to learn from it and stopped at the very first war. Blessings. Rita |
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
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by LOWMAN613 on Friday, 19th August 2005 @ 09:30:19 PM AEST
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What a beautiful tribute! I just found out my nephew whos been in Germany for 2 years is going over to Iraq so we are hoping & praying for him! Christina |
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
(User Rating: 1)
by BlueButterfly on Thursday, 22nd September 2005 @ 01:00:15 AM AEST
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WOW...There's not much more that I can say. Freedom has its high costs, and this was a very moving tribute to all those that have died defending that freedom. Thank you. |
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Re: LAST FULL MEASURE
(User Rating: 1)
by The_Phantom on Thursday, 13th October 2005 @ 07:41:50 PM AEST
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Outstanding, as a Vet myself, tell him thank you, this is a great piece of writing. Thank you.
The Phantom |
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