Miscellaneous Return

Miscellaneous   THE 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!   A Vietnam Veteran's Scars by an unknown author Some scars, I bear, are always there for anyone to see. The few who care will often stare, and ask how they came to be. That one, you see, below my knee came from a bursting shell, this one here, beside my ear, a sniper's shot placed well. There's one other, I know that I can't show because its hidden so deep inside. I guess it's true, it has something to do with all of my friends who have died. But nevertheless, I must confess, this scar burdens me with strife. To this day, I ask and cry... still wondering why, we wasted such precious life. This scar, I keep buried very deep, and it's not from a bullet hole. It will always seep, and trouble my sleep, because it stretches across my soul. America's unofficial national anthem was composed by an immigrant who left his home in Siberia for America when he was five years old.  The original version was written by Irving Berlin (1888-1989) during the summer of 1918. In the fall of 1938, as Americans mulled the possibility of war  in Europe, Berlin decided to write a "peace" song. He recalled his song from twenty years earlier and added a spoken lead-in. The song was introduced on Armistice Day, 1938. While the storm clouds gather far across the sea, Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free, Let us all be grateful for a land so fair, As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer: God Bless America. Land that I love Stand beside her, and guide her Thru the night with a light from above. From the mountains, to the prairies , To the oceans, white with foam God bless America My home sweet home. God bless America My home sweet home.       9thinfantrydivision.org http://9thinfantrydivision.bravepages.com/ webmaster@9thinfantrydivision.org Copywrite 2002-2003 Curtis Hatterman