The Infanteer

[babicma]

The Infanteer

He is born of the earth on the day he enlists
He is sentenced to life on the soil
To march on it, crawl on it, dig in it, sprawl on it
Sleep on it after his toil.

Be it sand, rock or ice, gravel, mud or red loam
He will fight on it, bravely will die
And the crude little cross telling men of his loss
Will cry mutely to some foreign sky.

He's the tired looking man in the untidy garb
Weather beaten, foot sore with fatigue
But his spirit is strong as he marches along
With his burden for league after league.

He attacks in the fate of murderous fire
Crawling forward, attacking through mud
When he breaks through the lines
Over wire and mines
On the point of his bayonet is blood.

Should you meet him untidy, begrimed and fatigued
Don't indulge in unwarranted mirth
For the brave infanteer
Deserves more than a sneer
He is truly the salt of the earth .

Men may argue forever on what wins their wars,
And welter in cons and pros,
And seek for their answers at history's doors,
But the man with the rifle knows.

He must stand on the ground on his own two feet,
And he's never in doubt when it's won,
If it's won he's there; if not it's defeat,
That's his test when the fighting is done.

When he carries the fight, it's not with a roar,
Of armoured wings spitting death,
It's creep and crawl on the earthen floor,
Butt down and holding his breath.

Saving his strength for the last low rush,
Grenade throw and bayonet thrust,
And the whispered prayer before he goes in,
Of a man who does what he must.

And when he's attacked he can't zoom away,
When the shells fill the world with their sound,
He stays where he is, loosens his spade,
And digs his defence in the ground.

The ground isn't ours till he's there in the flesh,
Not a gadget or bomb but a man,
He's the answer to theories which start afresh,
With each peace since war began.

So let the wild circle of argument rage,
On what wins a war comes and goes,
Many new theories may hold the stage,
But the man with the rifle knows.


Author unknown.

 

[Infanteer]

I‘m glad to hear you think so well of me....

 

[bubba]

hey infanteer,you sound like your gettin all emotional an touchy feely with yourself,ickkk...(hahaha)

 

[pte anthony]

I liked that poem it makes me proud to be Infantry like so many before us :soldier:

 

[Infanteer]

Actually, I‘m a Refrigeration Tech, I just have the name Infanteer so people will think I‘m hard.

 

[Foxhound]

Can‘t remember where I found this, but I keep it on the HD and re-read it from time to time.

THE INFANTRYMAN...

First in last out--Fidelio.

The angel Gabriel in a muddy helmet. A flame charred devil on the ninth level of Inferno -- The Infantryman - The fighter‘s fighter. The soldiers' soldier. He travels not along the superhighway, but along the faint trails of the world. High along the ridges and down the defiles, tracing the veins and capillaries on the skin of the earth‘ to thrust his bayonet, personally into the incandescent heart of battle, exacted in war.

Not for him the three or ten-hour a day war, sheltered by a parasol of planes, served by men and machines of infinite variety, reassured by mortar and ships, prowling the nearby meadows and seas. He is nonetheless in light and darkness perpetually shadowed by death, until at last on some strange promontory, in the midst of comrades fallen, suddenly, he stands alone.

The only powers of body and spirit available to be summoned are such as he happened to bring to the battle, to the personal battle, no other man is called upon to undergo. Sooner or later, struggling in the vortex of the whirlwind, tested over and over again with the scarred body, the bleeding fist, the indomitable heart, the blistered feet and fighting hands, he stands alone where the danger is.

The Infantryman, volunteers for nothing, but every lethal device in war volunteers for him. When they come after him, they‘ve tried and failed with everything else, to reach the point of power, the focus of freedom, the pivot of decision and the hottest spot in war. Sprawler during every opportunity, plodder, racer, stalker, raider, waiter, walker over mountains, glaciers and swamps.

Outwitting the machine he witted, he does what no one else can do -- he storms the parapets yet untaken, by all the machines and munitions of war.

He lays his manhood, sometimes not yet reached on the line. And sometimes stays forever there, reformed to a grotesque memorial, having given a massive transfusion to hills like home or desert sands.

If there is blood on his hands, it is the stain he carries for every man, woman and child in friendly lands.

The rifleman lives, if he does, on what is left after lending time; the beloved people of his country live afterward on borrowed time -- His.

Decorated with a flower, flushed from a field bathed in deadliness, dressed in dirt with dusty lungs, he hardly suggests the beau ideal of every other fighting man, too numerous to be distinguished; too full of the memory of fear to swagger; too tired to boast; too well aware of the luck of his own survival too pontificate; too mindful of a platoon of missing heroes, to be a hero; too grateful to demean any other fighter -- If he is unimpressed with others, it is the result of being unimpressed with himself, he is the personal fighter, the champion, First in and Last out, the irreplaceable, the ultimate weapon---THE INFANTRYMAN.

Author is unknown...

 

[fleeingjam]

So infrateer you mean to say all this time you have been posting negative sometimes pointless reply‘s but all you are is a REGRIGARATOR tech, wow and I thought you were for real lol..some dummy I am, at least now I know what a regrigirator tech knows.

 

[corporal-cam]

I found both of these on a Canadian website right befroe remeberance day and I save them to my HD.

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 had 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 neighbours, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we‘ll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world‘s a little poorer, for a soldier died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won‘t note his passing, though 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 their whole 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
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?

A politician‘s stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes 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 was so long ago
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
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 want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and 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, then we find the soldier‘s part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honour 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 a paper that would say,
"Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today."


--------------------------------------------


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 foward now you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek,
And 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 saints

"I‘ve had to work most Sundays
And at times my talk was tough
And sometimes I‘ve been violent
Because the streets were awfully rough"

But I never took a penny,
That was‘nt mine to keep
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills just got too steep,

And I never passed a cry for help
Although, at times I shook with fear
And sometimes, God forgive
I‘ve wept unmanly tears

I know I don‘t deserve a place
Among the people here
That never wanted me around
Except to calm there fears

If you have a place for me here O‘ Lord
It needn‘t be so grand
I‘ve never expected, or had so much
But if you don‘t I‘ll understand"

There was a silence all around the throne
Where the Saints had often trod
As this soldier waited quietly
For the judgment from his God

"Step foward now you soldier,
You‘ve borne your burdens well
Walk peacefully on Heaven‘s streets,
You‘ve done your time in ****"

 

[Infanteer]

So infrateer you mean to say all this time you have been posting negative sometimes pointless reply‘s but all you are is a REGRIGARATOR tech, wow and I thought you were for real lol..some dummy I am, at least now I know what a regrigirator tech knows.

Yep, sure got you.

 

[Fishbone Jones]

16 year olds are so easy to fool sometimes.

 

[Supa401]

It is the SOLDIER , not the reporter,
Who preserves the freedom of press.
It is the SOLDIER , not the poet,
Who protects the freedom of speech.
It is the SOLDIER SOLDIER, not the campus organizer,
Who puts his life on the line to give others the freedom to demonstrate...
It is the SOLDIER , not the lawyer,
Who has given you the right to a fair trial.
And it is the SOLDIER ,
Who salutes the Flag,
Who serves beneath the Flag,
And whose coffin draped by the Flag who protect the protester‘s right to burn the Flag.

:gunner: