 | ||||
A Rememberance of Veterans Day
AKA: The Night of the Grunts
By Thomas A. Holloran USMC
L/Cpl. Holly
Hotel Company, 2nd. BN. 1st. Marines
Vietnam, The Republic of: 1967-68
Northshore Queens Detachment #240, MCL
Email: [email protected]
“I am a United States Marine! I serve in a force that guards my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense. So help me God". - Gung Ho! MCRD Parris Island, SC. -1966.
“He who checks into this Hotel will spend his tour in the fires of Hell.” -Hotel Company: Cpl. Mike D’Angelo - RVN-1967. A Remembrance of Veterans Day
AKA: The Night of the Grunts
This band of brothers, the first United States Marines to carry the bitter distinction of having fought in the only war that America ever lost had gathered together. It was one of those solemn occasions in a life when a man knew exactly where he was going and just what he wanted to accomplish when he arrived at his destination. They were the Mickey Mouse Club generation of United States Marines who had sailed off years earlier to defend a fledging democracy in Southeast Asia. They were the Marines of the sixties generation who had borne the burden of the battle for freedom’s sake in a place called Vietnam. A band of brothers who had often times since been referred to as, “Those Non-hacking, drug addicted baby killers who lost the war.” They were the first Marines in the history our country to be vilified by throngs of anti-war protesters on college campuses all across America. Many young people of their own generation believed our government had waged an unjust war of aggression against the communist invaders from the North. A much-maligned Red Army whose sole interest in subjugating the people of South Vietnam supposedly lay in defending their sovereign right to re-unification and self-determination. What had happened to President John F. Kennedy’s prolific inaugural proclamation that “We would bear any burden, pay any price, defend any friend and oppose any foe in the cause of freedom?” Upon their return to the United States, it seemed that even the venerated generation of World War 11 Veterans had turned their backs on them. It was a bewildering state of beau-coup dinky-dow confusion for these combat hardened Marines to fathom. After enduring years of unwarranted scorn and blame for the intervention debacle in Vietnam, their time of national recognition was at hand. The left over cannon fodder of that failed foreign policy had arrived in our Nation’s capital some fourteen years after the fact to attend a dedication ceremony. The surviving members of Hotel Company 2/1 were about to come face to face with an awesome memorial. These often-maligned veterans of that failed military intervention were about to visit with comrades and brother Marines that were long ago lost to them. Lost in a living hell, in a place that the Marines came to know as Vietnam, The F__king Republic of. The former United States Marines now stood in reverent silence as they prepared themselves mentally and emotionally for that moment. Their solemn trek to the wall was to begin a searing emotional journey that would take the aging grunts of Hotel Company 2/1 back through time. Back to a place called Vietnam, back to the war, back to confront to the harrowing days of a youth spent in the fires of hell.
Their goal, unlike their war, was clearly defined and achievable. The objective was threefold: to find some measure of meaning in their sacrifice, to mourn the loss of their fallen comrades and finally, to come home. The former guests of the “Hotel” (AKA: Hotel Company Second Battalion First Marine Regiment) were together again; yet, each marine was still very much alone. Each one caught up in the twilight zone of his own bitter experience in that hellish place called the Nam. Every Marine present carried the painful emotional scars of that first American military defeat like a millstone around his neck. Their beloved Marine Corps had neither provided the physiological treatment needed; nor, awarded the purple hearts earned for the wounds that had been so grievously inflicted upon their immortal souls. These were the type of gut wrenching emotional wounds that sorely tested a man’s faith in his God and ultimately, robbed him of an already fleeting youth. Someone once said that war was hell; surely, that was the all time understatement of the ages. Future historians may well conclude that the agonizing American defeat in Vietnam was all the time military intervention debacle of the ages. Some things change little, however, even with the passing of time. And, the unveiling of the statue proved to be no exception to the rule. The momentous dedication event turned out to be another proverbial case of hurry up and wait. President Ronald Reagan wanted to be at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial for the dedication of the statue and the main man riding on Airforce One was running behind schedule. The Vietnam Veterans were by and large a patient group and did not take umbrage to the delay. President Reagan had restored a confidence and pride to our armed forces that had been sorely missing since the war in Vietnam ended with a communist triumph in 1975. In restoring pride to our military forces, many of these veterans’ felt that the commander-in-chief had earned the right to be at the dedication ceremony. When everything was said and done, the battle hardened gyrenes of Vietnam knew the drill well. It was just another classic case of SNAFU! (Situation-normal-all-fouled-up) These Marines had all been there and done the hurry up and wait routine countless times before. It was a dreary and overcast kind of day and there was a definite chill in the autumn air. The intermittent rainfall seemed more like soft drizzle that left everything around the Marines damp to the touch. It was a fitting day to pay tribute to their fallen comrades.
As the Marines of Hotel Company 2/1 waited patiently for the unveiling of the statue, former Hotel Company Platoon radioman, Randy Laverne, gestured toward one of their Corpsmen that appeared to be in a considerable state of discomfort. Doc Stewart was shivering profusely and to the discerning eye, looked something of a lighter shade of pale. Thankfully, Holly’s wife had made certain that he would be prepared for almost any event during the bittersweet trip to Washington DC. No one could deny that Mrs. H knew how to pack a travel bag for her Marine. Holly made a quick mental note to thank Jane when he returned home to New York. Holly reached into the shoulder bag and retrieved the neatly folded plastic poncho. Without further adieu, he placed the poncho into Doc Stewart’s outstretched hand. Doc smiled at Holly as he pulled the poncho and its warmth over his head but said nothing. There was no need for any words to be exchanged between these men. Every mother’s son in the Second Battalion had made the mind-blowing trek into harms way more times than he could or ever would want to recall.
Once the dedication program concluded and the dignitaries had left the area, Cpl. Hughes called a company muster. The founder of the Hotel -2/1 association, Robert T. Hughes Jr., then solemnly led his former comrades down the sloping path toward the epicenter of the memorial. As the men processed, Holly began to focus his attention on the faces of some of the other visitors at the wall. Most of these veterans had come to bear witness to the dedication of the statue and to see firsthand that our national emblem flew over the memorial site. There had been a fierce battle waged by many Vietnam Veterans around the country to ensure that their flag and a statue would be erected at the memorial. It was an emotional issue for everyone who had been involved in that bitter struggle. At the end of a hard fought campaign, however, the perseverance and dogged determination of the grunts had carried the day. All concerned parties had agreed that a flagpole and statue would be placed at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.
Wherever the men of Hotel Company looked that day, it seemed that they were staring directly into the lifeless open grave eyes of another grunt. It was a troubled look of mortal resignation that the Marines of Hotel Company 2/1 had witnessed all too often during their tour of duty in the Nam. It was the look of war and it was called the thousand-yard stare. One simply could not escape from that look on that dank and overcast Veterans Day. Suddenly, Holly realized that the battle he had waged to keep the tears from streaming down his face had been lost. He no longer, however, made any attempt to stifle them. As the Marines proceeded down the memorial path, the ever-increasing number of names that had been so uniformly etched into the black granite panels began to overwhelm them. L/Cpl. Holly fully understood that this pilgrimage to the wall was going to have a profound effect upon his life. Holly had brought to the wall that day, a catholic guilt, a survivor’s guilt and a general sense of uneasiness that he just could not explain. It was a Nam thing.
This memorial was a solemn place and one immediately got the sense that there was an uncommon spiritual aura hovering over it. This memorial was destined to become hallowed ground for generations to come. Holly was awed by the sheer intensity of the healing wall that had so totally captivated his comrades. He reached out to his dearest comrade, mentor and brother Marine, Henry M. Decker and warmly embraced him. It was an embrace of comradeship and understanding that had been forged by the brotherhood of their beloved Corps and a ghastly thirteen-month tour of duty in the jungles and rice fields of Southeast Asia. Holly was again grateful to his God for Hank Decker’s continued presence in his life. The two Marines watched in silence as several of their former comrades from Hotel Company also fought in vain to hold back their tears. It was an emotional battle that was being waged and lost, one grunt at a time. The sight of so many Gold Star Mothers holding the vets hands in a loving gesture of solidarity at the Wall that day was more than the Herdsmen could emotionally withstand. Within a few short moments, the tears of these much-maligned Vietnam War Veterans began to flow freely. On that dedication day in 1984, however, even Holly felt that it was ok for a Marine to shed tears. For surely, it was a day that God himself had ordained would be remembered as the time for healing the wounds of war. The Marines of Hotel Company were left spellbound by all that had taken place on that rainy November afternoon. L/Cpl. Holly recalled with a sense of sadness that when he had first learned about the Vietnam Memorial project, he had vehemently opposed it. Holly felt that the concept of a black granite hole in the earth with the names of his fallen comrades carved into it was appalling. What further insult to their sacrifice or to the cause of freedom could their government possibly heap upon these emotionally charged veterans? Standing before that awesome memorial wall, however, L/Cpl. Holly came to understand just how wrong he had been in his original assessment of this memorial design. Holly’s heavy-handed condemnation of the local veterans committee for making a monetary contribution to the project had indeed been a mistake. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial embodied a dignity, sense of character and spiritual aura that was truly beyond reproach. When the moment for the unveiling of the statue finally arrived, a thunderous cheer erupted throughout the massive sea of veterans assembled at the site. It was a sea of humanity that included the arm-less, the leg-less, the blind, the crippled, the emotionally scarred and the Marines of Hotel Company. The Herdsmen waited patiently in that line for their chance to view the bronze statue of the three fighting men up close.
Ordinarily, Holly hated to stand in line for any reason but even he had to admit that on this occasion, it had been worth every minute of the wait. As Holly gazed upon the figure of the soldier depicted carrying an M-60 machine gun, he could not help but smile. The statue had immediately brought the words of the machine gunners jingle to the forefront of Holly's brain housing group: “ You fed in the belt and pulled back on the bolt, squeezed off the trigger and oh what a jolt, for she’d buck like a model T Ford and that was the only reward, for when you are dead some other shit-head would carry that gun you adored!” Bless ‘em all…Bless ‘em all - The statue was pure grunt; right down to the last finely honed military detail. The Hart sculpture was a masterful tribute to the character and fortitude of the American fighting man. There was no doubt that Mr. Hart and Company deserved a heart felt Oh-Rah and well done for their work. The former guests of the "Hotel" were pleased with their flag, their statue and the wall that heals. The spiritual aura that this black granite war memorial wall had cast over the Vietnam Veterans that day was beyond all civilian comprehension. The Wall could easily have been acclaimed a fitting and proper tribute to their honored dead all by itself. Still, for many of the Marines that had answered the call to duty that day, the flag and unveiling of the statue were just the right icing on the cake!
The throngs of visitors waiting to view the statue of the three fighting men extended further than the naked eye could see. Everyone in that line was anxious to see, to touch and to take pictures of that statue in an up close and personal way. This was a day that the former Marines of Hotel Company would carry in their hearts forever. After an emotional time of remembrance, prayer and spiritual reverence at the wall, the Marines of Hotel 2/1 hailed a couple of taxicabs and headed over to a local veteran’s post just across the river. Once there, the day’s celebration festivities commenced in earnest. The Marines toasted their beloved Corps, their Commandant, the First Marine Division, Chesty Puller, the First Marine Regiment, the Second Battalion, Hotel Company, the Platoon, the Weapons men, the Sixth Fleet and their indispensable cadre of United States Navy Corpsman to Marines. After guzzling down mugs of beers, many, many of them and rapidly ingesting shots of distilled spirits, the Marines took their place in the chow line.
The scullery wenches (Ladies of the Auxiliary) at the Arlington Veterans Post had prepared a pasta feast that was both delicious and nutritious. It was truly a first rate Ladies Auxiliary Italian Fare Buffet Extradinaire! When the men of Hotel Company had finished the tasty repast, it was unanimously decided that the Platoon would return to the Capital Mall Hotel in Washington DC. Before the Herdsmen departed the Post, however, Holly asked the Commander if he might be permitted to say a few words to the troops. The man, a Vietnam Veteran and a United States Navy Corpsman to Marines, himself, graciously granted that request. On behalf of the Herdsmen, L/Cpl. Holly offered a few heart felt words of gratitude to their most gracious hosts of Northern Virginia. He told the post membership that they were a shinning credit to all veterans and that they embodied a spirit of comradeship that every veteran’s post in America should be striving to achieve.
Following a God bless you and Semper Fi, the veterans at the Post offered up a generous round of applause. As Holly looked around that Post hall and saw so many veterans of all ages and varied conflicts sitting about, he wondered why every veteran’s post in the United States did not operate like the one in Arlington. Somehow, within the TAOR (tactical area of responsibility) of their comrades from Northern Virginia, the veterans had managed to set things right. In summation, Holly left them with a farewell toast of the grunts. - “ I may get blind stinking drunk, I may fall flat on may face, and I may have to crawl back to my fighting position but by God, I’ll do it like a United States Marine. - Oh Rah! The men of Hotel Company then hailed taxicabs from the hall and returned to their base camp (hotel) for some rest and recuperation. (AKA: R&R.) There was absolutely no doubt that these Marines were in dire need of sleep. The Herdsmen had agreed that the platoon would muster again at twenty-two hundred hours (10:PM) in the hotel lounge and went their separate ways. Hank and Holly retired to their room and then took turns calling home to speak with their wives. The two former weapons men of Hotel Company were anxious to tell the girls about the events of that wondrous day in the nation’s capital. The girls had become dear friends over the years and regularly kept in touch. Unfortunately, for Holly and Hank, their spouses also came to learn about Marines and their drinking forays all too well. The girls cautioned them both to get some rest and to avoid drinking any more that night. Holly and Hank dutifully promised Jane and Gloria that they would make a serious effort to curtail their alcohol consumption for the remainder of the evening. The two comrades rested peacefully for a couple of hours and when awakened by the call from the desk clerk, the Marines were eager to answer the call to duty! The men wasted little time in preparing to meet their former comrades at the appointed hour. They arrived in the hotel lounge at 22:30 hours - (about 10:30 PM- one half-hour late) with a renewed sense of vigor. And, each one held true to the solemn promise that they made to their wives regarding any further alcoholic intake that evening until approximately 22:31 hours - (10:31 PM). Pete Hoban, a seriously wounded comrade and brother guest of Hotel Company graciously provided the first round of drinks for his comrades. Hank Decker procured the second round of alcoholic delight for the former Herdsmen. Denny Porter, (AKA: The Lifesaver) one of Holly’s closest and dearest comrades from the Hai Lang Forest Campaign purchased the third round of liquid libation for the troops. Holly then staked out a claim on the fourth round for himself. In turn, Don Miller (AKA: DF) another comrade and brother guest of the “Hotel” stepped up to the bar. Don ordered yet another round of drinks in the futile attempt to quench the insatiable thirst in the Platoon. After that fifth round, let it suffice to say that the Marines of Hotel Company 2/1 partied into the night with reckless abandon. They drank heavily and they discussed the common experience of their military service that had brought them to this rainy dedication day ceremony. The subject of course was the United States Marine Corps, Vietnam, The Republic of, Hotel Company and the horrific casualty rate that was sustained by the legions of patriotic young men who answered the call to duty in their beloved Marine Corps. Some heavy-duty situation reports (Sit-Reps) concerning some of the horrific incidents that went down in that stinking rice paddy war were offered up that night. A number of the Marines present were with Corporal Hughes on the day that he was nearly blown away (grievously injured) in Quang Tri Province. These veteran grunts had seen Cpl. Hughes violently catapulted into the air by the ungodly force of a command-detonated mine. The Marines had also watched helplessly as their squad leader was returned to Mother Earth like a broken rag doll. The squad then angrily moved forward to take some serious payback (AKA: Get-Some) of their own by proceeding to permanently pacify every dink deemed responsible for that atrocity. Vietnam, The Republic of, was a target rich environment for the rifleman of the Corps. In the Nam, United States Marines wasted, blew away, permanently pacified or did their enemy. But, the Marines of the Mickey Mouse generation did not kill; C’EST La Guerre mon ami! It was a Nam thingAt some point, Marine Gunnery Sgt. Gary Hebb (AKA: Mouse Hebb) asked one of his former comrades to provide him with a time check. L/Cpl. Holly looked at his watch but was unable to see much less read any of the numbers on the dial. It was also quite obvious that L/Cpl Holly was not the only sorry ass gyrene in the bar that was unable to tell time that night. The two-fisted beer guzzling Marines – Marine, Henry M. Decker, was unable to even locate his wristwatch. The bartender (AKA: Mr. Squid) then mercifully announced to the former guests of the “Hotel” (H-Co, 2/1 USMC) that the time on deck was 23:45 hours – (11:45 PM.) With that ominous pronouncement from their barkeep, an eerie silence fell over the Herdsmen. The realization that the hour of the midnight to mother watch was upon them called for an immediate plan of action. A Company muster was scheduled to commence at the main entrance to the Capital Mall Hotel in five minutes. The Herdsmen rapidly finished off their drinks and then filed into the rest room (AKA: The Head) to answer the inevitable call of Nature. It struck Holly as being rather funny that every Marine indicated that he was going into the head to take a whiz. No gyrene, it would seem, ever went into a rest room to leave one. After the trip to the restroom, the Marines somehow managed to make their way out to the main entrance of the Capitol Mall Hotel. Once there, former United States Marine Cpl. Robert T. Hughes, Jr. called the men of the First Platoon to order. “Hotel Company, First Platoon, one more time, fall in!” It was an emotional moment for the former Marine infantrymen (AKA: Grunts) of Hotel 2/1 and the battle to stave off the tears was intense. As the Marines exited the lobby, each one took up a position in the line of march, as he would have in the Nam so many lifetimes ago. Operation Midnight Rendezvous was about to commence in earnest. Oh – Rah!
Michael Rodriguez, one of Hotel Company’s finest point men in the Nam had already taken up his position at the head of their column. Michael definitely had his act together and had patiently been awaiting the word from Cpl. Hughes to lead the patrol out. Silver Star recipient, Sgt. Ken Gaffney USMC, himself, blinded in one eye, was the ranking Nam NCO present than evening. Ken dutifully took charge of the detail and in a voice befitting a Marine Corps Drill Instructor issued the final marching order: “Hotel Company, 1st Herd, alright you useless pieces of amphibian dung; let’s go to the dance.” The Marines could readily feel an icy chill pierce their souls as the familiar command echoed through the dank night air. As the former guests of Hotel Company crossed the final line of departure, Holly could feel the sudden adrenaline rush surging through his veins. Bob Hughes, the 2/1-association founder, took the final head count as each Marine sounded off Carmack, Dunn, Falvi, Flood, Hoban, Johnson D, Corpsman to Marines, Kirk, Parker, Prieto… and stepped into the darkness. There were so many fragmented thoughts of that failed military intervention whirling around in Holly’s brain-housing group that he began to fear for his sanity. Emotions were running high and the uneasy feelings that always seemed to surface just before a night movement commenced in the Nam began to stir in their ranks. Once again, the long repressed memories of the deadly conflict that took place in the rice paddies and jungles of Southeast Asia came roaring into the present. Holly recalled with great clarity the ominous inscription on Cpl. Tom Nolan’s Zippo lighter: “And when I die, bury me face down so the entire world can kiss my ass!” How could any grunt ever forget that all time standard Nam cliché: “It don’t mean a thing bro’s.” The list went on: “Do ‘em all Bro’s and let Who Art sort them out!” Holly also recalled the words of the prayer of the living dead (AKA: The Prayer for the million-dollar wound.) “Who Art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, I’ll take the pain, I won’t complain, just whack my sorry ass hard enough to make me a medevac priority on a freedom bird back to the World - forever and ever, I've had enough of this shit, Amen!” Holly winced as he recalled the number of times that he, himself, had invoked that prayer. It was a prayer uttered often in Vietnam, the Fucking Republic of. A prayer offered up in the fervent hopes that Who Art would grant a war weary grunt a Huss. (AKA: Some serious slack.) L/Cpl Holly had often relished the thought of being awarded a purple heart and a one way ticket back to CONUS- (AKA: The United States of America.) Or, at the very least, a permanent lights duty chit and a trip to the rear to watch over the gear for the remainder of his tour. These were some of the vintage bush adages and mercy pleas invoked by the physically exhausted and emotionally drained grunts of I-Corps. They were hardly, however, the only ones in use there; it was called Nam talk. Vietnam had happened so many lifetimes ago yet, somehow, it seemed as if the Marines of Hotel Company 2/1 had rotated back to the World just yesterday. It was the sad legacy of Vietnam, the Republic of, and it was all beau-coup dinky-dow! It was the start of another midnight patrol but on this night, the men of Hotel Company relished every moment of their mission. These Marines had gathered together as comrades and brothers in peace. It was a peace that these aging veterans had never known during their tour of duty in Southeast Asia. The former combatants of that failed crusade were about to embark upon a near sacred mission. The thirty-something year old survivors of that war were headed, once again, into the dark of night together. The former “Guests of Hotel 2/1” (AKA: Hotel Company, Second Battalion, First Marines Regiment) walked smartly passed the aerospace museum and then, picking up the pace, turned left onto the Capital Mall. Directly ahead of them, the Marines could see the Washington Monument looming larger that life itself. The monument shone like a bright beacon of hope that lit the darkness and guided the Platoon forward. Suddenly, a harrowing call from the past echoed through the dank night air! “Corpsman up! Corpsman up!” The patrol watched intently as their beloved Corpsman made his way up to the front of their column. Doc Moyer had been seriously wounded himself, while ministering to several of the Marines present that night. On October 18, 1967, while conducting a search and destroy operation in the Hai Lang National Forest, the Marines of Hotel Company had come under withering and sustained automatic weapons fire. The entire company had been caught in a well-executed enemy ambush. Hotel Company suddenly found itself in a serious world of hurt and fighting for its very right to exist. The bitter engagement with the North Vietnamese Army had been an up close, costly and in your face personal experience for the men of Hotel Company. The casualty rate in the Platoon during the Hai Lang Forest Campaign of 1967 had been staggering. Doc Danny Moyer, United States Navy Corpsman to Marines, without regard for his personal safety or well being, had put it all on the line for his Marines and it had cost Danny big time. The former guests of the "Hotel" were awed by Doc’s dogged determination to help the injured man out. The hapless individual had lost control of the bicycle that he had been riding on and went ass over teakettle into the street. The man had made a bit of a rough landing and struck his head on the pavement. The Marines saw their gallant Corpsman, once again, on his knees, caring for an injured man. Every Marine present was deeply moved at the sight. These gyrenes had all witnessed this scenario played out beau-coup (countless) times before. In fact, in that dinky-dow world of hurt called Vietnam, The Republic of, it would have been just another ordinary day in the bush. What could anyone possibly say about the valor of the United States Navy Corpsmen to Marines and their selfless dedication to the wounded and the dying? There are no words that could ever adequately convey the way these grunts felt about the medical men of their war. The United States Navy Corpsmen who walked into harms way armed with a unit one medical kit and a 45-Caliber pistol. “All the days, God bless, Semper Fi and thanks Doc!” Historic USMC tribute: “You guys are the Marines doctors; There’s no better in the business than a Navy Corpsman.”
Lt. General Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller. The man who fell off his bicycle remained motionless for a time. Thankfully though, he had not been seriously injured in the fall and was soon on his way. For his selfless devotion to duty, Danny Michael Moyer, United States Navy Corpsman to Marines, (AKA: Doc) received a thunderous round of applause, numerous high-fives and some truly heart felt Oh-Rahs’ from his former comrades and brother Marines. Once again, the midnight patrol regrouped and prepared to move out. When the Herdsmen finally arrived at the base of the Washington Monument, they executed a somewhat semi-military echelon right. One could easily sense the anticipation building in the air around them. As the patrol neared its final objective, the sight that unfolded before them awed the Marines of Hotel Company. From nearly every imaginable point on the compass, midnight patrols, many, many of them were also converging on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. These veteran grunt patrols represented just about every American infantry unit that had seen combat action in the Nam. Somewhere in the tree line ahead, an illumination flare rose up into a darkened November sky. A few seconds later, an aerial detonation lit up the area above the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The men of the Hotel Company stood in place with eyes fixed upon the heavens until the last vestiges of light from that flare had faded back into the darkness. The peaceful aura of that solemn watch over their fallen comrades was incomparable and the silence was deafening. The objective for the evening had been taken and their (TAOR) tactical area of responsibility was secure. The emotional intensity of that midnight foray to the wall was beyond all civilian comprehension. The grunts of 1 Corps had finally set things right; their war was over and the men of Hotel Company 2/1 had come home. There was an undeniable force of cosmic energy that that whirled around the Vietnam Veterans that night, November 11, 1984, the night of the grunts. All the days, God bless, Semper Fi and welcome home brothers. May there never be another Vietnam.
For all those gallant United States Marines who gave the last full measure of
devotion to protect, uphold and defend our democratic way of life.
- Semper Fidelis, RIP.
A Lamentation of Nam: And when I die, I’ll rot in the ground like any other animal.
- The Good Lord Willing.
AKA: The Mourning Marines: They dress in jungle fatigues of green
They lock and load brand new M-16’s
They carry backpacks and two plastic canteens
Cigarettes, six grenades and their battle dressings.
These nocturnal knights clad in flak jacket vests
Their uniforms faded and soaked through with sweat
A compass, field glasses and full magazines
Souls stained and tortured by combat fatigue
These ghostly Marines that patrol in my dreams
In the flashbacks of war that I wrestle with yet.
Lest we forget: Never again shall one generation of veterans abandon another.
Vietnam Veterans of America – Queens Chapter # 32
Semper Fidelis, Thomas A. Holloran USMC
