The Glory Of Death In Combat, What glory, Can There Be?

 

Only the few, the very privileged,  ever see death in combat, and  we who have survived, discover the brotherhood that coincides with death and life.

 

Our brother/sister fell, in a hostile,  flurry of hand grenades, machine gun fire, and mortars, all sent as the eternal  gift to all warriors who fight, for what ever the cause, its the gift of death from the pits of hell.

 

We, the very few, saw them fall, heard their cries of pain, and some, some, muttered, not a sound at all.

 

During the fury of the fight, those of us who survived, didn’t hear or couldn’t address, the sounds our brother and sister cried, but saw them fall, we knew them all, and we walked away, glad to be alive.

 

How short that walk, as years passed by, we find we didn’t walk away at all. We only moved our body to a new location, so far away, we thought, we might forget our comrades fall.

 

Yet, the sound, the hostile fire, the blazing courage that surrounded us all, we hear it all, once again, actually, it never really, ends.

 

Although the years have passed, the blood has dried, from Omaha to god knows where. They were Marines, they are Marines, they lift their sprits before our very eyes, each moment of our lives, we share with them, we share their lives, and once again, we bring them all, back to life.

 

Once a warrior, always a warrior, not for the sake of the fight, but because of the cause and the loss of life. That smile from Tennessee, that laugh from the guy from Texas, the funny way that kid said, America, that kid from Atlanta and on..

 

There is not a wife, a mother, a father, a lover, a brother, or a sister, who knew them as we did. We were the privileged, we knew them before their death in combat. We knew how real they were, how honest and dishonest they were, we knew them above and beyond all others, we knew them as the warriors, some of which, did not know they were.

 

They died, we cried and to this day, we cry, not always tears running down our cheeks, but within our hearts, during our private times. We never forget, actually, we remember more, after all they were alive before, but now we see them as they were, warriors, Marines, who fell upon Heavens floor.

 

Have you any thoughts that we left them all alone, hell no, they fell at heavens door. I feel no guilt that I survived nor that they gave their precious lives. Their spirits sing, Es Sprites De Corps.

 

Thank god I was allowed to live, to share with you, and others, all that my brothers and sisters did, as warriors of the United States Marine Corps.

 

Martin Vann

¾ 1965-1966.

S.F.