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To: unclewest who wrote (284129)12/13/2008 11:07:31 AM
From: goldworldnet3 Recommendations  Respond to of 793955
 
It is truly an abomination that "SF" is an acronym for both heros and cowards. Special Forces and San Francisco couldn't be more different.

* * *



To: unclewest who wrote (284129)12/13/2008 11:59:47 AM
From: LindyBill  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 793955
 
Powerline's take:

Where do we get such men?

By Streiff(Profile) on US Army

I'd like to take a few minutes out from the strum und drang of our approaching financial Apocalypse and the Daley-Emanuel (Rahm, not Jeff)-Blagojevich-Obama Axis and focus on my favorite subject: the American Soldier.

Yesterday the Washington Post reported on ten US Army Green Berets receiving the Silver Star following a small unit action in an extremely remote section of Afghanistan. Please take the time to read the story but this gives you a flavor.
Link

>>> Farther down the hill in the streambed, Master Sgt. Scott Ford, the team sergeant, was firing an M203 grenade launcher at the fighting positions, he recalled. An Afghan commando fired rocket-propelled grenades at the windows from which they were taking fire, while Howard shot rounds from a rocket launcher and recoilless rifle.

Ford, of Athens, Ohio, then moved up the mountain amid withering fire to aid Walton at his command position. The ferocity of the attack surprised him, as rounds ricocheted nearby every time he stuck his head out from behind a rock. "Typically they run out of ammo or start to manage their ammo, but . . . they held a sustained rate of fire for about six hours," he said.

As Ford and Staff Sgt. John Wayne Walding returned fire, Walding was hit below his right knee. Ford turned and saw that the bullet "basically amputated his right leg right there on the battlefield."

Walding, of Groesbeck, Tex., recalled: "I literally grabbed my boot and put it in my crotch, then got the boot laces and tied it to my thigh, so it would not flop around. There was about two inches of meat holding my leg on." He put on a tourniquet, watching the blood flow out the stump to see when it was tight enough.

Then Walding tried to inject himself with morphine but accidentally used the wrong tip of the syringe and put the needle in this thumb, he later recalled. "My thumb felt great," he said wryly, noting that throughout the incident he never lost consciousness. "My name is John Wayne," he said.<<<

Fifty years ago James Mitchner posed the question I used for the title of this story in his novel The Bridges at Toko-Ri, in the 1954 film of the same name Frederic March as Admiral Tarrant has these lines. It was a different war at a different time. But there were a lot of similiarities. A president was fighting an unpopular but necessary war, the opposition, this would be my party, made, in my view, the war an issue to gain political advantage. Young men were called upon to do the impossible, whether at Chosen Reservoir, Chipyong-ni, Fallujah, or Shah-i-kot. And I suspect unless Obama turns out to have poltroonery that can be measured on the Richter Scale that the ultimate outcome will be similar.

I spent a good portion of my adult life in the company of these men (and admittedly a good portion of my childhood wanting to be one and a good portion of my life since then waxing maudlin over my loss). They aren't Rhodes Scholars. They will always be Tommy Atkins to the left which will "support" them but not what they're doing and haul them before federal grand juries when they return home. And I still don't have an answer for Admiral Tarrant's question: where do we get such men?



To: unclewest who wrote (284129)12/14/2008 11:54:53 AM
From: rich evans3 Recommendations  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 793955
 
A Christmas message received by E-Mail:

Subject: Fw: A Christmas Poem>>>>>>>This was sent to me this evening by a friend who has stood on the wall >>>and>>>who had a brother that did not come home from a Canadian "Peace Keeping>>>Mission".>>>>>> It is quite timely I thought considering we have lost 3 more>>>good people this week.>>>>>>Dan>>>>>>>>>>>>"Never trust a man who has not a single redeeming vice" - Winston>>>Churchill>>>>>>>>>>>> A Different Christmas Poem>>>>>> The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,>>> I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.>>> My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,>>> My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.>>> Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,>>> Transforming the yard to a winter delight.>>>>>>>>>>>> The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,>>> Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.>>> My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,>>> Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.>>> In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,>>> So slumbered I, perhaps I started to dream.>>>>>> The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,>>> But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.>>> Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the>>> sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.>>> My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,>>> And I crept to the door just to see who was near.>>> Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,>>> A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.>>>>>> A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,>>> Perhaps a Ranger, huddled here in the cold.>>> Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,>>> Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.>>> "What are you doing?" I asked without fear,>>> "Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!>>> Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,>>> You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!">>>>>> For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,>>> Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.>>> To the window that danced with a warm fire's light>>> Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,>>> I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.">>>>>> "It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,>>> That separates you from the darkest of times.>>> No one had to ask or beg or implore me,>>> I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.>>> My Gramps died in Europe on a day in December,">>> Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers.">>> My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam',>>> And now it is my turn and so, here I am.>>> I've not seen my own son in more than a while,>>> But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.>>>>>> Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,>>> The red and the white ... a Canadian flag.>>> I can live through the cold and the being alone,>>> Away from my family, my house and my home.>>> I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,>>> I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.>>> I can carry the weight of killing another,>>> Or lay down my life with my sister and brother.>>> Who stand at the front against any and all,>>> To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.">>>>>> "So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,>>> Your family is waiting and I'll be all right.">>> "But isn't there something I can do, at the least,>>> "Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?>>> It seems all too little for all that you've done,>>> For being away from your wife and your son.">>> Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,>>> "Just tell us you love us, and never forget.>>> To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,>>> To stand your own watch, no matter how long.>>> For when we come home, either standing or dead,>>> To know you remember we fought and we bled.>>> Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,>>> That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.">>>>>>