Verse
Welcome Home
by Rick
Maddy
Young and restless, so many different places
Be a Marine, see the world, a multitude of faces.
Freeways and flyways, boot camp, I'm taken aback
I've waited a long time to hear "Semper Fi, Mac."
Black, white, all the races - boys - the all-American
Come one, come all, let's help our fellow man
There is trouble, let's go and be a big brother
We're off to kill, to hell with love of one another
The hippies back home are carrying signs
If you're in uniform, you're out of line
Abbie's back home burnin' the flag - political tool
We're putting another boy in a body bag - political fool
They say we are killing babies: God, how come?
By the people, for the people, they call us scum
NO! NO! We're just dying in the mud: that's all
Khe Sanh, the Mekong, Hill 881: patriots standing tall
Home again. Survivor's guilt. No justice for the dead
A little sleep here, some there, no comfort in the head
Screaming inside, looking for release. Please come out!
We never lost a battle, only the war: defeated no doubt.
Twenty years later I hear applauding and "Hurray."
Your parades and "WELCOME HOME" - too late I say.
Be proud? Because in battle I lived and did not fall?
Just welcome those on that cold, black granite Wall.
Pfc Rick Maddy USMC/Ret/medical
1st Div 3/5 Kilo Co 0311
3rd Platoon Jan-Feb 28, 1968
**************************************************
WE WENT TO BOOT CAMP YOUNG AND OLD,
SOME WERE SCARED AND SOME WERE BOLD.
AND WHILE IN BOOT CAMP, DRESSED IN GREEN,
THE IN'S WORKED TO MAKE US MEAN.
THE JOBS THEY GAVE US, HARD AND EASY,
MADE MUSCLES SORE. AND STOMACHS QUEASY.
THEN OUT OF BOOT CAMP WITH A BASIC SKILL,
THE LESSONS LEARNED, READY TO KILL.
FIGHTING MEN BOTH GOOD AND BAD,
SURELY THE BEST OUR COUNTRY HAD.
SENT TO BASES, FORTS AND CAMPS,
TO FURTHER OUR TRAINING, TO MAKE US CHAMPS.
DAY'S MORE TRAINING, MANY HOURS MORE DRILL,
TO HONE OUR KNOWLEDGE ON HOW TO KILL.
ORDERS CAME AND THEY WOULD SAY,
PACK YOUR GEAR, ON YOUR WAY.
SOME WENT EARLY, SOME WENT LATE,
THE BRASS CONTROLLED US, IT WAS NOT FATE.
SO WITH ARMOR FLAK VESTS OLIVE GREEN AND HOLDING HIGH OUR M-16S,
THEY CALLED US GRUNTS, A FIGHTING MACHINE.
THOUGH THEY CALLED US MEN, WE WERE REALLY BOYS,
SENT TO WAR WITH HI-TECH TOYS.
PLANE BY PLANE WE LEFT THESE SHORES,
OFF TO JUNGLES, OFF TO WARS.
THE WARS HAD RULES, JUST LIKE A GAME,
AND RULES KILLED GRUNTS, WE STILL FEEL THE PAIN.
IT WAS TO WAR WE WENT, THAT YOUTHFUL GANG,
BUT WE CAN'T TELL OUR STORIES, BECAUSE OUR BUDDIES WILL HANG.
THE NAMES CALLEY, MEDINA AND HAIG YOU'VE HEARD,
BUT OF BAGGOTT, RAYMOND AND SKI, NOT A WORD.
I'M SURE YOU'VE HEARD STORIES, SOME FALSE AND SOME TRUE,
BUT THE MOST TRAGIC STORIES HAVE BEEN KEPT FROM YOU.
ABOUT GUYS IN THERE ARMOR DYING SO FAST,
CAUSED BY STUPID DECISIONS MADE BY THE BRASS.
.
SO HERE IS A STORY YOU'LL FIND HARD TO BELIEVE,
A STORY OF HONOR AND A PLACE I CAN'T LEAVE.
EVEN NOW THAT IT 'S OVER, THAT GAME CALLED WAR,
I'LL TELL YOU OF BRAVERY BY MEN WHO'RE NO MORE.
THE STORY IS OF BAGGOTT, RAYMOND AND SKI,
AND MANY MORE MEN WITH UNKNOWN NAMES,
MEN WHO GOT MEDALS FOR ALL OF THEIR PAINS.
THE DAY WAS TWO SIX OF SIXTY EIGHT,
WE SAT IN OUR FOXHOLES BUILDING UP HATE.
THE TIME WAS ABOUT THREE, WE'D BEEN WATCHING ALL DAY,
WITH LITTLE TO DO AND LITTLE TO SAY.
WE HAD WAITED ALL DAY FOR SOMETHING WE FELT,
ALWAYS CHECKING OUR GEAR AND HOLDING OUR BELT.
CHECK THE ROUNDS ONCE, AND HAND GRENADES TWICE,
SITTING IN THE BLOCKING FORCE SURE WAS NICE.
BUT ORDERS WERE GIVEN SOON AFTER RECEIVED,
AND WE MANEUVERED TO A PLACE WE COULDN'T BELIEVE.
SOME THOUGHT THE DAY OVER, SOON WE'LL HAVE FOOD AND TO BED,
BUT THAT WAS A DREAM ONLY WISHED IN OUR HEADS.
THE LT. MANEUVERED US RIGHT AND THEN LEFT,
WITH BAYONETS FIXED, IT WAS US SHOULD HAVE LEFT.
ONLY SNIPERS WE WERE TOLD, APPROXIMATELY TEN,
AND THE TANKS AND OTHERS HAD KILLED MOST OF THEM.
THE LT. WAS SAYING THAT IT WOULD BE EASY,
BUT OUR MUSCLES WERE TENSE AND OUR STOMACHS QUEASY,
SCHOOLING WAS GIVEN USE, USE IT THEY SAID,
FAILURE TO DO SO MIGHT MAKE YOU DEAD.
ON LINE WE CONTINUED, TOWARDS THE TREE LINE EYES FIXED,
AND WE ALL HAD FEELINGS EXTREMELY MIXED.
TO THE LEFT AND IN FRONT WAS A KNOCKED OUT TANK,
BUT WE KEPT ON ADVANCING ON ORDERS FROM RANK.
WE ALL KNEW THE TURRET OF THAT NOW USELESS TANK,
WAS AS THICK AS THE VAULT YOU'D FIND IN A BANK.
LT. I CALLED YOU MUST BE WRONG,
TO KNOCK OUT OUR TANK THE ENEMY IS STRONG.
THE ENEMIES WEAPON TO STOP OUR TANK,
IS A SHOULDER FIRED ROCKET YOU CAN BET YOUR RANK.
NOW ROCKETS ARE SERVED BY AN ENEMY CREW
SOMETHING SOLDIERS ARE TAUGHT, AND THE BRASS SURELY KNEW.
AND ROCKETS ARE NOT ATTACHED TO ENEMY SNIPERS,
BUT THIS ... OUR LT. COULD NOT DECIPHER.
WE'D TOLD HIM OUR FEARS AND THE REASON WHY,
THAT WE SHOULD FEAR THE TREE LINE WHERE THE ENEMY LIE.
BUT, HE IGNORED THE FACTS AND THE OBVIOUS SIGN,
AND CONTINUED TO MANEUVERED US FORWARD, FORWARD ON LINE.
IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG FOR OUR FEARS TO PROVE REAL,
AND "ONLY A FEW SNIPERS',' WAS NOT THE TRUE DEAL.
THE TWO FORTY FIRST REGIMENT, THREE HUNDRED PLUS STRONG,
WAS DUG IN THAT TREE LINE, THE LT. WAS WRONG.
IN SECONDS MOST MEN WE'D GONE IN WITH ON LINE,
SUFFERED GUNSHOTS TO HEADS, CHESTS AND A SPINE.
OUR PLATOON SGT. BAGGOTT BEGAN TO SHOUT,
WITHDRAW TO THE REAR, WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT.
HE MUST HAVE BEEN SCARED, BUT STOOD HIS GROUND,
WHAT HE DIDN'T KNOW IS HIS GLORY HE'D FOUND.
WHILE WITH ENEMY WEAPON, AND FIRING HIS BEST,
HE WAS STRUCK BY A ROCKET, SQUARE IN HIS CHEST.
TALIEFERRO HIS RADIO OPERATOR WAS CAPTURED THAT DAY,
AND THOUGH SHOT SEVENTEEN TIMES ESCAPED TWO WEEKS LATER TO THE DAY.
AND THEN THERE WAS RAYMOND WHO BELIEVED IN THE BRASS,
BUT SOON WAS SHOT AND FELL BACK IN THE GRASS.
YOU SEE, RAYMOND WAS YOUNG AND BOLD IN HIS HEART,
WHICH CONTROLLED HIS DESTINY RIGHT FROM THE START.
HE TRULY BELIEVED THE SNIPERS WERE THERE,
SO HE FAILED TO CROUCH DOWN AND WALKED FORWARD WITHOUT CARE.
I GUESS HE WAS THINKING HE'D COME TO NO HARM,
BUT WITHIN SECONDS HE'D BOUGHT THE FARM.
AN ENEMY ROUND HAD PIERCE HIS HELMET AND HEAD,
HE ASKED FOR HIS MOTHER AND THEN HE WAS DEAD.
THEN THERE WAS SGT. "SKI", A MANLY TYPE,
ALWAYS SHOUTING ORDERS AND THREATENING TO WRITE.
WRITE WHAT? YOU SAY, IN COMBAT THAT DAY,
WHY CHARGES ON ME FOR NOT WEARING MY FLAK VEST,
I SHOULD HAVE WORN MINE LIKE ALL THE REST
I'LL BUST YOU HE SAID, YOU'VE BROKEN A RULE,
THE FLACK VESTS WERE MANDATORY, WE LEARNED THAT IN SCHOOL
HE WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG
IF YOU WENT BY THE BOOK,
AND I KNEW HE WAS SERIOUS JUST BY HIS LOOK.
BUT THINGS HAD A WAY OF CHANGING THAT DAY,
AND SOON "SKI". WAS BEGGING US NOT TO LEAVE, BUT TO STAY.
YOU SEE, HE'D BEEN SHOT IN THE SPINE IN VERY SHORT TIME,
AND FEARED THAT WE'D LEAVE HIM WOUNDED BEHIND.
BUT FEAR HE NEED NOT, WE WEREN'T TO LEAVE,
WOUNDED WERE NEVER LEFT, WE'D BEEN TAUGHT TO BELIEVE.
SO OUR GROUND WE HELD ON THAT FATEFUL DAY,
AND BUDDIES WERE LOST I'M SORRY TO SAY.
AND MOST FOUND A PLACE IN HISTORY THAT DAY,
SIXTY THREE IN ALL, PLUS OR MINUS I'D SAY.
AND IF MEMORY SERVES ME CORRECTLY, ALL BUT SEVEN WERE SHOT,
AND THANKS TO THE LORD, ONE OF THEM I WAS NOT.
THE LT. WAS AWARDED SOME KIND OF STAR,
AND MOVED UP TO DIVISION, GOOD THING IT WAS FAR.
SGT. BAGGOTT WAS AWARDED THE NAVY CROSS,
THE RECOMMENDATION FOR THE MEDAL OF HONOR HE'D SOMEHOW LOST.
SILVER AND BRONZE STARS WERE EARNED BY MANY THAT DAY,
AND I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE I'M NOW PROUD TO SAY.
BECAUSE I 'D THREATENED THE LT. AND BEEN HEARD TO
"HE'D BETTER STAY CLEAR AND OUT OF MY WAY."
IT WAS WAR WE WERE IN AND NOT A GAME,
WE WANTED TO LIVE AND NOT DIE WITH FAME.
SO PLEASE DON'T FORGET THEM, THE MEN AND THEIR PAIN,
AND THE DAYS OF GRIEF AND THE TEARS SHED LIKE RAIN.
THE VIETNAM WAR
THE FIRST IN YEARS.
WAS A WAR WITH NO GOAL,
A WAR OF TEARS!
TEARS SHED BY PARENTS,
CHILDREN AND WIVES.
CRYING FOR LOVED ONES,
WHO HAVE LAID DOWN THEIR LIVES.
EVEN NOW LOOKING BACK,
THOUGH YEARS HAVE PAST.
TRYING TO HONOR THESE VIET NAM VETERANS AT LAST.
BUT WHAT OF THE MEN WHO DIDN'T COME HOME,
THE MEN WHO ARE NOW,
ALL ALONE.
IT'S TO THOSE WHO ARE MISSING,
AND FELL SILENT WITHOUT PRAISE,
THAT WE MUST NOT FORGET FOR THE
REST OF OUR DAYS.
RESPECTFULLY,
ONE OF THE MANY
Written by Ed
Peruta in 1985
**************************************************
Second Poem PTSD 95
Written by Ed
Peruta
I AM STILL A WARRIOR
FIGHTING IN THE
MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS OF PTSD
2:56AM
I am still a warrior,
Always seeking the safety of the mountain tops high ground because it is
easier to
defend and fight from.
I know, and expect, that I will be asked to move my location.
To prepare again, to take another mountain top
It is a long chain of mountains since February of 1968.
But the battle is still raging for the truth.
Between each mountain there are always valleys, valleys that must be descended
into, searched and crossed, in order to reach and take the next strategic
mountain top.
It is often the enemies practice to hide among the civilian population,
like
cowards In their attempt to conceal their true identity.
But if you listen closely to what they say, or watch closely at what they
do,
you will know them. The enemy is government officials, who lie, and distort
facts.
Their best units consist of well paid attorneys who specialize in the tactics
of deception and delay of the truth, on the part of their leaders.
But I am still a warrior,
I acquire strength and feel comfort knowing that I am surrounded by friends
who
saw these mountains and understand the meaning of having to take the high
ground from the enemy.
We arc trained to "SEEK OUT, CAPTURE AND DESTROY, ALL ENEMY
PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT."
And I am.. .still. . .a warrior,
When I sleep, I visit with other warriors.
I spend my time telling them of what is currently happening in this world
that
they no longer know.
But I know ... that they have also taken mountain tops, and I regularly
seek
their counsel.
I listen to their thoughts and words of wisdom.
They guide me in search of the truth.
They know I am still a warrior.
One of them,
And they are still alive and fighting alongside of me and sometimes inside
of me.
I am welcome around the midnight fires of these fallen warriors.
I am offered food, drink and advice on how to take the next enemy mountain.
At times, I weaken and break down from the exhaustion of midnight planning
and mental re-supply.
I sometimes know and feel the fear that I may suffer total failure, after
losing a battle in this long mountain war.
But I also know the feeling of reaching the summit of the enemy mountain
top.
And the emotion of looking back over your shoulder, at those who didn't
reach
the top along side of me.
I am still a warrior, constantly counseled and comforted by other fallen
warriors.
While seeking to take each new mountain top, One by one.
I will name each mountain top as I stand on the enemies biggest mountains.
It feels good to keep promises made long ago to those who can now only
speak in my dreams. They will not be forgotten, and they will live with,
and
in me, until I live no longer.
ED
PERUTA, USMC - 2239625
K Company Third Battalion Fifth Marine Regiment First Marine Division TET
68
**************************************************
The following was received by email from Jim
Bisesi
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.
"Your son
is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several
times before the patient's eyes opened. Heavily sedated because of the
pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young man in the Marine Corps
uniform standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand.
The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp
ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement. The nurse brought a
chair so that the Marine could sit alongside the bed.
Nights are long in hospitals but all through the night the young Marine
sat there
in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him
words of
love and strength.
Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.
He refused.
Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her
and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen
tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings,
the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words.
The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the
night.
Along towards dawn, the old man died.
The Marine placed the lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell
the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited. Finally, she
returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine
interrupted her. "Who was that man?" he asked.
The nurse was startled, "He was your father" she answered.
"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never
saw him before in my life."
"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I knew right away, there had been a mistake, but I also knew he neededhis
son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick
to tell whether or not I was his son, I knew how much he needed me. I stayed."
The next time someone needs you be there. Stay. You'll be glad you did.
Blessings today, my friends!
**************************************************
This is a copy of a card I carried in my wallet during my
tour of Vietnam.
The card was given to me by the Chaplain of Kilo 3/5.
Cpl.
David L . Denny
Dec.1967- May 1968
A card carrying member of Kilo 3/5
Semper Fi
*******************************************
I am enclosing something I wrote many years ago. I was reading
your
poems pages and thought of sending this. Use it on your page, if you
wish. It was written about my time in Vietnam with Delta 1/4. But it
covers many wars. I think of my Father in WWII when I read it, and how
lonely he must have been, not being able to share his thoughts with his
fellow soldiers after the war. I added Kilo 3/5, because that was my
first duty station after boot, and the guys I went to Vietnam with, to
become B&D 1/3, then D 1/4.
Red
Dog
GAMES PEOPLE PLAY
I was watching my son Little Dave, as he played the game of
war, but in his eyes, I saw a strange reflection, of the plastic men on
the floor.
I saw the bombs explode, and life come to a cease, and I ask myself, is
this for peace, or is it just a game that people play?
As his men lay wounded, and dying
on the floor,
My mind raced back, to a war,
over twenty years before.
Look-it Daddy, this one's shot in the neck,
He's got no words to say…
This is the corpsman Captain, I need a med-a-vac,
this man is dying, or is it just a game that people play
Dad, would you give me my chopper,
it landed under the chair…
Get away from it men, it's gonna blow,
and there's VC everywhere.
This one got blown up,
he lost his arms and feet,
Can you put him back together Dad.... Dad,
is that a tear on your cheek?
Did the President ever declare a war,
or did he ever say?
Did he really want to beat the VC, or,
was it just a game he wanted to play?
I'll hide this one under the rug,
and this one on the chair…
We were caught in an ambush Sarge,
we barely got out of there.
I've got six men broken,
and my jeep won't wind up anymore…
Lord, please get me home alive,
and end this crazy war.
Delta six, this is Delta one,
we need a air strike right away.
Their all around us sir, we'll dig in,
this is one game I don't want to play.
I'm gonna stop for awhile Daddy,
and go get something to eat…
OK men, smoke-um if ya got um,
take five, get off your feet.
Dad, I can't play all day,
maybe we should go to the show…
Just four months in country,
God, I've got nine more to go.
Can I close the shades,
and see if my tank will glow at night…?
Pull-um in tight Sarge, it's dark,
we're in for a hell of a fight
I'm getting mighty thirsty, can I have a pop,
I thought I had better ask…
Don't eat the ice, men,
It may be full of ground up glass.
This guy's my hero Dad,
He's the best of all my men…
Just call me Sarge lads,
It wouldn't do to be my friend.
I'm gonna pick my men up,
and put them all away.
Come on Dad, please don't cry,
It's just a game that people play.
Author
RED DOG
Copyright 1999 by David
T. Roberts
KILO Company 3/5
March 64 / September 65
****************************************************
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