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Vietnam Vet. '69-'70 CW3, 982A, Army Security Agency
A poem from then:
THE DISTANT CALL OF WAR
It is the grit and the grind of war that appalls
as with each dawn I awake with hesitation and caution.
For I know not what awaits my open eyes, the smolder of fire,
or the stench of roasted flesh and broken bone.
Maybe a beautiful blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds.
Or perhaps just the deadly silence afore the attack,
when all things cease to move,
even the wind withers just before the rush of the first mortar round.
Eyes go large round and the call rings out ? Incoming! ? get down!
Dirt, dust, smoke, the ringing sound of metal on metal
mixed with the greasy smell of water-proofing,
mildew, cordite, sweat, bug repellent, napalm, and fear.
Both yours and his.
Get that flack-jacket and steel pot on, enough time for the boots?
Hell yes, you may have to run.
And grab your weapon.
Go!
Fear is the part that makes you mad,
how dare some other little fellow impress it upon you.
You?ll shoot him if you can, or stick him if he?s close,
just to return the token of his fear back into him.
For such is the mind of a soldier in combat, it?s just
a part of the grit and grind of war.
It?s nothing new, nor anything to be proud of.
The scary part is that the next time around it feels
much more like a normal state of affairs, and so on
with the battle we go.
Ronald A. Waldron
1970
A poem from then:
THE DISTANT CALL OF WAR
It is the grit and the grind of war that appalls
as with each dawn I awake with hesitation and caution.
For I know not what awaits my open eyes, the smolder of fire,
or the stench of roasted flesh and broken bone.
Maybe a beautiful blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds.
Or perhaps just the deadly silence afore the attack,
when all things cease to move,
even the wind withers just before the rush of the first mortar round.
Eyes go large round and the call rings out ? Incoming! ? get down!
Dirt, dust, smoke, the ringing sound of metal on metal
mixed with the greasy smell of water-proofing,
mildew, cordite, sweat, bug repellent, napalm, and fear.
Both yours and his.
Get that flack-jacket and steel pot on, enough time for the boots?
Hell yes, you may have to run.
And grab your weapon.
Go!
Fear is the part that makes you mad,
how dare some other little fellow impress it upon you.
You?ll shoot him if you can, or stick him if he?s close,
just to return the token of his fear back into him.
For such is the mind of a soldier in combat, it?s just
a part of the grit and grind of war.
It?s nothing new, nor anything to be proud of.
The scary part is that the next time around it feels
much more like a normal state of affairs, and so on
with the battle we go.
Ronald A. Waldron
1970