Brave young sergeant
So young, so beautiful
It's the night before deportation
And he's thinking hard.
Brave young wife
So young, so beautiful
It's the night before his deportation
And she's crying hard.
"Hush," he says, "Hush.
I'm coming back.
One way or another
I promise I'll be return."
The night is over
Passing like sand through a sieve.
A truck rumbles up at six o'clock
And she knows it's his.
No words can suffice
Her hands feel like ice
As he kisses her goodbye
And leaves her with a sigh.
The plane is ready to go.
He's trying not to let it show
How he wishes she had said something
Anything but goodbye.
His paratroop platoon is waiting
All look to their lieutenant for assurance.
His severe face meets them all
And they sense his inference.
It's night again before they reach their mark.
By the time it's drop point, it's dark.
The back of the plane opens, the jungle's below
Lieutenant yells, "It's time to go!"
He's one of the last to jump
One of the few to live.
Falling men all around
Dying men hit the ground.
Whoosh! Chute's open.
The wind squeezes tears from his eyes.
Gunfire roars below
And bullets whip by as he flies.
The lieutenant's still alive, he sees
Half his platoon is gone.
The rest know what they have to do
They won't quit till they're through.
Humidity, dense unfamiliar jungle.
A cream to the left says
Booby traps are set in place
And a soldier's life is stolen.
They know what they are searching for:
The enemy's back.
He thinks, "How can we find it
Wandering in the black?"
Lieutenant stops and hisses, "Sergeant!"
The young man rushes forward.
The map flashes under the light
Neither man says a word.
On the map, Sergeant X's the drop.
Further up, the enemy lines are marked.
He checks his compass and the map
And puts them back in his pack.
Lieutenant nods, onward they go
Marching until daylight
Then hiding and sleeping
Preparing for a fight.
Sergeant's on watch,
Hidden in the green.
In just one hour
They'll be on with Operation Queen.
The plan of action
Is to take them by surprise.
Attack from behind
He didn't know if that was wise.
Lieutenant awoke, counted squads.
All that remained headed on
The enemy awaited, a snake on their path,
Ready to strike at them in wrath.
"There they are! Fire! Open fire!"
Bullets fly from the M-16's.
Grenades take out dozens
Of tightly packed Vietnamese.
Sergeant fires well,
Rarely missing his mark.
The sniper of the group
Covers from fire in the jungle.
Sticky, sweaty, nasty, tired
His comrades push forward, slowly falling.
He picks up his gun and throws a grenade
The blast is deafening, gore appalling.
"God help us," he thinks.
"The lieutenant is dead."
Sergeant has just been promoted.
The troops are weary in stalemate.
The enemy will not surrender
The casualties are getting heavy.
There won't be any relief
Just their own sleep.
To give the Marines a chance to advance
He must decide if they stay or go.
Cowardice is weakness.
They stay.
By dawn's early light
The camp is conquered.
Operation Queen was a success
If only by so many deaths.
Sergeant's squad, his friends, his comrades
All but two had died.
His body is riddled with blood
And his eyes look far away.
Sticky, sweaty, nasty, tired,
Sarge has survived.
He and the others
Together make five.
One night's sleep, one hot meal
Tomorrow's another day in Hell.
The picture of her brings him comfort
As he writes a letter to her:
"Dearest love," it read,
"After all this, I may be dead.
And if I never see your face again,
I hope you understand."
"This is all I could ever be.
If I ever feel this place again,
It will be Hell.
Forever is just a useless word"
"To measure how much I love you,
I'll never be able to tell you how.
Don't live in sorrow
If I can't come live with you."
"I'm keeping my promise,
I'll come back however I can.
It may not be as we planned
And if you receive this letter, I'm dead."
He folded the letter, put it in his pocket.
The next morning it was stained with blood.
He lived, the Sergeant lived.
He lived with a bullet in his heart.
Today she looks at the words on the bloody slip of paper
She found in his things in 2006 when he died.
She re-reads it for the second time since then
And just cries, as if she'd never before cried.
Her shaky hands lay the rose on his grave
And his comrades salute their sergeant.
Through World War II and Vietnam, he led them
The group's wrinkled faces remember well.
She kisses the stone and says a prayer
He's not nearby; she's painfully aware
That her life is empty without the soldier
The paratrooper that we remember today.
Memorial Day