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Posted: 11/10/2001 1:12:34 PM EDT
[Last Edit: 11/10/2001 1:12:12 PM EDT by Striker]
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 1:17:33 PM EDT
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 2:20:21 PM EDT
I was at the battlefield around Ipier Belgium where "Flanders Fields" was written a few years ago.. I was with the father of a friend who lives there. He gave me a tour of the area and of his gun collection. That is a story for another time. I owe all veterans a debt that I can not repay.
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 2:25:28 PM EDT
Bren Gun carrier? Where can I get one? So well liked, even the Germans used them.
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 3:51:40 PM EDT
[Last Edit: 11/10/2001 3:46:03 PM EDT by Striker]
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 5:06:50 PM EDT
Striker, I hope you can get the Bren Gun Carrier out in HONOR of your two friends and to all of those who have gave their lives for our freedoms. Most people have no idea what living in a war zone is like, let alone to make the ultimate sacrifice for your fellow bothers around you. We must never forget…unfortunately that is what is really happening in this country. I know I will always remember the countless souls that have crossed over and I know that someday I will join my fellow brothers. Good Luck
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 5:14:32 PM EDT
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 5:46:34 PM EDT
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 5:50:20 PM EDT
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 5:50:45 PM EDT
Link Posted: 11/10/2001 10:04:41 PM EDT
From Ted Nugents board: WHAT IS A VET? Some veterans bear visible signs of their service:a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking. So What is a VET? He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel. He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel. She or He is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang. He is the POW who went away one person and came back another or didn't come back AT ALL. He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs. He is the parade riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand. He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by. He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep. He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket palsied now and aggravatingly slow who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come. He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs. He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known. So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded. Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU!" Remember November 11th is Veterans Day! "It is the soldier, not the reporter, Who has given us freedom of the press." "It is the soldier, not the poet, Who has given us freedom of speech." "It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate." "It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag." Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC To those who served in all wars Thank You and Welcome Home!!
Link Posted: 11/11/2001 7:19:56 AM EDT
GOD BLESS ALL VETS! http://www.snipercountry.com/articles.htm I Am The Flag Of The United States of America -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am the flag of the United States of America. My name is Old Glory. I fly atop the world's tallest buildings. I stand watch in America's halls of justice. I fly majestically over institutions of learning. I stand guard with power in the world. Look up and see me. I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice. I stand for freedom. I am confident. I am arrogant. I am proud. When I am flown with my fellow banners, my head is a little higher, my colors a little truer. I bow to no one! I am recognized all over the world. I am worshipped - I am saluted. I am loved - I am revered. I am respected - and I am feared. I have fought in every battle of every war for more then 200 years. I was flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appamatox. I was there at San Juan Hill, the trenches of France, in the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome and the beaches of Normandy, Guam. Okinawa, Korea and KheSan, Saigon, Vietnam know me, I was there. I led my troops, I was dirty, battleworn and tired, but my soldiers cheered me And I was proud. I have been burned, torn and trampled on the streets of countries I have helped set free. It does not hurt, for I am invincible. I have been soiled upon, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of my country. And when it's by those whom I've served in battle - it hurts. But I shall overcome - for I am strong. I have slipped the bonds of Earth and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space from my vantage point on the moon. I have borne silent witness to all of America's finest hours. But my finest hours are yet to come. When I am torn into strips and used as bandages for my wounded comrades on the battlefield, When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier, Or when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent at the grave of their fallen son or daughter, I am proud. MY NAME IS OLD GLORY LONG MAY I WAVE. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN LONG MAY I WAVE! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Note: This was posted on the Duty Roster in the aftermath of the terrible attacks on the World Trade Center in New York and the Pentagon in Washington. It also arrived in many mailboxes all over the world. As such we do not have any idea of the origin of this, but we post it as it really is a piece of excellence.
Link Posted: 11/11/2001 11:17:19 AM EDT
Twas the night before Christmas He lived all alone, In a one bedroom house made of Plaster and Stone. I had come down the Chimney With presents to give. And to see just who In this home did live. I looked all about A strange sight I did see. No tinsel, No presents, Not even a tree. No stocking by the mantle, Just boots filled with sand. On the wall hung pictures Of far distant lands. With medals and badges, Awards of all kinds, A sober thought Came through my mind. For this house was different, It was dark and dreary, I found the home of a soldier, Once I could see clearly. The soldier lay sleeping, Silent, alone, Curled up on the floor In this one bedroom home. The face was so gentle, The room in such disorder, Not how I pictured A United States Soldier. Was this the hero Of whom I'd just read? Curled up on a Poncho, The floor for a bed? I realized the families That I saw this night, Owed their lives to these soldiers Who were willing to fight. Soon round the world, The children would play, And grownup would celebrate A bright Christmas Day. They all enjoyed freedom Each month of the year, Because of the soldiers, Like the one lying here. I couldn't help wonder How many lay alone, On a cold Christmas Eve In a land far from home. The very thought Brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees And started to Cry. The soldier awakened And I heard a rough voice, "Santa don't cry, This life is my choice." The soldier rolled over And drifted to sleep, I couldn't control it, I continued to weep. I kept watch for hours, So silent and still And we both shivered From the cold nights chill. I didn't want to leave On that cold, dark, night, This guardian of Honor So willing to fight. The soldier rolled over, With a voice soft and pure, Whispered, "Carry on Santa, It's Christmas Day, All is secure." One look at my watch, And I knew he was right. "Merry Christmas my friend. And to all a good night." This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan.
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