Suddenly you are aware
you have reached
the hard-packed
beach,
and throw yourself
down.
You hug the earth
to catch your breath
and peer around you
as the battle rages
from every port and cranny.
Your courage has not
left you,
you muster it somehow
as you crawl forward
to find some kind of
safety
beside a shattered wall.
The sounds around you
are deafening,
the screams the worst of all,
you see the carnage
happening
forever you will
recall!
You gain the presence
of your mind,
you now know
you're intent.
Forgotten is your
frozen fear,
you know what
you must do.
The rifle you
have nursed ashore
feels strong within
your grasp.
The flashes that you
first observed
continue to
burst forth,
the static sound
is uppermost
in your mind.
The pack that
hindered
your advance
you shed from
off your back,
and turn your
attention to
the job at hand!
You slide forward
along the sand
as black as holy hell,
keeping close
to sheltered wall.
A mortar shell
lands near you,
its metal screams
past your ears.
Your helmet keeps
you covered,
you could almost cheer!
The gun you came to get
is but scant feet away,
its fire above your head.
"Keep crawling!" so
you tell yourself,
"To make this one
count!"
You hold the grenade
in your right hand,
tear out the pin
with teeth,
partly rise to
arch you arm
and let the missile go!
It arches in
a lazy curve
and enters
into the slot.
The sound it makes
is like a cord
plucked on
harps of gold.
No longer does
the chatter sound,
its silence is all
golden.
You feel like
you've done your best
but there is
no time to rest,
the battle is not over.
And so it goes
from man to man,
each doing best he can.
The sum and total
of it all
is some men live
and some men fall.
Some stay alive
to tell us all!
* * *
About the author: Robert Cook served with Reg. Weapons Co.(2d-2d) from 1942~44, at Guadalcanal and Tarawa, during a 33-month overseas tour.
