dwarven1
Lonely Mountain Arms
Shamelessly stolen from www.rwva.org
A VETERAN’S TALE.
As soon as I was assigned, I was paired up with Tommy. We went through basic together. He was just a little guy, and being the size I am, I probably scared him a little. He’d heard somewhere that I was pretty tough in a scrap, and he was a little cautious when we first met. But we soon became good buddies out on the ranges. He was a farm kid from Iowa, and he’d always had use of a rifle from the time he was old enough for the responsibility, so we got on really well after I’d shown him a few things. I was really proud of him when he scored Sharpshooter at Qualifications.
It wasn’t long before we were shipped to England. We went into a tent camp, and we were always getting wet. Tommy was the kind of kid to always look after his buddies, so there he’d be, making sure I was dried off and settled before ever he looked after himself. We knew we could count on each other when the going got tough, as it was sure to do.
Next thing I knew, there we were in a landing craft, headed in to Omaha Beach. There was a lot of noise, and the spray was coming in over the side from nearby shell bursts. We jarred onto the beach, the ramp went down, and we lit out running. Suddenly, there was a big bang, and we were thrown in the air. We hit hard. I was lying in a puddle of seawater, wet again, and I couldn’t move. My pal Tommy was dead, just like that. Later on, somebody picked me up and took me back to where I could get some first aid and tender care for a few days. Then I was teamed up with Georgie Boy.
His name really was Aloysius, but he was from Georgia, so everybody called him Georgie Boy. He didn’t seem to mind at all. Georgie didn’t take care of me the way Tommy had, but we each did our job and we got along OK. Georgie was killed by a sniper in a little French village. When he was shot I hit the ground a little too hard, so it was off to the rear again for a few days to recover and be re-assigned.
Two days passed, and I was paired up with a lanky fella from Texas. We were a real team. If there was a job that needed real marksmen, Tex and I got the call. Many’s the time we had to hunker under cover until we got an opportunity to go to work, but eventually we’d get the job done and the unit could move on. One day Tex and I got picked for point duty. Tex stepped on a shuh mine and lost a leg. I caught a little shrapnel, so it was back to the rear for patchup, again, and a new partner, again.
Bill and I were together for quite a long time, months, it was. We just kept slogging along, doing our job. It looked like the war was about over, which was good because our unit was away below strength. We finally got to rest in a place they called The Ardennes. Just as I was getting used to being cold (and wet) all day, the krauts hit us with everything they had in what became the Battle of the Bulge. Bill got wounded real bad, and I was unable to move, again. So Bill shoved me under some brush and surrendered. I heard the krauts talking about sending his batch of prisoners to a place called Malmedy. I never did see Bill again.
A Belgian farmer out looking for firewood found me and took me home. He just couldn’t figure out what I really needed, and I sure wanted to get back to my outfit. He hailed a passing jeep, and I got yet another ride to the rear. After suitable time getting my little hurts attended to, I was sent to the repple depple and assigned to yet another partner, Jim.
We made it all the way into Germany together, and were together on the troopship home. Before we got our discharge, we all got shined up pretty for the big ticker-tape parade down some big street in New York City. Boy, we sure looked good! Jim went home to his wife and kids, but I stayed in the service. It was my life.
A few years went sleepily by when all of a sudden I was yanked out of my peacetime assignment and sent to Japan. There, I partnered up with another young guy just out of basic and sent to a real cold place called Korea. An old vet like me, I got so cold and stiff I could hardly do my job! But, I DID do it, and Frank, the young partner I had, quickly learned to rely on this old vet when the chips were down, yes, sir! We were only there a year, and when we got back to the States I swore my days of running up and down freezing hills were over. I just wanted a peaceful retirement. So the service found me a nice place to rest awhile, with regular checkups to make sure I was still fit enough for service if they needed me.
Well, youngster, I’m still here! Ready, willing and able! I know, I know, my military career wasn’t that spectacular, I just did my job. You might say those fellas I served with actually carried me through all those actions. They did the dying, and they got the medals: I didn’t even get a Purple Heart! But if you want to try to live up to the standards of patriotism they sacrificed themselves for, I’ll partner with you. Of course, to meet me and get to know me better, you’d better join the RWVA. Then you can send for me. I’m presently with the CMP.
Oh, who am I? Why, boy, I’m the Yankee from Springfield, the M1 Rifle, and proud of it! And, while I have your attention... do I hear a drum somewhere?
A VETERAN’S TALE.
As soon as I was assigned, I was paired up with Tommy. We went through basic together. He was just a little guy, and being the size I am, I probably scared him a little. He’d heard somewhere that I was pretty tough in a scrap, and he was a little cautious when we first met. But we soon became good buddies out on the ranges. He was a farm kid from Iowa, and he’d always had use of a rifle from the time he was old enough for the responsibility, so we got on really well after I’d shown him a few things. I was really proud of him when he scored Sharpshooter at Qualifications.
It wasn’t long before we were shipped to England. We went into a tent camp, and we were always getting wet. Tommy was the kind of kid to always look after his buddies, so there he’d be, making sure I was dried off and settled before ever he looked after himself. We knew we could count on each other when the going got tough, as it was sure to do.
Next thing I knew, there we were in a landing craft, headed in to Omaha Beach. There was a lot of noise, and the spray was coming in over the side from nearby shell bursts. We jarred onto the beach, the ramp went down, and we lit out running. Suddenly, there was a big bang, and we were thrown in the air. We hit hard. I was lying in a puddle of seawater, wet again, and I couldn’t move. My pal Tommy was dead, just like that. Later on, somebody picked me up and took me back to where I could get some first aid and tender care for a few days. Then I was teamed up with Georgie Boy.
His name really was Aloysius, but he was from Georgia, so everybody called him Georgie Boy. He didn’t seem to mind at all. Georgie didn’t take care of me the way Tommy had, but we each did our job and we got along OK. Georgie was killed by a sniper in a little French village. When he was shot I hit the ground a little too hard, so it was off to the rear again for a few days to recover and be re-assigned.
Two days passed, and I was paired up with a lanky fella from Texas. We were a real team. If there was a job that needed real marksmen, Tex and I got the call. Many’s the time we had to hunker under cover until we got an opportunity to go to work, but eventually we’d get the job done and the unit could move on. One day Tex and I got picked for point duty. Tex stepped on a shuh mine and lost a leg. I caught a little shrapnel, so it was back to the rear for patchup, again, and a new partner, again.
Bill and I were together for quite a long time, months, it was. We just kept slogging along, doing our job. It looked like the war was about over, which was good because our unit was away below strength. We finally got to rest in a place they called The Ardennes. Just as I was getting used to being cold (and wet) all day, the krauts hit us with everything they had in what became the Battle of the Bulge. Bill got wounded real bad, and I was unable to move, again. So Bill shoved me under some brush and surrendered. I heard the krauts talking about sending his batch of prisoners to a place called Malmedy. I never did see Bill again.
A Belgian farmer out looking for firewood found me and took me home. He just couldn’t figure out what I really needed, and I sure wanted to get back to my outfit. He hailed a passing jeep, and I got yet another ride to the rear. After suitable time getting my little hurts attended to, I was sent to the repple depple and assigned to yet another partner, Jim.
We made it all the way into Germany together, and were together on the troopship home. Before we got our discharge, we all got shined up pretty for the big ticker-tape parade down some big street in New York City. Boy, we sure looked good! Jim went home to his wife and kids, but I stayed in the service. It was my life.
A few years went sleepily by when all of a sudden I was yanked out of my peacetime assignment and sent to Japan. There, I partnered up with another young guy just out of basic and sent to a real cold place called Korea. An old vet like me, I got so cold and stiff I could hardly do my job! But, I DID do it, and Frank, the young partner I had, quickly learned to rely on this old vet when the chips were down, yes, sir! We were only there a year, and when we got back to the States I swore my days of running up and down freezing hills were over. I just wanted a peaceful retirement. So the service found me a nice place to rest awhile, with regular checkups to make sure I was still fit enough for service if they needed me.
Well, youngster, I’m still here! Ready, willing and able! I know, I know, my military career wasn’t that spectacular, I just did my job. You might say those fellas I served with actually carried me through all those actions. They did the dying, and they got the medals: I didn’t even get a Purple Heart! But if you want to try to live up to the standards of patriotism they sacrificed themselves for, I’ll partner with you. Of course, to meet me and get to know me better, you’d better join the RWVA. Then you can send for me. I’m presently with the CMP.
Oh, who am I? Why, boy, I’m the Yankee from Springfield, the M1 Rifle, and proud of it! And, while I have your attention... do I hear a drum somewhere?
![[rolleyes]](/xen/styles/default/xenforo/smilies.vb/042.gif "Roll Eyes [rolleyes]")
![[sad]](/xen/styles/default/xenforo/smilies.vb/004.gif "Sad [sad]")
