A September Morning

The morning came all to early. We had been on the move for the better part of a week and with very little to eat, all of it cold. It was still dark, wet and a little chilly when morning reveille sounded. Our mess had just been issued some rations and the fat back was just starting to sizzle on the tin canteen half carefully laid on the coals of last nights fire. It promised to be the first hot chow this week for the regiment. It had been a hard, fast march from Fox's Gap on South Mountain. It wasn't to be. The long roll sounded, its stirring beats dashing our hopes and souring our dispositions. Reluctantly, tired men moved to gather musket, cap pouch and cartridge box. We would make them pay for interrupting what little breakfast was to be had. The dawn was just beginning to make a grey and hazy smear over the fields. The thunder rolled across us as we fell into our ranks. The sun slowly continued on its journey, changing the sky from dark grey to light. The Captain was dressing the company line on the colors, while the First Sergeant gave us one last gear check, it would not take long. Our line was small. Only 28 men of company L out of the 110 which had marched from Texas a year, a lifetime, before remained. The Ragged First's 1200 men had dwindle to little over 200 steadfast souls. It seemed as if we had stood there for hours staring into the mouth of hell. The sun finally broke over the waving stalks of corn, still shrouded in fog and smoke, and danced across undulating waves of burnished steel crawling towards us through the amber stalks of corn. My breath caught in my throat at just the sheer rhythmic beauty and terror of the spectacle before me. I was so lost in the sight before me that I didn't hear the orders to advance and a sharp shove from the corporal standing behind me brought me back to the task at hand. I wondered if I had loaded my rifle, It seem so important right then that I could think of nothing else. Suddenly, we were within the dancing field of corn. The stalks pressed against us, slowed us, disrupted our tightly ordered ranks as if to say "only chaos and death may pass into here." Suddenly, a sheet of fire and smoke erupted to our front. Stalks of corn and leave fell as if scythed. Men screamed and fell suddenly the impenetrable rows of ripening corn were filled with blue clad soldiers. Officers were screaming orders, I couldn't hear them, but I saw the rifles flash to the ready. My body reacted as if a machine, to the ready, aim! I felt my Enfield kick back into my shoulder, but did not hear it. All the rifles in the regiment spoke with one voice, raising a scream of defiance, or maybe joy, from our depleted ranks. I could not see or hear the blue clad demons that torment us. The air was rent with an unceasing roar, as if a giant sheet of canvas were being perpetually ripped, and thick with powder smoke. Only the sharp spears of fire reaching out towards me told me the blue clad soldiers were still there. I absently worked my musket, reaching for the cartridge, biting it open, tasting the bitter salty powder on my tongue, pouring it into the muzzle, ram it home, search for the percussion cap with raw bloody fingers, press it to the nipple, cock to ready, aim at a flash and fire. The rifle slammed against my shoulder, again and again, numbing it. My fingers were scorched with the heat from my piece and torn from the sharp edges of the little brass caps. Death was all around me. My mess mates fell and I stepped over their bodies. The Captain moved up and down our shrinking line shouting encouragement it mattered not. We were no longer men in need of encouragement, we were a machine. A pitiless, remorseless machine belching fire and bristling with bright steel. All humanity was burned away, only the mechanical dance of loading, firing, and closing files remained. With every volley we took a step forward as the spears a flame to our front retreated just a little. I knew they would break, I could feel them breaking! A high screeching roar rent the air as the regiment screamed in defiance, I realized I was screaming as well. I saw the Lone Star flag of Texas launched forward and it pulled me along with. Yelling like things possessed, and trampling over the torn corn and blue heaps once men, we pursued our blue demons deeper into the shredded stalks of corn. The field was alive with flame but we pressed into it backs bowed, hats down over our eyes as if fighting through a driving rain, a storm a fire, steel and death. I saw the First Sergeant fall and suddenly I was thrown backward punched in the chest pulled into darkness and quiet. Death had come to reap the harvest from a cornfield watered in blood near Sharpsburg, September 1862.

Only this story ended happily. As the firing died away the roar of applause replaced the noise of the guns. The wounded, dead and living, both blue and gray arose from the field and embraced each other with joy, in a cornfield near Sharpsburg, September 2002 at the 140th commemoration of the Battle of Sharpsburg.

FORWARD THE OLD BRIGADE

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

Worth Remebering

Take a visit to this link

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

Georgia On My Mind

Looks like Zell Miller has stirred up the pot with his endorsement of President Bush. The media has its panties in a wad about a democrat senator supporting a republican president and how Georgia, as a traditionally democratic state, has been marching steadily into the conservative camp. Let's think about this for a minute.

First of all Senator Miller is charged by his oath of office to do what is best for his state and the country. He did not swear an oath to support and defend the platform of the Democratic National Committee. I think we, as a nation, lose sight of the fact that our politicians are in office to serve US, the people of the United States, not their affiliated political party. You remember that whole government of the people, for the people, by the people thing. I really think our founding fathers meant that. Maybe Senator Miller has not lost sight of that principle. That would speak well of his character (as much as a politician can actually have character) and bodes well for Georgia and the Nation.

Second, is Georgia traditionally democratic? Georgia definitely was in 1865 when she was conquered, oppressed and occupied by troops of a predominantly republican north. What did Georgia democrats believe in prior to 1865? I would say States Rights, Limited Federal government, the right of the individual to choose his own path. Hmmmm, that kinda sounds like a conservative position. What did a northern republican believe in prior to 1865? A large all controlling federal government that decided what is best for the states and the people. Hmmm, kinda sounds likes today's liberal position. I would submit that since that most critical juncture of American history, the War of Northern Aggression, the traditional beliefs of the two primary parties has suffered role reversal. I seriously doubt that the GOP of today bears any resemblance to the Lincoln republicans. On the flip side, I doubt the democratic party resembles the party of Jefferson any more. So maybe, in Georgia, traditional politics is just catching up with the evolution of the political parties? Just a thought.

Personally, I do not identify with any organized political party. I tend to vote republican because their candidates usually more closely mirror my views. Ol' Dubya has earned my vote twice over. I think he has a quality that is very rare in politicians: A functional moral compass! However, you never can tell with politicians DAMN THEIR OILY HIDES! If you had to label my personal political philosophy I think I would definitely be a conservatarian. I believe that, constitutionally, the federal government has no business managing anything other than the common defense and international/interstate trade. I think I am the best judge of what my money should be spent on. I believe I am the best judge of what my children should learn. I believe I am best qualified to teach my issue values, and I believe the federal government has no entitlement to the fruits of my labor. In short I believe in me. It would seem that most political parties think I am a helpless idiot who needs big brother to save me from my own incompetence. Well to them I say:

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

More Of Life's Simple Truths

Thank you Captain "C" USMCR, as you depart the HOA you have left us with much to consider:

"Don't forget that the most important consideration when choosing monkey knife fighters is gender. Regardless of what nationality the monkeys are, if they are of the opposite sex they will do nothing but hump. While this, in itself, can be quite entertaining, nothing beats a good monkey knife fight."

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

Life's Simple Truths

No matter how well you plan, there is always a bigger idiot

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

Actually, I Do Have A Job

Thinking about my last two posts I realize I have been a prissy whiner. First about RAMs and then about the HORRIBLE LACK OF CHEESE! Well poop has been known to occur so I better just deal with it. Currently, my issue of the moment is IBA (Individual Body Armor) You all may have read about how congress is complaining about starting a war without everyone having IBA which consists of an interceptor OTV (outer tactical vest) and two SAPI (small arms protective insert) plates. Actually, it would appear to me that we started the war with plenty of IBA for everyone, we just declined to issue them to the people who were going to war. When I was doing my pre-deployment training at the CRC the central issuing facility had a cubic shit ton (that is an order of magnitude greater than the cubic butt ton) of IBA, it was just most of us didn't qualify to get them (they were only issued to Army personnel going to Afghanistan or Iraq. Navy, Air Force, DoD civilians, DoD contractors, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts and Cub Scouts were issued the old style flak vest. In fact, I personally was reluctantly issued an interceptor OTV because they did not have an old style vest that would fit my six foot three inch two hundred pound frame. They would not let me have the SAPI though. Damned if a Navy guy would get those! In fact, they pulled them out of the vest right in front of me. I would have been really concerned if people were regularly shooting at us out here but at the time I felt plates should go to guys in Iraq and the Stans since there were folks out there that didn't have them. Now I wish I had them. It is not that the bad guys aren't trying to get their licks in out here, it seems that they just have not been able to overcome their cowardice. Sooner, hopefully later,, better yet never, they might actually grow some balls and do something nasty. Congress recently told DoD that everybody in the CENTCOM AOR shall have IBA to include DOD and contract civilians. The way the system should have worked is that everyone sent to the CENTCOM AOR should have been issued IBA by their parent major command BEFORE they were sent to theater. However, the parent commands decided that they wouldn't foot the bill for IBA and expected their troops to be issued IBA by CENTCOM. (National Guard was particularly bad about this) Navy and Air Force still weren't issuing anybody IBA so what you ended up with was many units and individuals without IBA in the combat zones while there was a cubic shit ton of IBA back in the rear. Since Congress directed DoD to ensure everyone had IBA, DoD directed CENTCOM to find out how short they were and provide them, so CENTCOM directed the three CJTFs i.e me to find out how short each task force was and provide them numbers back so they can procure. So I am scurrying around directing subordinate units (poop rolls down hill and luckily I ain't on bottom any more) to report their shortages to me so I can tell CENTCOM who can tell Congress and they will write a check. I did this in October but it took CENTCOM so long to compile the data that they decided it was too old so now I am doing it again. The one thing I know for sure is that I will never see those SAPI plates for my vest prior to my rotating home, most likely I won't need them but if I did I might get a little irritated.

Oh and by the way, there was no cheese at dinner tonight either!

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD

My Uncle Said I Had To Post

I have once again been shamed into posting. I hate to say it, but I am in the midst of the Groundhoggiest of Ground Hog Day Syndromes. There jus' ain't nuttin to say! I can't write about the cool stuff that happens around here cause of security and stuff. The last thing I want is the Secret Squirrels mad at me. Overall, life is pretty good right now. I just got my 2nd South Carolina String Band CDs at mail call today. Now I can work out to the rousing strains of "Goober Peas", "Rose of Alabama" or the ever-motivating "Richmond Is A Hard Road To Travel" (It is an acquired taste, unfortunately for my Bride I done acquired it. I made her listen to Bobby Horton's Homespun songs all the way from VA to Texas and back again. For that matter, I forced us stop at Shiloh and Vicksburg. Wanted to stop at Chickamauga but ran out of daylight. I probably have the only kids in the neighborhood that know all the words "Stonewall Jackson's Way") So overall, I am a pretty happy camper WITH ONE NOTABLE EXCEPTION:

WHERE'S THE FREAKIN' CHEESE!!!!!
It has been a dog's age since I have had any cheese. We have had at least three resupplies of subsistence and there is still no cheese at the chow hall. I am about to the point where I will rat f**k (a technical military term meaning: To rummage through package or container, taking only what you desire and leaving whatever nasty crap is left for others who are slower than you. See also Darwin's theory of natural selection) a case of MREs for the simulated cheese spread. I NEED CHEESE! My cholesterol level is dropping dangerously and my eliminations are far to regular. I bet they have cheese in Iraq for cryin' out loud. With all the goats running loose around this country you would think we would at least have fetta leaking out our ears! The menu still says "Grilled Ham and Cheese Sandwiches" but there ain't no cheese in 'em. I know I looked. I think I am a fairly good judge of what cheese looks like and that just ain't it. We get our subsistence from Germany and that is the land of Cheese (and chocolate). This situation is simply intolerable, how do expect me to keep doing whatever my Ham and Cheese Sammich tell me to do. I can't understand what the hell my sammich is trying to say, without the Cheese, it has an unintelligible accent!

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD