AN INFANTRYMAN REMEMBERS II
by James Powers, 11th AD, 55th AIB
Tonight my home is a hole in the frozen ground.
It was the same last night and the night before.
If I am fortunate, I’ll be in another one tomorrow night.
My dinner is cold from a camouflaged box.
My dirty, ragged blanket is almost covered by mud and snow.
While my uniform clashes with the whiteness that surrounds me.
If I had a sheet, I’d wrap in it and be hidden from the enemy.
I am an outpost without friends ahead.
Stretched behind me is the needed support for my fight.
The battle continues on an epic scale, but for me
The epicenter is here, a forsaken, only temporary hole.
We fight in small groups, relying on instinct and prayer,
Unaware of what decisions are being made for us in the rear.
Wars are not won in large scale battles,
But rather in small skirmishes by lonesome dedicated troops
Who sometimes have no clear orders from those in charge higher up.
Hungry, cold, tired, dirty, duty is our leadership.
Some troops farther back have shelter, hot food, a decent bed,
And comfort in knowing that they won’t be shelled tonight.
I am fortunate that I lived to tell the story of many of those
Who perished too young to leave their mark.
They are the heroes, the too soon forgotten ones
To whom their country owes a debt of immeasurable gratitude.