The Captain came to us late that night, "At dawn they would attack."
We spoke no words,
yet each wondering, "Will tomorrow I die?".
For in our holes of dirt,
dug deep into the earth,
in those late secret hours,
we found that fear does hurt.
Checking all weapons and ammo,
thinking of times past ...
the loves won and lost,
of home and hearth,
each of us left alone with countless doubts.
Wrestling with the eternal question, "Is there a heaven for such as I?".
Now time and life demanded our markers,
of oaths sworn, and honor due.
The call of warriors to fight and die,
noble reasons, now forgotten,
left alone with fear,
our only companion.
Such moments of utter horror
when life seems so precious
but fortune's tilted scales,
our only hope.
When hard resolve is demanded,
summoned from secret places deep inside,
those times thrust upon men's souls,
when courage, honor and resolve
must carry the day.
The air so still before the dawn,
then Hell, descended upon us there,
the blood of youth cast sacrificial
down upon the earth in wilful disregard.
Some given over to death so quickly
while others lingered in their private hells.
No longer possessed by noble thoughts
of glories vain,
just animal passions, "Make them pay!".
In time the battle had drunk its fill,
of blood and fear, we'd no more to give.
Later, we returned home,
all heroes true,
yet wiser now about this earth.
Each man with soul scarred deep,
pierced by a hundred truths we hid.
For in the quiet watches of that night,
we could never reveal,
how much we wanted to run away,
to find a haven from such hell.
Each man left diminished yet knowing,
that the heroes were those we left behind.
Now aged, no longer fit for war,
at times I walk among the crosses.
I see the names through weary eyes,
those souls who paid with all they had,
for us to know,
the cost of freedom demands ...
by Scott M. Wyatt
... who is a former Army brat that became a paratrooper;
and who has only recently turned to writing, with several works
scheduled for publication later this year.