The characters of Combat! are the property of ABC. Copyright 2001 by Figment SIX DAYS IN THE LIFE OF… September 6, 1944 Dear Chris, I have to get some things off my chest, and you know how hard it is for me to talk to anyone. You’ve always been a good listener (for a kid) and you’re pretty intuitive. You’ve been in combat about two months now, and I think you’ll understand. You remember me telling you about Caje. Well, I was listening to him tell someone about the best friend he ever had. His name was Theo and he died at Omaha Beach on D-Day. It reminded me of my friend, Grady Long, and a hundred other good soldiers who’ll never go home. Sometimes I just don’t understand the war. For those who walk on distant shores For battles won and lost For liberty, we can’t ignore The suff’ring and the cost September 7 I thought of mom today. Please don’t forget to write her often. And tell her good things so she won’t worry. We were engaged in a long battle most of the night and this morning. I was pinned down in a shell crater with a young soldier from third squad. His name was Peterson. He got hit real bad. I called for a medic, but no one heard me. All I could do was hold him in my arms and try to stop the bleeding. He didn’t cry. He just looked up at me and said, “Tell mama I love her…and I tried.” Then he died. A candle lit with trembling hands A mother’s great despair A child who dies on foreign sands Her light’s still shining there September 8 We took a hill today. It wasn’t easy. During the first skirmish I got hit. Don’t worry! It’s just a leg wound. Nothing serious, but I felt like I was letting the guys down, not being there to lead them. We started with a full platoon. It wasn’t long until our losses were high. I thought for a moment that our CO, Lieutenant Hanley, would crack. He had tears in his eyes when he talked about the good men he had sent up that hill to die. But he’s a strong leader, and he pulled the rest of the men through. Who takes command to organize Who seems so unafraid Who someday comes to realize The price his soldiers paid September 9 I’m in a field hospital at the front, now. My leg’s been patched up and I’m fine. I watched our medic, Doc, work today. He moved tirelessly among the wounded soldiers, lending them aid and comfort as he could. There was a critically injured guy just across from my cot. Doc bent over him to take his pulse. The guy grasped Doc’s hand and said, “Please don’t leave me alone.” Doc knelt down beside his cot, holding his hand. “Don’t worry,” he told the dying soldier. “I’m right here.” The man looked at Doc and smiled. “Thanks,” he said. Then he stopped breathing. They wrap the wounds and soothe the pain They often wonder why They cool the brow, the fevered brain And watch the young men die September 10 I was one of the last to be shipped back to a base hospital since my wound wasn’t too bad. They sent me back in a big truck with a bunch of not-too-seriously wounded soldiers. They were all talking about how they got hurt. The stories were full of courage, self-denial, and fear. These are brave and loyal young men, and I’m very proud to be associated with them. To be a soldier brave and true To follow each command To face the foe for me and you And for our freedom, stand September 11 I’m at a base hospital now, in a fair-sized French city, and I’m healing real fast. I was sitting by a window watching the hustle and bustle on the street outside. We’re so far behind enemy lines that the people here act as if there wasn’t a war at all. I heard bombers flying overhead, but didn’t pay much attention. I thought it couldn’t be the enemy this far from the lines. But it was! I was looking directly at two large buildings when bombs rained down on them. The buildings crumbled, crushing so many innocent people. Those people weren’t carrying the implements of war. They were carrying the instruments of work. They didn’t enter those buildings looking for a fight. They were looking to provide for their families. They weren’t thinking about dying. They were busy living life. I realized why I’m here; understand why I must do the job given to me. I have to go now, Chris. Fight well, but take care of yourself. Don’t drag the flag behind you as I sometimes find myself doing. Hold it high before you, little brother. Your country depends on you. Love, Chip Remember now, the Nation’s loss Remember why we sing Remember now, a rugged cross Dear God, let freedom ring! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Poem titled ‘Let Freedom Ring’ by Dolly Kolb, aka Figment Dedicated to those lost and those left behind. September 11, 2001 |
 |
 |