Thank you, veterans, for your service. I am humbled by you all.
Army, 11th Airborne – My dad’s first service, 1946-48 in Hokkaido, Japan.
Marines, Pershing’s Army – My great-uncle, Ray Howard Aseltine, MIA in 1918 but who was alive and came home after war’s end.
2x great grandfather, James Kenton Ellis, Civil War, Union 26th Regiment Infantry (served 1861-1865, including being in battle of Shiloh)
Please add your stories in the comments
Ives (performed by The President’s Own, sans lyric): They Are There!
Ives (no really, Ives, with lyric): They Are There!
Ives (orchestrated with chorus): “They Are There!“
omg they’re walking right in the middle of the streetcar tracks
i can’t watch
Greetings:
It was back during my military daze that I had my first attack of bayonetophobia. When our Drill Sergeants would force march us draftees out to the bayonet training area, have us affix a not very long knifey-looking thingy to the business end of a perfectly good shooting iron, and then run us full-speed at a bunch of used tires into which we were to stick the pointy end of the aforementioned underdeveloped knifey thingy all the while shouting at the top of our already overworked lungs, “The purpose of the bayonet is to kill”.
I couldn’t help but think that these almost-adult supervisors of ours were out of their ever loving one-track minds. So, being a fairly autonomous Private from the Bronx of the
day, I decided to offer the nearest individual whose sleeves had more stripes that mine ever would, my take on our current endeavor. So, I says, “Hey Sargey baby, how’s about we change our explication to something along the lines of, “The purpose of the bayonet is to remind all of us to bring plenty of ammo.” ? “Wouldn’t that be less labor intensive and saving all that carbon dioxide that we would be exhaling would probably give us a headstart on that global warming problem that will be showing up in about 30 years ?”
Well, it turns out that the aforementioned Sargey baby was uninterested in either the global environment or my own personal mental health. Thus, my bayonetophobia took hold of every fiber of my being (and upon my return to civilian life, it morphed into the even more crippling kitchenophbia, but that’s a bit off-topic if you know what I mean). Things progressed steadily downhill from there, especially when I started my all-expense-paid vacation (they told me) tour of somewhat sunny Southeast Asia where there were, in lieu of cabana boys, an awful lot of misguided miscreants with, instead of drink trays, these gunny
looking thingies with perpetually attached bayonety thingies that still haunt me to this day (and especially when I’m wanted on the kitchen). It was just so much longer than ours, that, if it wasn’t for my already established phobia, it would certainly have given me a severe case of bayonet-envy. It was way long, with a tapered triangular shaft and instead of ending in a pointy point, itended in a tip like a regular screwdriver. (Those little devils were multitasking when Bill Gates was not yet a gleam in his father’s eye.)
So, things were looking kind of grim for my mother’s favorite and only son. But then, one day not too long after, a (pre-DADT) man came into my life to lead me through and out of the darkness. He was long and tall, much like my self, and always spoke the truth, not so much like myself. All his sleeves were be-striped. His first name was Platoon and his last name was Sergeant and thus he spaketh unto me, “The basic combat load is 22 magazines; we hump 29.”
So let’s see . . .
. . . the Kristallnacht anniversary was commemorated Nov. 9th, but without Jews in Sweden . . .
. . . the US Marine Corps birthday fell on Nov. 10th . . .
. . . and Veterans Day falls on Nov. 11th just as the European Union imposes a yellowstarofdavid be slapped on all goods coming from manufacture in Judea and Samaria . . .
. . . so next week can the people of the United States return to annihilating fascist European armies again while liberating the remnant Jews of Europe from the clutches of their imminent killers?
next week can the people of the United States can return to treating veterans like disposable shit
which is the default setting
more money for veterans = less money for food stamps
duh
everyone knows that
11B40,
What makes the grass grow?
Blood! Blood! Blood makes the grass grow!
“The purpose of the bayonet is to kill”.
I thought the purpose of a bayonet was to accessorize your camo cargo pants while signaling manly-manitudiness to all the other scouts at the camporee.
Ready.
Aim.
Fire!
Jeff was previously kind enough to post my thoughts about my dad’s WWII experiences. I won’t repeat it, but the U.S. Navy report of an incident on St. Patrick’s Day, 1945 may be found here.
The purpose of the bayonet is to turn the rifle into a spear, thus making it more intimidating. So say those martial experts at the Chicago Tribune, anyway.
Greetings:
Then again, and on the other hand, here’s a little parable I enjoyed telling my new troopers:
Two young infantrymen were having the age-old philosophical discussion about where to shoot those who would oppose them. One was a “head-shooter”; the other preferred the “center-mass” (torso). The head-shooter asserted that if you hit him, he’s done. The center-mass guy liked the larger target area. As they were going back and forth, their Platoon Sergeant came by. “Hey, Sarge,” called out the head-shooter, “where do you like to shoot the bad guys?”
“In the back,” he replied.
As many as you can, as often as you can, anywhere and any way you can.
The Unlikely Struggle Of The Family Whose Neighbor Is Area 51
via david thompson