International War Veteran's Poetry Archives
September 2002

Follow Me!
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.

"Here's your new A.O.," says the major,
"Your troops won't go in blind."
"Check it out,' says the colonel,
"And see what y'all can find!"
"Follow me."

"Situation, mission, execution," says the cap'n,
"The objective's over there."
"Logistics, command and signal,' says the cap'n,
"This is a tough 'un, so beware!"
"Follow me."

"We move at oh four hundred," says the el tee,
"The Old Man says it will be tough."
"Oh four hundred we move out," says the el tee,
"Get ready to do your stuff."
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"The enemy's just ahead."
"Smartly now," says the sergeant,
"Stop and you'll be dead."
"Follow me."

"Spread out now," says the corporal,
"Don't give 'em a good shot."
"Keep your place," says the corporal,
"Pretty soon she'll get real hot."
"Follow me."

"What the fuck," says the private,
"I got but one life to live."
"Fuck this shit," says the private,
"Them mothers'll have to give."
"Follow me."

"Follow me!" they shout together,
Firing on the run.
"Follow me!" they shout together.
The battle has begun.
"Follow me."

"Keep going," says the cap'n,
"Through fire, smoke and shell!"
"Keep going," says the cap'n,
"Into the jaws of hell!"
"Follow me."

"Keep going," says the el tee,
"Through their mines and wire!"
"Keep going," says the el tee,
"Maintain the base of fire!"
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"Together me and you!"
"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"We're gonna make it through!"
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the corporal,
"Don't think about your pain."
"Keep movin'," says the corporal,
"There's one more yard to gain."
"Follow me."

"What the fuck," says the private,
"Their rounds are shootin' high."
"Keep movin'," says the private,
"It's time for them to die."
"Follow me."

"Push on now," says the fallen,
"To that bright light just ahead."
"I'm coming," says the fallen,
"There's nothing left to dread!"
"Follow me."

Ray Sarlin

Back then, tales abounded of the way: life in the service
Had brought this one around, made a man of that one, and,
How the other had performed incredible feats in the face of enemy fire.
No, we didn't expect a Church picnic,
The Talking Heads had warned us it wouldn't be easy.

Some did evade, but for us the citizen's role was clear.
Slinking North was not our particular American way.
So we swallowed hard, stepped up to the plate, did our duty best we could.
We expected that fighting for America would test us to new limits back then.
And nobody promised we'd all come home in one piece...and sure enough...

We expected the ordeal of it, the threatening flora, fauna and humana,
In the bleak loneliness, we found all the excitement we could stand.
We knew the heat, the mud, the stench, the sleep-deprivation all were coming.
Yet although we'd been warned, the rape of our innocence
Plunged us to depths we'd never known possible.

Sent off by a populace ambivalent, on a mission ill-defined,
We were right to be scared, to expect some measure of the terrible we got.
The real unexpected, though, was the bewildering "welcome home", when,
Just as - relieved and exhausted - we limped back for the familiar, the warmth,
And as we came up the walk, you slammed the door in our faces, America.

The same folk we thought we'd been sent off to defend, who paid our way,
Happily voted us over to that ordeal, then somehow thought it fitting
To pin on us all blame for the complexities of the problem.
We surely didn't see that part coming, and - hope you'll understand -
A few are having a hard time, just ... getting over it.

                                        Dick Guthrie

When duty called he gave his all
he risked both life and limb
                   he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

He rode a track and carried a ruck
he scouted and he ambushed
                   he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

His road was hard and his load was heavy
there wasn't a task he couldn't do
                   he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

When friends fell and when friends died
he never faltered and he never failed
                   he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

When his time came he feared not
he lived his life as men should
                   he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

John Smerdon

                                        Ray Sarlin

                                        Ray Sarlin

Your Ruck must weigh over sixty pounds
and somewhere a strap has worked loose
letting the load rock with your stride,
pulling you off balance with each step,
making the walk twice as hard.

Then battalion calls to say you need to be another three klicks
straight up the same ridgeline you have humped for the last three hours.
Darkness approaches and you really need to get
Your soldiers set up before all light's gone.
And you don't feel right about hurrying up this narrow trail
So deep in "Indian Territory".

Time to untie, I'd say,
that greasy square of olive drab cotton
from around the neck,
wipe your brow...
and,
DRIVE ON!!!

                                        Dick Guthrie

Halt --- I have a feeling
The enemy is ahead,
Take up a fighting position,
My ruck must now be shed
Filthy, wet and weary
Put all out of my mind
Sharply focus my attention
On the tasks I've been assigned.

Trembling, shirking, joking,
No longer have a place,
All my senses fully tuned,
Fear I must erase
In this instant before battle
Kneeling down in muddy sod
Not knowing fate or future
I share a moment with my God.

                                        Ray Sarlin

They came from all across the land,
Forged bonds in blood and sweat,
Then quickly went their separate ways,
Though memories bind them yet.

Some aren’t around to reminisce,
Attrition there was high,
Tom Pipkin was the first to fall,
Cokley last in Nam to die.

Over two hundred of our brethren
Didn’t see the States again,
Others came back wounded
In spirit, head or limb.

Most made it back to fight
Humdrum battles every day,
Going through the motions
With a heart still M.I.A.

                                        Ray and Marti Sarlin

All it takes is a muggy afternoon
When you seem to feel before you hear, the wop-wop-wop
Of main rotors slap-flapping on damp air, and the high-pitched whine,
To launch a jumble of fast-forwarded film clips three decades old.
Sharp images of other muggy afternoons race by,
Other flights of Hueys :

The resupply bird inbound,
'Hots' for supper, ammunition, grenades, fresh water,
And maybe even mail at last,
With promised picture of the new firstborn
I pray I'll live to see.

A MEDEVAC bird
Rushing to take away our brothers,
Youngsters we'd shared a joke and a smoke with
Minutes before, and who now lie
Dazed, bloodied, maimed, stunned
At the edge of the clearing
We frantically cut for a Pickup Zone.

A flight of "Six, Two and Two"
Hauling on Combat Assault yet again, the Bravo Braves.
Jaws clenched, knuckles white,
Their lips recite prayers unheard above the turbine scream,
While eyes bulging with fear dart and comb every inch
Of the bald pockmarked knob that dances and shudders in the distance
Under artillery "Prep Fires" and aerial rockets.
If only fires and collective will could assure a 'cold' Landing Zone.

On this muggy afternoon,
My mind takes me again among those brave, sweaty, sleep-deprived heroes.
Fighting terror, boredom, relentless fear, unseen foe, hidden mines.
They slogged on, defending:

            The "whole fuckin' free world against Godless Communism...
            Ain't that what the man said we was here for, Jim?"

On an adventure they had not asked for -- one uglier by far
Than any a clueless Walter Cronkite ever could describe --
Our soldiers gave of themselves day in and day out,
With valor and dignity their countrymen still won't acknowledge.
So this muggy Monterey afternoon, I sing again their praises.
Then return to my current mission,
First giving thanks to my Maker for the fact that,
The only weapon I heft at 'high-port' today
Is a Brush, Anti-cobweb, M-1,
With ten-foot telescoping handle.

Dick Guthrie