Sarge

Not much to say about how I got here or when I got here, I'm just here. It stinks, there are bugs, and it's hot. My first day out on patrol was rough, we lost our leader, a young sergeant, we just barely got back to camp. Then a young corporal was put in charge and he did'nt make it back after a patrol. Then came Sarge. This was his third war. The man was a guardian angel. He knew how to lead, war was his career. He knew who to put where, when to move forward, when to back out, he is the reason we got home. We would follow him anywhere.

My year up, time to go home. We were walking to the plane in good spirits and jostling around with each other when I looked back at the gate and saw Sarge standing with his hand up in a wave. Before I could wave back someone pushed me forward and we continued on to the plane.

Here I sit fifty years later in my backyard thinking about Sarge. I've had a good life, kids, wife, home. I've done all right. Who is that down at the end of the fence by the gate, looks like somebody in jungle green fatigues with his hand up in a wave. Why it's Sarge, this time I'll wave and wave and wave.

Comments