Operation Overlord
June 6, 1944 is a date in history heard before.
More than sixty years have passed long since.
It has become a day almost mythical in lore.
Crosses dot Europe’s landscapes in time’s mist.
Allied forces united closely in that World War.
Now seamed faces float back as they reminisce.
One hundred sixty thousand troops sailed away.
One hundred ninety thousand delivered them.
Leaving the safety of ships and planes that day,
They hit the beaches, promising to do their best.
The day was the last sunrise of life for too many.
More than ten thousand fell, many to eternal rest.
Try to picture it all through those frightened eyes.
Five beaches were the very Gates of Hell that day.
Sword Beach, Juno, Gold, Omaha, and Utah Beach,
Pointe du Hoc loomed ahead in the gloom of dawn.
Warriors knew blood would flow; many would die.
Imagine how silence fell as soldiers quietly prayed.
Some faced towering cliffs and mines on sticks.
The enemy was protected by bunkers of cement,
Barbed wire, mines, walls of mortar and bricks.
Obstacles lay beneath waves of raging violence.
Months of planning were held in limbo, at bay,
As Mother Nature’s desires defined all that day.
Airborne troops had to sail in the winds that blew.
Soldiers descended rope ladders into bobbing boats,
Knowing that fickle waters controlled their moves.
Artillery suppport prayed guns landed on that coast.
Soldiers and sailors had no control, only a job to do.
Not one thing that day dispelled thoughts of gloom.
Brits, Yanks, Swedes, and Canadians had to attack.
Freedom Fighters were inland, reclaiming native soil.
The largest assault ever must break Germany’s back.
The Germans had to have the westward surge foiled.
Historians tell the stories; it is not merely myth at all.
Lives and blood lost that day saved the known world.
Personal tragedy is not always in official print.
A day of remembering shows in creased brows.
A real story is beneath sterile historical reports.
Look into the faces of that generation and know
That the terror of the day lives in their trembles.
If they will speak, listen well, then pass it along.
The stories are there, the real history, dramatic.
One survivor is burdened by six decades of guilt.
He waded from Hell unhurt, still it is traumatic.
Another felt a friend explode; he was scratched.
A few steps further and then another was killed.
Later he learned his shrapnel was bone fragments.
A soldier saw his brothers exit the landing craft.
Still too far out, they stepped down twenty feet.
They drowned struggling to be free of battle gear.
Twenty nine amphibious tanks were to hit a beach.
Two made it; the others became an armored reef.
Belgian gates and Teller mines defied the assault.
Rangers scaling cliffs hung in enemy bullets’ way.
Airborne soldiers drifted with the whim of winds.
Miles from landing zones they marched to the fray.
Gliders soared but winds often blocked the descent.
Troops fought on, giving all, marching for us today.
The beginning of that War’s end started on D-Day.
Mike Mullins, 6/4/09
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
These thoughts came to me in the night and awoke me, demanding release. I have shared them with my vet buddies and have been shocked at the universal impact they had. I worry that our soldiers today are aimed in the same direction due to the criticism that is pouring out now, and the approach to this war. I wrote more about that somewhere. Michael D. "Moon" Mullins, author of "Vietnam in Verse, poetry for beer drinkers." "ViV" won the Gold Medal for poetry, 2007, from the Military Writers Society of America. The book is available on line from amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, books-a-million.com and iUniverse.com.It is available as an audio-book from the author. Please contact me at this e-mail address; mullins.m.1@comcast.net or via land mail at POB 456 Windfall, In. 46076.Vietnam Veteran, Delta 3/7, 199th Light Infantry, '68-'69. Vice President of the Military Writers Society of America
I had a hard time going to sleep. I knew I would. I stayed awake longer than I planned... by a little. Not a lot. I knew my night would be checkered by memories jumping around. A book I'm reading has brought back the old pain. Every day I get a morsal of the old animosity as our government is pulled away from the ghosts of those who died to make our country great. I feel the anger I've buried inside as our troops are disrespected by not letting them do what they can do. They are not being allowed to win. Ambitious officers are more concerned about their own promotions and how the politicians see them. When that happens wrong decisions are made and wrong deeds are done; morale is destroyed, "Why are we even here?" echoes as the will to serve and fight is eroded.
I was awakened early by visions that were created by those ideologies. They had taken the form of people I know attacking my credibility, doubting my participation in the 10 years long ordeal that was Vietnam. They said I was not there. That I did not act like so many they knew. That I did not strike out or suffer as they do. It made me killing mad. I turned over the table where we were in my anger. The vision had transformed into someone I knew, sitting across from me with face skewed in derision of my response. He stomped on my self-doubt, my belief that I had not done enough, had not bled enough, had not wept enough...had not won as my heroes had. I did not suffer enough then and here I am surrounded by people who do not know how many times those thoughts got out of their cages to belittle and torture me. They do not know my bottled up shame that is so like the proverbial genie escaping its glass cell then granting wishes for its savior. My genie sneers at me for not having given enough. It leers at me for not having been heroic enough.
Am I supposed to suffer more now to excise my evil genie? Am I to get angry and give a killing nose-bridge strike to my acquaintence to prove that I have been there, done a little of what my more involved comrades have done? Do I have to rip off the vision's ear to show my training? To convince them or myself? Do I have to kill one of them to prove I have PTSD to the VA, that I am angry, that I feel what others feel? I didn't do as much. I offered to go get a gun and shoot at them. I have been shot at so I want them to feel what I felt then. It will do no good. Bullets can't kill dreams. Bullets can't riddle doubt, regardless of where it resides. I am too much in control they think. I am too jovial. I am too cynical about the politicians and that is something shared by my brothers. I write about others because I did not do enough to write only about myself.
Am I angry at all the forces from which my night visions are comprised? I sit here on my toilet typing with tears in my eyes as I invoke the heroic ghosts of the past to forgive me. Am I angrier at myself for all that has been released?
I want to strike out and feel the vindication of inflicting pain on someone else other than me. I did serve. I did my job. I felt the anguish and pain of war. But I did not do enough. And I lived.
I may be surrounded by those who quietly whisper that they cannot believe that I did anything at all. I have had the wrong demeanor. I can show the scar on the back of my leg, painted there by flying concertina. I can show them the fading scar on my hip, pressed there by the rubbing of a loaded, wet web belt. I can show them the almost invisible tiny scars on the backs of my hands, burned into my flesh by tiny shards of shrapnel. I cannot show them the scars on my heart. They are the only ones which remain unchanged. No. They are larger. Maybe they have caused my blockages. My by-pass can never avoid them. More by-passes will not.
I survived. I did not do enough. I did not pay a high enough price. I am not a hero. Really I am not much. My guilt and self-doubt are alive and well. They have joined forces perhaps, to become paranoia.
But ask the psycholigist at the VA. He will tell you I don't suffer. I've tried too hard to serve since the war and I have done it well. I am in control and well adjusted. I am until the visions that destroy my sleep escape and attack the cages where I've kept them. And then I give them real faces so I can hurt them as much as they hurt me.
Control is tenuous and everyone has a button. Shall we pray, for them and me, that it never gets pushed? My demons won tonight They attacked at the start of sleep and roused me far too early. The scabs have been scraped off successfully and I am bleeding freely from my emotional jugular. Even though I have nearly killed myself with tobacco--my weapon of choice--i am going to go smoke a cigar and try to re-load. I have to speak about Memorial Day to some little old ladies tonight.
Who the hell am I to be speaking to anyone?Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
I had a hard time going to sleep. I knew I would. I stayed awake longer than I planned... by a little. Not a lot. I knew my night would be checkered by memories jumping around. A book I'm reading has brought back the old pain. Every day I get a morsal of the old animosity as our government is pulled away from the ghosts of those who died to make our country great. I feel the anger I've buried inside as our troops are disrespected by not letting them do what they can do. They are not being allowed to win. Ambitious officers are more concerned about their own promotions and how the politicians see them. When that happens wrong decisions are made and wrong deeds are done; morale is destroyed, "Why are we even here?" echoes as the will to serve and fight is eroded.
I was awakened early by visions that were created by those ideologies. They had taken the form of people I know attacking my credibility, doubting my participation in the 10 years long ordeal that was Vietnam. They said I was not there. That I did not act like so many they knew. That I did not strike out or suffer as they do. It made me killing mad. I turned over the table where we were in my anger. The vision had transformed into someone I knew, sitting across from me with face skewed in derision of my response. He stomped on my self-doubt, my belief that I had not done enough, had not bled enough, had not wept enough...had not won as my heroes had. I did not suffer enough then and here I am surrounded by people who do not know how many times those thoughts got out of their cages to belittle and torture me. They do not know my bottled up shame that is so like the proverbial genie escaping its glass cell then granting wishes for its savior. My genie sneers at me for not having given enough. It leers at me for not having been heroic enough.
Am I supposed to suffer more now to excise my evil genie? Am I to get angry and give a killing nose-bridge strike to my acquaintence to prove that I have been there, done a little of what my more involved comrades have done? Do I have to rip off the vision's ear to show my training? To convince them or myself? Do I have to kill one of them to prove I have PTSD to the VA, that I am angry, that I feel what others feel? I didn't do as much. I offered to go get a gun and shoot at them. I have been shot at so I want them to feel what I felt then. It will do no good. Bullets can't kill dreams. Bullets can't riddle doubt, regardless of where it resides. I am too much in control they think. I am too jovial. I am too cynical about the politicians and that is something shared by my brothers. I write about others because I did not do enough to write only about myself.
Am I angry at all the forces from which my night visions are comprised? I sit here on my toilet typing with tears in my eyes as I invoke the heroic ghosts of the past to forgive me. Am I angrier at myself for all that has been released?
I want to strike out and feel the vindication of inflicting pain on someone else other than me. I did serve. I did my job. I felt the anguish and pain of war. But I did not do enough. And I lived.
I may be surrounded by those who quietly whisper that they cannot believe that I did anything at all. I have had the wrong demeanor. I can show the scar on the back of my leg, painted there by flying concertina. I can show them the fading scar on my hip, pressed there by the rubbing of a loaded, wet web belt. I can show them the almost invisible tiny scars on the backs of my hands, burned into my flesh by tiny shards of shrapnel. I cannot show them the scars on my heart. They are the only ones which remain unchanged. No. They are larger. Maybe they have caused my blockages. My by-pass can never avoid them. More by-passes will not.
I survived. I did not do enough. I did not pay a high enough price. I am not a hero. Really I am not much. My guilt and self-doubt are alive and well. They have joined forces perhaps, to become paranoia.
But ask the psycholigist at the VA. He will tell you I don't suffer. I've tried too hard to serve since the war and I have done it well. I am in control and well adjusted. I am until the visions that destroy my sleep escape and attack the cages where I've kept them. And then I give them real faces so I can hurt them as much as they hurt me.
Control is tenuous and everyone has a button. Shall we pray, for them and me, that it never gets pushed? My demons won tonight They attacked at the start of sleep and roused me far too early. The scabs have been scraped off successfully and I am bleeding freely from my emotional jugular. Even though I have nearly killed myself with tobacco--my weapon of choice--i am going to go smoke a cigar and try to re-load. I have to speak about Memorial Day to some little old ladies tonight.
Who the hell am I to be speaking to anyone?Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Does anyone wandering through want a non-military example of the double-speak that permeates this administration? Here is one:
If the Obamas are such dog lovers why did they not have one to bring to the White House? Why did they get their first when they moved in? Is it because it will be worth hundreds of photo ops from a fawning press? It is the only campaign promise that will be kept in its entirity and also them most meaningless. They had the space in Chicago and the money to pay for care. Why wait? True dog lovers would have had one to bring.
If the Obamas are such dog lovers why did they not have one to bring to the White House? Why did they get their first when they moved in? Is it because it will be worth hundreds of photo ops from a fawning press? It is the only campaign promise that will be kept in its entirity and also them most meaningless. They had the space in Chicago and the money to pay for care. Why wait? True dog lovers would have had one to bring.
Friday, April 17, 2009
The court jester just made it easier yet on the enemy. He gave them great recruiting rhetoric. He opened the door to the destruction of more Americans. Our enemies cut off heads and set live people afire and drag them down the streets until dead. They are not part of the Geneva Convention. They are not citizens of this country and are not protected by our Constitution. None of the methods included in the report violate the Geneva rules. He is pathetic and not only does he want to run our economy, he wants to empower Chavez and take all the blame for our Mexican drug problems. When the hell is going to remember who he works for?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Clarification
I have to say something else before another day passes. I disagree with the president's socialist ideologies and all the people he appoints who will do all they can to pass regs and regulate their areas of responsibility with that in mind. I want him to do well in leading the country out of its economic but he needs to keep his negativism off the airways and to quit trying to run our companies. He has no Constitutional authority to do so and that is just fact. I blame Congress for most of our ills. They have been slowly ruining everything for four decades except for brief periods of time when all they had was rhetoric. Now we have the very worst group representing legal citizens that we have ever had. There are no checks and balances. Our forefathers have to be weeping in their graves.
Monday, April 13, 2009
In a few months I have seen the beginning of the burial of our representative republic in the sepulchre of socialism. We have the weakest leadership we have had since Jimmy Carter and Billy Beer. Because someone makes you feel good does not mean that person is a leader. A leader does not delay or run from the hard decisions that have to be made on a daily basis. The king's jester made ancient aristocracy feel good. The stones need to be grown to resurrect our country, our pride, and our national position in the world.
Four pirates with small arms in a glorified rowboat have our president and his brain-trust stymied. I find that incredible. Today (I e-mailed this originally on 4/12) they asked that "someone" arrest them. It is such a simple problem to solve and here I sit watching four pirates face down the most powerful nation and navy in the world, while other pirates circle and celibrate. All we have to do is have four snipers take out four targets simultaneously and it is over. That will make it less likely to happen again. What frigging idiocy are we witnessing? What frigging lack of resolve and guts are we being embarrassed by? What the hell do we have ruining this country? Sorry...that was a typo. I meant to say what the hell do we have running this country?
This is a simple problem and he cannot handle it. Do you really think he is going to handle anything more difficult? I heard Dennis Miller say on a news blurb that he makes Bush look eloquent when he does not have a teleprompter. Miller also said this man needs a prompter to read an eye chart. Now that is saying something. I respect the office but I have no respect for he who desecrates it now.
All I can see is this poor, heroic, forgotten captain floating toward land. When he is there our problem is trebled. He is on their turf and removed from us. He is dead and it is on the administatration's head.
Oh---don't bother telling me how this line of thought is not Christian. We are in a world situation where Christianity is totally threatened on almost all fronts and Europe is already ceding many Christian rights and we are in line moving that direction. If we all just lay and take the slaughter and the threats then there is nobody left to sing God's praises. I have yet to hear a joyful voice lifting from the confines of a graveyard.
PS---someone told the leadership that if it failed to act it would lose much more than it believed was at risk. Someone finally got that group to convince the president that we could take care of it quite easily. Gee--- we did. What a surprise to them all. Now they will claim some great victory for the new administration. It is not. It is a military victory and I salute them and the Seals who made it happen. It could have happened the same day the first Navy vessel arrived in the area. Why did it take so long to do? I do not know, but regardless of all that I am thankful for it happening and the captain being saved.
Four pirates with small arms in a glorified rowboat have our president and his brain-trust stymied. I find that incredible. Today (I e-mailed this originally on 4/12) they asked that "someone" arrest them. It is such a simple problem to solve and here I sit watching four pirates face down the most powerful nation and navy in the world, while other pirates circle and celibrate. All we have to do is have four snipers take out four targets simultaneously and it is over. That will make it less likely to happen again. What frigging idiocy are we witnessing? What frigging lack of resolve and guts are we being embarrassed by? What the hell do we have ruining this country? Sorry...that was a typo. I meant to say what the hell do we have running this country?
This is a simple problem and he cannot handle it. Do you really think he is going to handle anything more difficult? I heard Dennis Miller say on a news blurb that he makes Bush look eloquent when he does not have a teleprompter. Miller also said this man needs a prompter to read an eye chart. Now that is saying something. I respect the office but I have no respect for he who desecrates it now.
All I can see is this poor, heroic, forgotten captain floating toward land. When he is there our problem is trebled. He is on their turf and removed from us. He is dead and it is on the administatration's head.
Oh---don't bother telling me how this line of thought is not Christian. We are in a world situation where Christianity is totally threatened on almost all fronts and Europe is already ceding many Christian rights and we are in line moving that direction. If we all just lay and take the slaughter and the threats then there is nobody left to sing God's praises. I have yet to hear a joyful voice lifting from the confines of a graveyard.
PS---someone told the leadership that if it failed to act it would lose much more than it believed was at risk. Someone finally got that group to convince the president that we could take care of it quite easily. Gee--- we did. What a surprise to them all. Now they will claim some great victory for the new administration. It is not. It is a military victory and I salute them and the Seals who made it happen. It could have happened the same day the first Navy vessel arrived in the area. Why did it take so long to do? I do not know, but regardless of all that I am thankful for it happening and the captain being saved.
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