#it's remembrance day in the commonwealth today and I wasn't sure what to say so I guess I'll just let this speak for me

[ww2yaoi]

I returned to Littlecote with a start when the lieutenant ended his list abruptly with a private named Zoltz. For a few seconds the Regiment stood sad and silent in the lovely Wiltshire dale under the big, white, summer clouds that were so peaceful and eternal, and then, before we could start coughing and shifting our feet, Chaplain McGee stepped to the front of the reviewing stand and said, “Let us pray. We will read aloud the 506th Parachute Infantry prayer that is printed on your program sheets.” We had been handed these programs as we marched onto the field. The prayer, a fine example of the Gott mit Uns spirit of the paratroops, was written by Lt. James G. Morton. “Almighty God,” we began, “we kneel to Thee and ask to be the instrument of Thy fury in smiting the evil forces that have visited death, misery, and debasement on the people of the earth. We humbly face Thee with true penitence for all our sins, for which we do most earnestly seek Thy forgiveness. Help us to dedicate ourselves completely to Thee. Be with us, God, when we leap from our planes in the dark abyss and descend in parachutes into the midst of enemy fire. Give us iron will and stark courage as we spring from the harnesses of our parachutes to seize arms for battle. “The legions of evil are many, Father; grace our arms to meet and defeat them in Thy name and in the name of the freedom and dignity of man. Keep us firm in our faith and resolution, and guide us that we may not dishonor our high mission or fail in our sacred duties. Let our enemies who have lived by the sword turn from their violence lest they perish by the sword. Help us to serve Thee gallantly and to be humble in victory.” There was a pause and then through the still, warm air came the clear notes of a lone bugle playing “Taps”: When your last Day is past, Some bright star From afar O'er your grave, Watch will keep. While you sleep With the brave. The Regiment said, “Amen,” and lifted their heads. “Call your battalions to attention!” the adjutant shouted. Colonel Strayer spun on his heel and threw back his shoulders. “BaTALLYOWN... tenSHUN!” We straightened our backs, raised our heads, clicked our boots together, slapped our hands to our sides. The band began to play “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” and the 1st Battalion went by. We wheeled about and followed them off the field. The Invasion was over, the memorial service had ended. In Normandy, the dead lay forever silent in the dappled-green parachutes that had carried them to earth. We were ready to go again, because we could only go forward, never back. Somebody had to do it. We were not ashamed of the task. We were the infantry, the Queen of Battles. The truck drivers could do their part and get our battle stars, the manufacturers could get rich on cost-plus-10-percent and shout that wars are won by production, but we knew that nothing was solved and nothing accomplished until the infantry had killed the enemy and driven him from his ground. And so we went forward, one regiment, filled up with replacements, the dead as fine and strong a part of us as the living men, so fresh and new, who had come to take their place. 

David Kenyon Webster, Parachute Infantry, pg. 67-68